Work Text:
Even though they’ve been wed for two years, it still takes Byleth some time to coax secrets out of her husband — thankfully, she is nothing if not patient, a trait that has helped her tremendously during her tenure as the Archbishop of Fódlan. And over time, she has learned little things that make it easier; Seteth wants to open up, he truly does, but as a repressed and deeply private individual, it is difficult for him.
Luckily for her, he has obvious tells.
The first sign that Seteth wants to confess something to her is, paradoxically enough, him growing distant. He buries himself in his work, clams up around her, and rarely attempts any sort of physical intimacy.
It had been hurtful in the beginning, but after a week and a half of this, he’d broken down and spent hours telling her about his past. About Zanado, the war, his wife, the years he and Flayn had spent in hiding. How he’d been elevated as a saint, only to watch as his brothers, Macuil and Indech, succumbed to beast–like forms and isolated themselves from humanity.
She had understood his reticence, then, and respected it from then on.
The second sign that Seteth wants to confess something is that he gets antsy. When she enters the room, he stutters and scrambles to put together his paperwork, looking as guilty as a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar.
Byleth had learned very quickly that this indicated a secret he felt some measure of guilt about. Some sort of long–past transgression, perhaps... or even something he wanted to try in the bedroom.
After all, it made plenty of sense that a man as old as he, as repressed as he, would have his fair share of unfulfilled fantasies. Not to mention, he’d told her on their wedding night that he hadn’t laid with another since his first wife passed.
They’ve been making up for lost time ever since.
The third sign that Seteth wants to confess something — and the one that guarantees it has to do with something sexual — is that he starts locking his office door during the day. This indicates a man who does not desire to be disturbed should these thoughts outstay their welcome, requiring him to address the issue directly with lotion and fist.
Poor, poor repressed Seteth, Byleth thinks as the doorknob refuses to turn, smiling to herself.
She does not mind these secrets. In fact, she finds herself eagerly waiting for him to reveal them. After all, it is simply a matter of time — and they have an eternity to spare.
“There’s something on your mind, isn’t there?”
Seteth’s hands stutter and hesitate at the inquiry, having been in the middle of undressing so that they could retire for the evening. He quickly recovers, pulling off his white undershirt the rest of the way.
“A trifle,” he mutters, a telltale flush dusting his cheeks. “Think nothing of it, Your Grace.”
With no small amount of amusement, Byleth hops off the bed in her nightgown, walking up to him. She can more easily see the surprise in his eyes when she’s this close, as well as the flush that creeps right up to the pointed tips of his ears, jutting out of his tousled hair.
“Calling me ‘Your Grace’ in our private quarters?” Byleth teases, helping him unlace his trousers. “Now I can really tell you’re hiding something.”
From the way Seteth freezes and then sighs, she can tell that his defenses are quickly eroding. His faux irritation is merely part of the game.
“Please, do not trouble yourself with it,” Seteth murmurs, averting his gaze. “I’m afraid it is quite... improper.”
“Improper how?” Her expression remains stony as ever save for the slight curve of her lips, but her voice easily betrays the playful curiosity she’s feeling.
It requires a certain amount of reassurance for Seteth to let his guard down. Reassurance that she is interested, that she does not find his candor repulsive, that he is allowed to be honest with her — and himself — about these matters.
And she is more than happy to give that reassurance, letting her fingers stroke against the curve of his cheek, brushing away errant strands of green. She can tell that it soothes him — he leans into it, letting his eyes close for just a moment to indulge in the touch.
“I... I was thinking that, perhaps...” His voice grows a little deeper, huskier, as if he is on the precipice of admitting it, only to once again grow timid, his entire face now a charming shade of red. “No, no. As... as a married man, it would be obscene for me to desire such things.”
Byleth feels her eyebrows draw up in surprise, now rapt with interest. Something that would be improper for a married man in particular? Something that might violate their vows... if she had to hazard a guess, then that would mean...
“Do you... want to bring another into our bedroom?”
From the way Seteth jolts back from her as if struck, she can tell that she’s hit the nail on the head. He covers his mouth as if it would betray him were he to say anything, pointedly looking away from her.
Oh, Seteth.
“It’s okay,” Byleth quickly soothes, moving to close the distance between them again, laying a hand on his shoulder, this time. She can feel how tense the cords of muscle are underneath her fingers, and she massages them in the hope it will provide some relief. “It’s not improper. In fact, that’s a rather popular fantasy, Seteth.”
He hesitates, eyes darting back to her face, his answer muffled under his fingers. “It is?”
“If the Garreg Mach advice box is any indicator, then yes,” she chuckles. “Plenty of men fantasize about seeing their wife taken by another man.”
Seteth pales slightly, letting his hand drop, looking quite uncomfortable as he clears his throat.
“While I do appreciate your support, that is unfortunately... the opposite of what I had in mind.”
Byleth squints in confusion. The opposite? “You... wish to lay with another woman?”
“No.”
“You wish for me to lay with another woman?”
“No!” Seteth scoffs, then rushes to clarify. “Unless — unless that is something you would desire, then I would certainly not mind, but that is not... what I was thinking of.”
Her husband looks about as red as a Dagda tomato, and that’s when it hits her. Her eyes widen a little.
“You wish to be taken by another man.”
Seteth sighs in defeat, looking away once more. “It... is highly improper. I don’t know why my thoughts have been possessed with this filth. I must apologize for troubling you with such profane ideas...”
Byleth considers the idea for a moment, lets it roll around in her skull, uncertain if it appeals to her or not. And then the image comes to her — Seteth on his back with his legs forced apart, moaning desperately as he’s relentlessly fucked and filled, feeling equal parts shame and pleasure as his wife watches him be ravaged...
Suddenly, he’s not the only one who’s blushing. She has taken him before — many times in fact, with the assistance of a creative array of toys — but to watch it happen, while someone else does all of the work, is another story entirely.
“That can be arranged,” she says slowly, suppressing the urge to giggle. It does feel oddly obscene to involve another person in their bedroom activities, but she can already think of a few candidates.
Seteth’s gaze snaps back to her, eyes widening in shock. “You— don’t find it repulsive?”
“Why would I?”
“My wife,” Seteth sighs, placing his hands on her waist, and Byleth thinks she’ll never get tired of hearing him say that. “You are everything to me. Beautiful, kind, and wise. To admit that I am... unsatisfied by you, is...”
“For the last time,” Byleth’s voice is soothing, even as she scolds him. “It’s not that you’re unsatisfied. You just want to try something new. Right?”
“I suppose,” he mumbles hesitantly, like he’s about to argue it further.
She smiles at him. “If you’re okay with it, and I’m okay with it, then there’s nothing wrong with it. Right?”
Seteth draws his hands back to fidget with them in place of an answer, uncharacteristically shy. It is rather cute — and it makes Byleth want to tease him relentlessly.
“And even if I can pleasure you with toys as much as you wish, you still want to feel a man come inside of you, don’t you?”
“Byleth!” Seteth groans, covering his face with his hands, and it’s all she can do not to laugh joyfully at her sweet, embarrassed husband.
He leaves the preparation entirely up to her. The timing, the man in question — not Sylvain, he’d begged, which left her roaring with laughter — all of it is entirely up to her discretion, a shocking act of trust for a man who loves to plan everything down to the smallest detail.
When pressed, Seteth had admitted that the surprise is part of the appeal. He’d simply requested that it be someone they both trusted, and someone who would be discreet. That word of the encounter would never leave their bedchambers.
She settles on a candidate with ease. The timing is perfect — the celebration of the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus’s founding is next week, and an envoy from Fhirdiad has already arrived to participate in the festivities in the king’s place. A man she’d fought closely beside during the war, who had once helped her to wrench Dimitri from that dark place he’d buried himself in.
Far more important to her than their camaraderie is that Dedue is a kind, gentle, intelligent man. As soon as the thought comes to her, Byleth decides it can be no other — she trusts him to handle Seteth well.
It takes surprisingly little to convince Dedue to join them; a blunt conversation over tea behind closed doors one morning is all she needs. A no–strings–attached evening of fun with a close friend and her husband... well. It is a welcome break from the monotony of diplomatic meetings, to say the least.
More than that, she can sense his mild frustration with Dimitri’s obliviousness. He still believes Dedue’s feelings are nothing more than platonic, that the affection and bond shared between the two of them is perfectly normal for a lord and his beloved friend. Dedue only asks a favor of her in return — that she might travel to the capital after the new year, and prod His Highness into at least considering there is something between them.
Dedue is the most patient man she’s ever known, but even he can only carry a torch for so long before his arm gets tired. By the end of the day, Byleth is already happily planning her next visit to Fhirdiad.
Byleth has seen all manner of things that bring her joy in this lifetime. Monastery kittens, Dimitri addressing his people as king, the sun shining through fractured clouds after a storm.
Few can compare to the expression her husband makes when she walks into the bedroom with Dedue following behind her, or the way he immediately sits on the edge of the bed and crosses his legs to make his arousal less obvious.
“His Highness sends his regards.” Dedue greets him easily, and the tilt of his lips could perhaps be mistaken for a smirk.
“Seteth, my love,” Byleth speaks calmly, as if nothing particularly remarkable were happening. “Me and Dedue were just discussing how best to improve the relations between Faerghus and the Church.”
“I— I wasn’t aware that the relationship needed mending,” Seteth peeps, his voice nearly an octave higher than usual, barely maintaining his composure. “Are we not close enough for your liking?”
“No,” Dedue rumbles, and she can immediately see the effect it has on her husband — he positively shivers. “I think we can become closer still.”
Byleth crosses the room, sitting to his left, planting a chaste kiss to his cheek as she begins to undo his coat. Dedue mirrors the motion, sitting to Seteth’s right, drawing him into a slow, passionate kiss — and Seteth melts, completely surrendering himself to it.
The look on his face is absolutely heavenly. Perhaps they should have invited the court artist to join them.
It doesn’t take long until he’s moaning openly against Dedue’s lips, legs spread wide. He lets Byleth pry his gauntlets and coat off, pliantly moving his arms to aid in the process, leaving him in a crisp white dress shirt underneath.
While she gets to work on the buttons of that garment, Dedue’s hand drops between his legs; he squeezes him through the crotch of his breeches, causing Seteth to jolt upward with a startled noise, inadvertently breaking the kiss. Dedue immediately draws back, chuckling.
“You said that your husband was pent up, but I will admit, I was not expecting this.”
“P— pe— pent—” Seteth stammers, fixing Byleth with a look of betrayal. “I am not ‘pent up’!”
Byleth lifts a hand to tenderly stroke his beard, returning the look with an expression of faux pity. “Love... you’re a little pent up.”
His huff is swallowed by another kiss, this time from his wife — Dedue’s hands pick up where she’d left off, skillfully undoing his shirt the rest of the way before removing it entirely. His warm fingers trace over the planes and valleys of Seteth’s impressive muscles, soft pale skin only marred by the occasional scar here and there.
Seteth can’t help but whine when Dedue catches one of his nipples between his thumb and forefinger, pinching and rolling it until it stands erect. His hand slides over to the other, brushing through green chest hair as it does, repeating the motion.
“I,” Seteth manages, turning away from Byleth to look down at the broad hands groping him. “I am afraid this feels... hardly fair...”
“What’s not fair about it?” Byleth laughs, moving her now–unoccupied lips to the jut of his adam’s apple, kissing and mouthing it while she tugs at the laces of his trousers.
“To have two — ah—” His breath catches as Dedue helps to pull his pants down, the fabric slowly dragging over the erection pushing at the front of his underwear. “—two lovers focusing their attention on me, without reciprocating...”
“His Highness is busy all day. Signing forms, meeting dignitaries. He complains of soreness in his back.” Dedue’s voice is calm, but there is an undeniable huskiness to it, and he stands up to start disrobing in turn. “The professor tells me you are not so different. I have long wanted to touch him and relieve his burdens, without anything in return. He deserves it, with everything that he does for the people.”
Seteth flushes, tipping his head back as Byleth removes his circlet. “Well, I would hardly compare my duties to that of a king...”
“You’re so busy, Seteth. Even busier than me.” Byleth nuzzles against his neck, setting the headpiece aside with the rest of his clothes. “You should be pampered a little.”
Whatever objections he had die in his throat as Dedue stands naked in front of him, his heavy cock nearly fully erect, bobbing in the air. It’s flushed dark and thick, leaving Seteth gasping quietly at the thought of having it inside of him, his mouth hanging open a little.
“My love,” Seteth mumbles shyly, “perhaps you should get the oil for us.”
Byleth grins wolfishly, getting up to go rifle through the nightstand. Dedue sits beside him once more, helping him out of his smallclothes, and with his wife occupied, Seteth is suddenly hit with the reality of the situation — being stroked and kissed by another man, being hard for another man, wanting it desperately despite his perfectly happy marriage.
A mixture of equal parts giddiness and embarrassment floods him once more, especially as Dedue leans in to capture his lips, easing him back onto the bed. Within moments, he finds himself on his back against the pillows with Dedue on top of him, and for the briefest instant, their cocks brush against each other.
Oh, Goddess.
It’s electric. Seteth lifts his hips to seek out the sensation once again and whimpers when he receives it, overwhelmed by the feeling of skin on skin and the weight of Dedue’s body pinning him down.
“Are you comfortable?” Dedue rumbles softly, one of his hands massaging at his hip. This close, Seteth can see the color of his eyes, bright flecks around dark pupils; a color close to his own emerald, but nearer to aquamarine.
“Yes,” Seteth musters, after his partner stills for long enough for him to put his thoughts together. “Thank you for your concern.”
The bed dips slightly as Byleth takes a seat beside them once more, passing the small bottle of oil to Dedue’s waiting hands. Seteth holds his breath, watching him coat three thick fingers until they’re glistening — and then slowly releases it, shuddering, as one of the digits probes at his entrance.
“Oh—” Seteth trembles when it slips into him without warning, slow but steady, not stopping until the entire length is buried inside.
Dedue allows him to adjust for a few moments, but then that finger curls, seeking and pushing until the pressure lands on just the right spot. It leaves Seteth arching up off the bed, gripping at the sheets, biting his lip to muffle his moans.
From there, Dedue plays his body like a finely tuned instrument, slowly but firmly pumping a finger in and out, crooking it just enough to drag torturously over his sensitive prostate. It’s enough that when he adds a second finger, Seteth is leaking precum from the tip of his neglected cock.
By the time a third slips in, he’s openly panting, legs spread and bent at the knees, moving his hips to fuck himself downward on the intrusion. Desire has finally won out over embarrassment, and Byleth finds herself relishing in the sight — Seteth is always so tightly wound that when he finally lets go, he absolutely comes undone.
“He’s not going to last if you keep that up,” Byleth teases, and with a hum of agreement, Dedue lets his fingers slip out. All her husband can do is whine at the sudden emptiness, bringing his legs up to his chest, desperate to be fucked.
Dedue is nothing if not obliging when it comes to the desires of those around him, and so he reaches for the oil once more. But Byleth’s pale hand grabs it first, uncapping it with her thumb in a practiced motion, smirking up at him.
“May I?”
“You may,” Dedue replies calmly, and he doesn’t object at all when Byleth leans in to catch his lips with her own, tipping the bottle upside down to let its contents drizzle out onto his hard cock.
After recovering slightly, Seteth looks up in confusion, only to find both of his lovers engaged in a heated kiss. Not for the first time, he finds himself breathless and spellbound, unable to do anything other than watch in awe.
He observes, with interest, the way that Byleth’s fingers — delicate–seeming to the untrained eye, but secretly callused and nimble — move against Dedue’s engorged flesh, squeezing and stroking his cock to full, straining hardness as she spreads the oil around. He imagines how it would feel to have that hand stroking him, instead, making a slick mess of his needy, untouched member.
Seteth observes the drops of oil sliding down Dedue’s flushed erection, how they slide all the way to the curve of his balls, drawn up tightly in arousal. How in the candlelight, the oil looks like rivulets of glistening, sweet honey. He wonders how Dedue tastes. He wonders how it would feel to watch him fuck his wife.
He watches Dedue squeeze Byleth’s breasts, hears her moan, surprised yet eager. And he whines again, shifting his hips, his cock heavy and leaking.
“P—please. I can’t... take it much longer.”
Dedue looks surprised as he breaks the kiss, but he smiles, and the reassuring warmth in his expression reminds Seteth of his wife. He understands well, now, why she chose him for this.
“If you’re sure,” Dedue says cautiously, moving to straddle Seteth and line himself up at his entrance with admirable restraint, Byleth taking a seat on the bed beside them to watch. “Do you think you’re ready?”
“Yes,” Seteth gasps, near–soundlessly, lifting his hips desperately. He has scarcely been more ready for anything in his life.
His breath catches as the head presses there at his twitching hole and pushes, sliding in with almost embarrassing ease. The rest of it takes more work — Dedue slowly opens him up with small, gentle thrusts, watching his face the entire time for any sign of discomfort, until finally he presses flush to Seteth’s hips, fully hilted.
And Seteth is — strangely beautiful like this, pupils wide, eyes half–lidded, made wonderfully pliant and needy with his desperate lust. The flush on his pale skin spreads all the way to his well–muscled chest, and something about having such a powerful man at his mercy is intoxicating.
For just a moment, Dedue allows his mind to wander. What it might be like were that seafoam hair a brilliant blond, a deep blue eye and flushed pink lips begging him to move. If it were his king squirming under him like this, desperate for his touch, desperate for his cock.
He flushes deeply, closing his eyes. Such fantasies are hardly appropriate, especially when Seteth is right here, taking him so well.
And yet.
With his eyes closed, he can almost see it. He can imagine that the tight, velvety heat is Dimitri’s virgin body, surrendering fully to him. He can imagine that the whimpers and moans from the body underneath him are from his dear king, wanting only for him and no other.
Dedue bites his lip and forces himself to open his eyes, rocking his hips, working Seteth’s tense body open with short, careful thrusts.
“Oh, Goddess,” Seteth chokes out, nearly wailing when Dedue finally draws out all the way just to drive back into him again, feeling himself clench involuntarily around his length. He’s so much hotter and thicker than Byleth’s toys, and maybe it’s just his imagination, but Seteth swears he can feel it throbbing inside.
“Does it feel good, Seteth?” Byleth asks softly, her own eyes dark with desire, having slipped out of her shorts and underwear — her top still on, but her hand moving between her legs. “Do you like having another man inside you?”
“Yes,” Seteth gasps, feeling his cheeks flush darker, only to have a moan forced out of him when Dedue rocks forward again, starting to fuck him at a slow, steady pace. The room soon fills with the wet, profane sounds of their coupling, broken only by gasps and moans.
It’s not long before Dedue quickens his speed, grabbing his partner’s legs behind his knees, holding his legs open wide and using it for leverage to fuck into him harder. Seteth’s moans quickly melt into loud cries as the mattress shakes with the weight of each heavy thrust, and Byleth feels a twinge of relief that they are the only occupants of the Monastery’s third floor.
And then Dedue draws out so that he can roll Seteth over, laying on top of him and wrapping his arms around his torso to hold him tightly as he fucks him from behind. The new angle forces his cock even deeper, curves it just right to hit his prostate over and over with punishing thrusts — and Seteth just about screams Dedue’s name as he comes.
But Dedue doesn’t stop, relentlessly fucking him through his orgasm and long after, his gentle care abandoned in pursuit of his own pleasure. He would stop if Seteth objected, of course — but Seteth is incoherent, shaking and overstimulated, rutting helplessly against the bed with tears rolling down his face.
Byleth takes it upon herself to check on him, catching his chin with the hand that isn’t occupying the space between her thighs, tipping it up so that their eyes meet. Seteth gasps soundlessly as he’s forced to look at his wife, putting his utter debauchery on display, reminding him of exactly what position he’s in.
“You’re taking him so well, love,” Byleth soothes, breathless and flushed as she rocks down onto her own fingers. “Do you need to stop? Is it too much?”
“No—” Seteth grits out with a sudden clarity, as if he’s never wanted for anything more in his life. “Please. I need it. Don’t— don’t stop. I want— I—”
Dedue suddenly groans low in his throat as his thrusts go erratic, slamming into him hard and fast until he finally hilts himself and stiffens; releasing deep inside, trembling as his cock throbs, filling Seteth up with pulse after pulse of cum. Seteth is far too occupied to notice the soft whisper of “Dimitri” against his pale shoulder, but Byleth hears it — and sees the sudden gentleness of his movements, the way he strokes Seteth’s belly and kisses his skin.
Dedue fills him up so much that when he finally draws out, he leaves him leaking, his overfucked and sensitive hole clenching at the sudden emptiness. Seteth whines as Dedue lets go, rolling over onto his back, belly sticky with his own release but already halfway hard again.
“Do you want to come again?” Byleth asks gently, smoothing a hand through Seteth’s hair, damp with sweat.
“Yes,” Seteth nearly sobs. “Please.”
“Is— is he capable?” Dedue mumbles in disbelief, leaning back on the mattress, still coming down from his own pleasure. Is this what the Archbishop and her advisor get up to on a regular basis?
“We’ll find out,” Byleth chuckles, moving to sit on his belly with her legs on either side of him, gripping his flushed, oversensitive length and stroking it to fuller hardness.
After a moment of this, she lifts herself up — and then sits back down on Seteth’s cock, not stopping until he’s fully buried inside of her slick heat. She clenches her walls, chuckling at the tortured moan it works out of him, and then slowly starts to ride him, lazily fucking herself with his cock.
“Byleth,” he whimpers, and it sounds more like begging than anything else.
Soon enough, Byleth quickens her pace, leaning forward to put her hands on his chest to brace herself, moaning as she angles herself into a better position. Seteth squirms, unable to do much but rock his hips, letting out needy little noises.
“I don’t know— mm— if this is enough for him,” Byleth says huskily. “Would you mind helping out, Dedue?”
It takes a moment for him to register what she’s implying, but Dedue murmurs in agreement, sliding his hand between Seteth’s thighs. He finds himself surprised at how tight the man still is, but two fingers enter him easily enough, crooking towards his belly and searching for his most sensitive area.
When they finally reach their destination, he bears down hard, massaging firmly into Seteth’s prostate. The stimulation rips a broken moan out of his throat and he nearly thrashes, only to be held down by Byleth’s hands, holding him in place as she uses him for her own pleasure.
Seteth cries out at being caught immovably between two sources of overwhelming stimulation — his tender prostate being milked by Dedue’s thick fingers, and his wife’s wet pussy squeezing him tight, beckoning his second orgasm out of him. Together, they coax the building heat in his core to a head — and with one more loud, desperate cry, he finally crests the height of it, abdominal muscles forcibly clenching and releasing as he releases inside her.
Byleth isn’t far behind, and she moans as Dedue moves to grope and squeeze her soft, full breasts with his unoccupied hand, before dipping it between her legs to play with the neglected pearl there. A few strokes is all it takes for her to reach her own climax, moaning openly as she clenches on Seteth’s pulsing cock, bearing down to greedily chase the sensation of it rubbing against her insides while Dedue presses against her from the outside.
And oh, he grinds his fingers down against her so hard that Byleth sees stars, her pussy clenching needily on the thick length inside her, milking it for all it’s worth. Seteth lets out a tortured sound, long past spent; she finally allows him reprieve, drawing herself up off of him, the mixture of their fluids trickling down his softening member and her thighs.
The next few moments are cloudy, tired, spent wiping off oil and cum and sweat. But after it’s done, they rearrange themselves on the bed into a position that pleases them — Dedue on his side, Seteth turned toward him and nuzzling against the expanse of his chest, Byleth nestled up against her husband’s back with her fingers leaving gentle touches all over his belly and hips.
“Thank you,” she says sincerely, because she knows Seteth isn’t quite in the mindset to say it himself. He looks utterly exhausted and blissed out, a state of serenity that is near impossible for him to reach outside of the bedroom.
“I should be saying that,” Dedue chuckles, and she is treated to one of his rare genuine smiles, eyes thinned and dimples showing. He, too, looks tired, but also remarkably handsome. “This was... enjoyable. I would not mind doing it again.”
Byleth can’t help but smile back.
The founding celebration festivities occur and are enjoyed by all of the monastery’s residents without incident. Dedue gives a moving speech about the founding of the new, united Kingdom of Faerghus, the defeat of the Empire, and the clearing of Duscur’s soiled name.
There are still those who mistrust Duscur natives — he knows this well. But with the archbishop standing proudly beside him, treating him as her beloved guest, those individuals would never dare speak out.
After Byleth sees Dedue and the rest of the Faerghus troops off, she heads to her husband’s office. No longer locked, though Seteth still jumps in surprise when he sees her, flushing deeply.
“Your Grace,” he stammers, putting down his quill.
“That’s Byleth to you,” she teases gently, sitting on the edge of his desk to swing her legs, a habit she’d picked up during the war days where she spent a fair amount of her time in his counsel. “Feeling better?”
Seteth tips his head down, bashful, but she can still see his wide, uncontrollable smile. He’s practically glowing with happiness — he always is, the morning after — and it’s something she never tires of seeing.
“I... I must thank you,” he says, voice coming out softer and more affectionate than he’d intended. “For indulging me. That was an evening I will not soon forget.”
“I don’t think any of us will,” Byleth laughs.
They fall into a comfortable silence, Seteth smiling sheepishly down at his papers and Byleth watching him fondly. After a moment, she hops down to round the desk, sitting instead on her husband’s lap.
“Byleth—” Seteth objects, looking around in a panic. “M–my door is open.”
“Relax,” she smiles, cradling his face in her palm, tenderly stroking his beard with her thumb. “I only want to kiss you.”
He still pouts at the impropriety, but she finds his pouts irresistibly cute, a fact he well knows. Byleth gazes at him with an expression of adoration, and gradually, the atmosphere between them melts into something tender.
“Thank you, my wife,” Seteth repeats quietly, gentle and honest, meeting her eyes. His smile grows shy, yet remains earnest. “I love you more than anything.”
“Seteth,” Byleth answers softly, leaning in until their foreheads touch, smiling in return. “You know I’d do anything for you. I love you, too.”
There, illuminated by the soft light of the stained glass window, they share a kiss.
For the next week, Seteth occupies an emotional state somewhere between carefree and nearly manic, a development that greatly alarms the students and greatly amuses the archbishop. Detentions are only handed out for the most severe of offenses, and those in Seteth’s class find themselves getting higher grades than usual.
Worst of all, he allows the students two free weeks of vacation from their studies to prepare for the Goddess Ball, a reprieve so utterly out of character that it unnerves everyone.
It is enough that it comes up at their next staff meeting.
“What in the Goddess’s name did you do to him?” Manuela can’t help but ask, right after Seteth proclaims that they really should bring snacks to these meetings and giddily flees the room to get some from the kitchen. Even Alois looks dumbfounded.
“I simply helped him blow off a little steam,” Byleth replies, smiling serenely, trying not to laugh.
Months later, once the snow starts to melt and the flowers start to grow, the archbishop makes her biannual trek to Fhirdiad; there, she enjoys the company of its king, and they discuss matters that span nearly every possible topic.
Several months after that, a gorgeous bouquet arrives at Garreg Mach Monastery, courtesy of the king himself. Yellow roses for friendship, bellflowers for gratitude — and a ring of Duscur blossoms around it all.
And when it is time to celebrate the founding of the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus once more, Dedue travels again to Garreg Mach. For the second time in a row, he meets the archbishop and her advisor in their chambers.
This time, he brings the king with him.