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It’s become something of a habit. Alone, she walks the halls of her palace at night. Hands clasped behind her back, no crown upon her head. Her walk is steady and sure, her head held high. The sound of her steps echo in the emptiness, her sole accompaniment this late at night. The few guards she passes give her a respectful nod, their only greeting, the sole formality agreed upon – during the third time she’d taken this walk. Edelgard doesn’t fear the dark corners anymore, or who might be lurking down some foreboding corridor. She’s seen to that.
Moonlight streams through each window, creates a lit staircase which guides her path. Very few candles are required at this time, after all. So it is odd to see that warm color flickering through a half closed door. She smiles, knowing exactly who that door, that office, belongs to. She slows her pace, holds her breath, and is barely able to hear the furious scribbling of a quill against parchment. Edelgard is careful as she opens the door completely, steps inside. Hubert’s head is bowed, his nose practically touching the parchment as he writes.
“I don’t recall anything being so important that it requires losing sleep over,” she says slyly as she leans over the desk. There’s a deep satisfaction, a curling smile, as the quill scrapes a startled downwards line. Hubert looks up, stone faced, and with as much delicacy as a rampaging bull, turns over the page so she can’t see exactly what he’s writing.
“Good evening Lady Edelgard,” he says smoothly.
“What are you hiding from me this time?” She asks, shifting from one foot to the other, moving to sit on the edge of the desk. She keeps her hands folded against her leg, raises her eyebrows at him.
“Nothing of importance.” Typically, there is no tell. Hubert gives nothing of himself away. His expression does not change, his mannerisms unmoving. She has seen him lie through his teeth, time and time again, and not once had anyone ever suspected the lie. This tell is specific. It only ever appears in regards to one person, and one person alone. The shell of Hubert’s ears burn a magnificent red, and she knows, even without seeing it, that the nape of his neck is in the same state.
“And how is Ferdinand?” Edelgard asks. Hubert stares up at her, his lips in a straight line, his jaw clenched. She doesn’t flinch as the silence stretches out, waits for him to give in, instead.
“He is fine,” he says.
“Good to hear it, I knew he would be the perfect one to settle things,” she says. She tilts her head, something near his arm catching her eye. She reaches out, and he’s a second too late to stop her. She holds the seal in her hands, examines it carefully, and turns it over.
“I don’t recognize this seal,” she says.
“It is an,” Hubert, quill still between his fingers, covers his face with his hand and sighs, “an amalgamation of our familial symbols.” Edelgard smiles as she sets it back on his desk.
“I won’t keep you,” she says, “please don’t stay up too late.” She stands, removing herself from her perch.
“Respectfully, you as well.”
“I’m headed back to bed right now,” she says, closing the door behind her. Hubert listens for her footsteps to fade away before he turns the letter back over. He supposes he’ll have to start the letter over, lest he explain to Ferdie why exactly there’s a line of ink down the page. He sets the quill down, reaches for the folded letter nearby. He must have read it a hundred times by now. Still, the sight of familiar script makes his heart beat that much faster. More so, reading Ferdie’s greeting.
My bright heart.
Hubert sighs as he leans back in his chair, the letter resting against his lips. He closes his eyes, takes a deep inhale. Ferdinand’s envelopes are always filled with tea leaves, giving a false echo of his own smell to the parchment. With his eyes closed, he can almost imagine the ghost of him near. It isn’t quite the same, and there’s a small ache in him, some strange desire to hold. He opens his eyes, yet keeps the letter near. A small satchel of coffee grounds sits in a drawer, to be put inside the envelope Hubert sends back.
Edelgard pulls back the cover of the bed carefully, softly as she slips inside. Alas – Byleth rolls over, her eyes still closed, and fumbles her arms around Edelgard. “Welcome back Edie,” she murmurs, voice still hoarse and heavy with sleep, half dragging her down with her embrace. Edelgard smiles as she parts Byleth’s bangs, then leans forward to press a kiss there. She adjusts herself as much as she can, trapped as she is, hair flowing long over the pillow as she curls against Byleth.
“Sweet dreams, wife,” Edelgard says quietly, reaching out to gently touch Byleth, her thumb wearing an affectionate circle against her cheek.