Chapter Text
As usual, Byleth’s face was an unreadable mask as she marched up to the throne, surrounded by Kingdom knights. To her credit, she didn’t chafe at the many weapons trained on her, and she didn’t cower before Dimitri’s heavy glare.
But then, she’d always been one to face an enemy head-on.
Her hair was a different color now— and oh, how deliciously that must torment Edelgard, a constant reminder that the goddess she scorned had saved her most precious teacher— but Byleth was every bit as beautiful as the night Dimitri had invited her to the goddess tower, his boyish crush making foolish words tumble from his mouth.
Perhaps Sothis did exist after all, and she had taken issue with the cowardly way he’d pretended his wish was only a jest. The professor and he would in fact be together forever now, but not at all how he’d envisioned as the Blue Sea Star sparkled in her eyes that night... his wish fulfilled in the cruelest manner possible.
He banished the thought from his head. She may still have the same enchanting face, but she was also just as deadly as the day she betrayed them all. Betrayed him, and the suffering dead.
[Harden your heart, fool boy.]
His father was right. Dimitri couldn’t let sentiment cloud his judgment. Byleth’s peculiar behavior at Tailtean— her hands so gentle as she healed his wounds, her solicitous fussing over Dedue’s well-being— seemed to corroborate her desire for peace. But he wasn’t foolish enough to treat appearances as fact.
Edelgard had taught him that lesson, and more recently, the news of his stepmother’s betrayal. The mercy Byleth had shown at Tailtean and the arrangement they’d settled on could still be a scheme to place a spy in his home.
No, not just in his home. In his bed.
His traitorous eyes traced the curves of her body. The flare of her hips, the peek of her midriff, the generous swell of her breasts... How could someone so strong be so soft in all the right places?
He forcibly averted his gaze. Sure, she was beautiful. So was that witch Cornelia, in a more vulgar sort of way. A pathetic schoolboy’s infatuation would not distract him from what Byleth truly was: his enemy.
He would simply close his heart to her. It was second nature by this point. He’d been doing it his whole life to stay focused on his true purpose, which was now so tantalizingly within his reach.
If Byleth was loyal, keeping her at arm’s length benefited her, too. If he allowed himself to crave her, she would soon find herself devoured by his depraved greed. It was better for both of them not to let his foolish feelings complicate their arrangement.
Beside Byleth, hatred was carved into every line of Edelgard’s face. Each step must have been agony given the wounds she received in the battle, but she refused both a cane and Byleth’s arm. She would not show weakness, not to him.
The Emperor did not approve of this compromise, he knew. That was in large part why he had agreed to it. If he could not have her head, he would see her suffer for throwing her lot in with those beasts.
Byleth was not just Edelgard’s former teacher; she was now confidante, tactician, and friend. And Edelgard had placed her right into the gaping maw of the monstrous Tempest King, for the sake of destroying the church she hated. Not even her most precious friend was safe from being sacrificed at the altar of her ideals.
Did Byleth resent her student for throwing her aside so easily, he wondered? Did she see Dimitri as her captor or her savior?
There was no time, and no point, to ponder such things. The two women reached the foot of the dais, and Byleth stood before him with the straight-backed precision of a soldier. If he disgusted or intrigued her— if she felt anything at all— her expression kept it carefully hidden.
“Well,” he said, sneering down at her from his throne. “If it isn’t my beloved betrothed.”
“Enough of this insipid prattle,” drawled Hubert, every syllable clipped with irritation after the long day of negotiations. “Lady Edelgard has graciously consented to waive the witness clause, provided one of our physicians is permitted to perform an examination the next morning to confirm consummation has taken place.” Hubert spoke as if they were talking about inventorying sacks of grain, not inspecting the most private parts of a person’s body. Byleth's body, to be specific. “If the church's insidious influence hadn't fostered such a prudish mindset in the Kingdom, Your Majesty would recognize this offer as more than generous.”
“Prudish!”
Byleth hadn’t really been paying attention until the table shuddered with a thunderous crack. Splinters flew from a crater where Dimitri’s fist had slammed.
Oh, right. Dimitri was incredibly strong. She’d faced him on the training grounds and the battlefield before, and he had difficulty controlling it. Unlike her, his emotions always roiled hot and volatile just beneath his skin. Judging by their last encounter, and his new moniker, he’d only grown more tempestuous in the past five years. Soon, she would discover how that monstrous strength and limitless passion translated in a more intimate setting.
“Generous, you say,” Dimitri mocked. “This is barbaric.”
“Your opinion of me matters not. I will accept nothing less than physical proof of the marriage’s legitimacy,” Edelgard cut in. By design, she let Hubert do most of the talking, so that on the rare occasions the emperor deigned to speak, her contributions held greater weight. “If I cannot guarantee Byleth’s safety, I would be happy to resume my army’s assault on Faerghus.”
Dimitri didn’t lunge over the table at her, so they’d at least made a lot of progress from when negotiations to end the war began. Byleth had worried they would never find a solution that both leaders would agree to.
But the talks had reached a turning point when Byleth was offered up as a hostage to discourage imperial aggression. It had worked with Petra, and apparently the Kingdom had done something similar with Sreng. At first, Edelgard had balked, convinced that Byleth would be killed the moment the Empire's army left Faerghus.
Edelgard managed to hold two conflicting Dimitris in her mind simultaneously. One, a church artifact, a naive fool too proper and chivalrous to reforge the corrupt world. The other, a poisonous snake in the grass, waiting to sink his fangs into them at the first opportunity. She had good reason for her trust issues, of course. Goddess knew they all did.
But Dimitri wasn't so guarded; he wore his emotions openly. At Tailtean, even as he aimed Areadbhar at her heart, he confessed to Byleth his regret about not having more time with her. If there was one thing she had faith in, it was Dimitri’s honesty.
Try as he might to appear coldhearted, she didn't believe he had completely lost the innate kindness she’d admired back at the academy. Somewhere inside him survived the sweet young man who taught orphans swordplay in his limited free time. He was still guided by the noble ideals he’d expressed when he had invited her to the goddess tower. He had once even envisioned a future with her… a thought that sparked an unusual, possibly mad, idea.
A stunned silence fell over the meeting room when Byleth proposed marriage as a solution. It didn’t take long before the council warmed to the suggestion, though. The Faerghans, because they were desperate to end the crippling war and almost as desperate to see their reckless bachelor king married. And the Adrestians, because it gave them a way to save face while ending a war that was rapidly proving to be unpopular and unwinnable. It also offered the Empire an avenue to exert influence within the Kingdom. And for Edelgard herself, it kept Byleth out of the dungeons, assuaging her guilt at handing over her beloved professor.
But even with everyone on board, there were details to consider. And these political blowhards seemed to relish arguing over each and every one.
Right down to Byleth’s cunt.
“Professor,” Dimitri said. Oh, for the goddess’s sake. They'd be married this time tomorrow, and he still wouldn't use her name. “This humiliating inspection is supposedly for your protection, so I would hear your thoughts.”
A table full of noble heads swung towards her in an instant, and she resisted the urge to shrink into her chair.
If it meant getting these two to finally sign the treaty, she would have agreed to anything. Who was she to complain about a mere invasion of her privacy when so many lost their homes and lives to the Empire’s invasion of the Kingdom? Despite her best efforts, she had failed to stop so much suffering.
Fields of grain burned and trampled while villages starved. Orphanages so full they had to turn children away. Unsuspecting soldiers transformed into hideous beasts and let loose to rampage. Annette’s screams as Aymr sliced through her father's neck. Rhea’s crazed eyes as she demanded Byleth give her back her mother.
Dedue…
“All I want is to end the war,” Byleth answered. “If this inspection is necessary to do that, then I don’t mind.”
Her easy acquiescence twisted Dimitri’s handsome face into a snarl of pure revulsion. It wasn’t a look she was unfamiliar with, by any means, but it was usually aimed her way due to her casual attitude toward killing. This was the first time anyone looked disgusted at the prospect of fucking her.
He had certainly seemed amenable to the idea when he was a student, with his little “joke” in the goddess tower. But it made sense that his feelings toward her had changed. She wasn’t his teacher anymore, but his enemy, capitulating once again to Edelgard’s will. Of course he hated her.
Something unpleasant churned in her gut, threatening to bring a frown to her face, but she shoved it down. This was necessary for Edelgard to agree, so it was necessary to endure. And if Dimitri never stopped hating her, well… she’d just have to endure that, too.
Besides, this offer was a hell of a lot better than Hubert’s original idea, where a witness stayed in the bedroom to monitor them, exploiting some archaic Empire practice. Given the demand for heirs in previous generations, there was a shocking amount of legislation on the books regarding consummation in noble marriages. Apparently, reluctant emperors and their consorts were sometimes even dosed with powerful aphrodisiacs on their wedding night. Byleth would take a medical exam over that any day.
Finally, Dimitri’s sharp look dissolved into weariness, and he threw up his hands. “Fine. If you want to subject your body to this vulgarity, far be it from me to object.”
The pressure in her chest lightened a bit. They were one more hard-won step closer to peace. She would never have to kill any of her students again, or see another innocent person transformed into a demonic beast.
“Now about the execution...” Dimitri said, fury burning in his eyes anew.
This part of the negotiation went more easily, and Edelgard had no more cause to interject. No one cared how brutally or how publicly Dimitri killed Lord Arundel. It would still be better than that vermin deserved.
As it was, the only sticking point was whether the execution should occur before or after the wedding. They finally agreed that Thales’ would have to wait until after, to make sure Dimitri kept his end of the bargain. But the other captive members of Those Who Slither in the Dark could be executed as soon as the king desired.
“Perhaps a few beheadings will get your blood running hot for your duties on the wedding night,” Hubert hissed, never one to concede a compromise with grace.
Dimitri’s departure was a storm in itself, the Tempest King exiting with a ferocity that lived up to his name.
Dorothea had applied Byleth’s makeup, and Petra had woven her hair into intricate braids, but her friends had retired to their pews in the cathedral for the ceremony. Too many Adrestian sympathizers congregated in one place made the Kingdom's nobles understandably nervous.
Instead, Mercedes tittered as she adjusted Byleth’s veil. “We always said Dimitri would ask you to be his queen. Didn’t we, Annie?”
“Yeah! He was always following you around!”
Most of the Blue Lions had given their old professor a cooler reception— though much more civil than she imagined, probably due to an edict from Dimitri— but Mercedes had embraced her wholeheartedly. Had Byleth not intervened and ended the battle early, Mercedes and her brother might have been forced to kill each other.
Annette, too, had been trapped between loyalty to her father, a royal knight, and her uncle, an Empire-backed western Lord who sheltered her mother. She didn't know that had things gone slightly differently, Edelgard would have killed her father without hesitation. Hopefully, she never would.
No matter which army emerged victorious, the two women would have faced dreadful consequences, so Byleth’s intervention had earned her their gratitude. Their friendship was a welcome surprise, but it would have been worth it even if they hated her for working with the Empire. Seeing them alive and happy was its own reward.
But of course, they were only two of countless families ripped apart by the war, many of whom were not as lucky as Mercedes and Annette. If Byleth had grown a backbone earlier, a lot more people could have been saved.
“A shame Lady Rhea couldn’t be here to see,” sighed Mercedes. “She’d be so happy that you’re getting married before the goddess.”
Byleth nodded, remaining quiet. Rhea would never have forgiven her; that much had been clear at Tailtean. But that was Byleth’s fault. It shouldn’t tarnish Mercedes’ memories of the archbishop she admired.
“Mercie!” Annette scolded lightly. “Don’t talk about such unpleasant things! The professor doesn’t want to think about that on her wedding day!”
“Oh, dear. You’re right. Don’t worry, Professor. No one blames you,” Mercedes rushed to reassure her. “We’re all just so happy the war is over!”
“Ahem.”
The two women fussing over Byleth went as still and silent as prey animals backed into a corner.
“My teacher,” Edelgard said, voice as frosty as the Faerghan spring mornings Byleth hadn’t grown accustomed to yet. “It’s time.”
Annette squeaked a good luck before looping her arm through Mercedes’ and dragging her away.
Edelgard sighed, the image of the haughty emperor deflating now that it was just her and Byleth. “Say the word, and we’ll end this. Even if we have to go back to war—”
“No,” Byleth snapped, and hurt flashed across Edelgard’s face. She tried to soften her voice as she added, “Thanks, El. But my mind is made up.”
Edelgard hesitated, and Byleth thought she might protest further, but she held out her arm instead. “Then let us proceed.”
The Fhirdiad cathedral towered far above their heads, larger even than the one in Garreg Mach despite its more modest decoration. The aisle stretched before her for what seemed like miles, a gauntlet with enemies poised to strike from all sides. As she entered, nobles of all three nations gawked at her as if she were one of the freakish attractions of a traveling circus.
The Ashen Demon, they whispered. The Emperor’s pet. She has more blood on her hands than the Tempest King himself.
Though Dimitri was still too far away to make out his expression, his stiff posture spoke volumes. Had his friends pleaded with him to reconsider the wedding right up until the last second, too?
As they walked, Byleth consciously kept her chin up and her gaze focused straight ahead. Edelgard leaned heavily on her arm. The true extent of the emperor’s wounds had to be concealed from the nobles of Leicester and the Kingdom. If they knew just how weak she was in her current condition, no treaty could keep the vultures from descending.
Soon enough, the altar came into focus. Count Varley stood center, positively preening over his elevation in status. Seeing him, of all people, benefit from her actions made Byleth feel sick. Frankly, she didn’t understand why he wasn’t rotting in a cell alongside Duke Aegir.
She swallowed hard against the bile that rose in her throat. This was the easiest way to soothe the bruised egos of the Empire, which had been salivating to rule over all Fodlan again. Edelgard had assured her it would be a temporary post. Every concession had a purpose: for peace, for her students.
And if the man happened to fall victim to a tragic accident on his next diplomatic visit... well. It couldn’t be helped. The winters (and the monarchs) of Faerghus were notoriously unforgiving.
Beside Varley, her groom wore an expression she couldn’t parse. Whether it was his self-identified difficulty with facial expressions or her own ineptitude with emotions, she didn’t know.
She tilted her head in question, only to discover his gaze was fixed on Edelgard. Disappointment struck her instantly. Byleth hadn’t grown up dreaming of an elaborate Garland Moon wedding— or any wedding, really. But the knowledge that someone else occupied her betrothed’s thoughts as she walked down the aisle stung.
She scolded herself. What did she expect? He was being forced to marry an enemy, an invader. Despite all she’d done to temper the Empire’s more violent strategies, she hadn’t left Edelgard’s side. And to him, the brief time they spent at the academy was ancient history, his admiration replaced over the years by loathing.
At Dimitri’s right hand, Dedue watched her, impassive. As she walked, his face distorted into a grotesque mask, his armor shredding off like paper as thick, clawed limbs burst forth from his body. Dimitri’s grief-stricken wails echoed in her mind, his agony a blade sharp enough to pierce her unbeating rock of a heart. Her steps faltered as the ground beneath her suddenly felt unsteady, a putrid bog of mud and blood.
Something pulled at her arm, and the cathedral re-materialized around her. She blinked, then looked back at Dedue. He was fine— human and whole. That past didn’t exist anymore, pulsed away with the only useful power Byleth possessed.
“My teacher?” Edelgard whispered, brow knitted in concern.
Byleth forced a smile, then realized Edelgard couldn’t see it under the veil. She squeezed Edelgard’s arm, a silent assurance that she was all right.
Dimitri’s eyes were on Byleth now, at least. There was a question in his gaze as he took her hand from Edelgard.
“Sorry,” Byleth whispered. “I’m fine. Just haven’t eaten anything all day.”
He kept stealing glances at her throughout the entire ceremony. Perhaps he suspected her excuse or anticipated an attack. The coldness in his eyes left no doubt that whatever was on his mind, it certainly wasn’t concern for her well-being.
It took three maids to help her piss in the giant ball gown Byleth was stuffed into, while her groom and every surviving noble in Fòdlan waited. When she finally met Dimitri on the cathedral steps, his face was beet red, peeking through the fingers that covered his eyes.
Sylvain was speaking to him animatedly, words punctuated with odd hand gestures. It might be rude to interrupt, but the guests were probably getting hungry waiting on them.
“Dimitri?”
He jerked his head towards her, eyes wide and panicked, and then roughly shoved his friend away. Sylvain hit the wall with a solid thump that definitely sounded painful. Had they been discussing her behind her back?
“Professor!” Sylvain chirped cheerfully, as if he hadn’t just peeled himself out of a Gautier-shaped indent in the stone. “We were talking about—”
“About what was taking you so long,” Dimitri finished for Sylvain, an irritated clip to his tone.
“Bathroom.” She gestured to her dress to illustrate the problem.
His eyes slid over her, more thoroughly than seemed necessary to confirm nothing was amiss. It was going to be a difficult marriage if he regarded everything she said with such suspicion.
“Sylvain, let the driver know we’re ready,” he said. When Sylvain left, he turned to Byleth. “Well, let’s get on with it.” He held out his arm to her, a perfect gentleman, though his rigid posture suggested it was only for appearances. “Quite a crowd has gathered outside. You’ll have to grow accustomed to it, I’m afraid.”
With long, hurried strides that she couldn’t hope to match in her present attire, he pulled her along as they exited the church. And… wow. He hadn’t been kidding about the crowd. The street vibrated with roaring cheers, as gifts and flowers thrown from all directions rained down on them. A few enterprising citizens even carried baskets of food to sell, shouting over the din to advertise their offerings.
But when the people spotted the golden glint of their king, their clamoring shouts overwhelmed all other sounds. He’d once told her over that he struggled with facial expressions. One would never know it to see him now, though. His smile radiated joy and warmth, his subjects unconsciously tilting towards him like flowers to the gracious sun.
To the Adrestians, the Tempest King was was the very embodiment of terror, bloodthirsty and merciless in his hatred for the Empire. They spoke of him as if he were more monster than man. But to these people, he was the lionized king that had held off a much more powerful empire. Faerghus saw him as a benevolent figure, beloved by the people.
The royal guard carved out a narrow passage to the carriage for the couple to walk through, but Dimitri ignored it and strode towards the crowd.
“You there.” He winced when a young boy selling pastries squeaked and went pale, clearly terrified. He softened his voice as he added, “Let me see what you have. The queen has had nothing to eat today.”
The boy blinked, then came back to life, bursting with energy all at once.
“O’ course, Your Majesty! Anything for the king! A-and the queen! No charge!”
“That won’t be necessary,” Dimitri said, pressing a few gold pieces into the boy’s hand.
Byleth wondered if he knew that was probably a year’s wages for a little baker’s assistant. He had likely just changed that kid’s future with one simple act. But the boy's shock went unnoticed as Dimitri sifted through the selection of pastries until he found his target: a large sweet bun dusted with powdered sugar.
The arm holding the pastry curled delicately around her, while his free hand waved to the crowd. Anyone his gaze fell on beamed as widely as the boy with his gold.
They reached the carriage and ducked inside— well, Byleth ducked. Dimitri had to practically fold himself in half to fit inside the small door.
After she flopped unceremoniously onto the bench, he pressed the sweet bun into her hands. She stared at it for a moment, touched by the kind gesture.
“Thanks,” she said. “These were one of my favorites at Garreg Mach.”
He shifted away from her, waving a hand to dismiss her gratitude.
“Can’t have you swooning out there,” he said. “I didn’t go through all this trouble to get stabbed by Edelgard because you are incapable of taking care of yourself.”
She fought back a smile at his deliberately gruff tone. Dimitri might act like he was just protecting his interests in the treaty, but she’d seen him sift through all the choices to select this particular treat for her. Hope bloomed in her chest with the glimpse of the thoughtful student she'd known. It made her more optimistic that they could build a mutual trust despite the unorthodox start to their relationship.
Well, her hunger may have been a lie, but she would never turn down good food. She ripped into the pastry with her usual gusto and was licking her fingers moments later.
He cleared his throat. “You have, um...” He mimed dusting his tunic.
She looked down at her own chest, where her tits were covered in a fine layer of sugar and pastry. “Ah. My crumb catchers.”
He choked. “Your... what?”
“They catch crumbs all the time. I’m surprised you don't have a similar issue,” she said. “Your chest is pretty big.”
She’d always assumed it was his armor making him seem broader than he was. For the ceremony today, he’d worn his usual greaves and gauntlets, but had foregone the breastplate. Even without it, there were a lot of women who would envy his endowments.
“That’s not— I’m a man!” he protested. “It’s nothing like...” He searched his vocabulary for a suitably chaste euphemism and came up empty. “Like yours.”
He hunched over and pulled his cloak tighter about himself. They hadn't even made it to the banquet, and she'd already made a mess of things. The familiarity she’d developed with her Black Eagles had caused her to forget that the people she addressed were, in fact, important nobles.
Her students might have tolerated their professor’s eccentricities, but they were too refined to get crumbs all over themselves. And they certainly didn’t sit around comparing chest sizes.
“I meant it as a compliment,” she said, trying to repair the damage of her poor etiquette. “You’re attractive, Dimitri.”
He groaned and brought his hands up to his face, which was now a shade of red that rivaled Edelgard’s cloak. “Just... clean yourself up, please.”
She bent at the waist slightly, her tits nearly tumbling out of the low neckline of her gown as she brushed the crumbs to the floor. When she’d finished, he was still covering his eyes. She took an extra moment to mostly wrestle her clothes back into a presentable arrangement, though she still looked a bit like an overstuffed meat pie. Wrangling her chest was hard enough with a proper breast band and her armor to hold them in place. With this fancy dress and the flimsy excuse for underthings they’d put her in, she was fighting a losing battle against the laws of physics.
“I’m decent,” she said.
The carriage hit a bump, and he opened his eyes just in time to see Byleth— quite indecently— hurtling into his lap. Her nose ended up crushed against his stomach, his hands braced on her shoulders to prevent her from slumping face-first into his crotch. If anyone peeked in the window, they’d think the wedding night had kicked off early.
She tried to untangle herself, but between the dress and the tilted angle of the carriage, she only succeeded in flopping around like a fish that had escaped the bucket.
“Be still,” he said, voice strained with something— was he still angry about the chest thing? “Let me.”
He righted her, hands hovering on either side of her until she found her balance on the tilted bench. The tumble had undone all her hard work getting her bust contained, and from what she could feel, her hair was a wild mess.
Dimitri snuck a glance at her from the corner of his eye and quickly announced, “I’m going to go see what the problem is.”
At the risk of losing her balance again, she lunged for him, catching his arm. “Are you an idiot?”
His expression was more shocked than outraged. “Excuse me?”
“Putting something in the road to stop a fancy carriage is the oldest bandit trick in the book!” she scolded. If he’d been in her class, he would have learned this on day one. “You stay right where you are until someone outside has cleared the area.”
“Ahem.” Dedue peered in through the window. Dimitri shoved her away with the flustered awkwardness of a teenager caught in a compromising position. “The carriage is stuck in a rut. There is no immediate danger, Your Majesty.”
Dimitri’s title hit her like a splash of cold water to her face. This was not some student falling asleep in a seminar. She was yelling at a king— scolding him like a child, even, and grabbing him without permission. Hubert would have incinerated her for showing such disrespect to Edelgard.
She braced for Dedue’s chastisement, but his stern gaze fell upon Dimitri instead.
“Were you trying to get out of the carriage?” he asked the king. Dimitri remained pointedly quiet, so Dedue looked to Byleth, who nodded. He adopted a weary tone. “How many times have we been over this? You cannot be so brazen with your own safety, Your Majesty.”
Byleth had seen Dimitri’s tendency to overwork himself and skip meals at the academy, not to mention his recklessness in battle. She would have thought that he’d outgrown such destructive habits by now, especially being king. His life was the only thing protecting his people from another bloody civil war.
“Are you still neglecting yourself?” she asked, her earlier trepidation about nagging him forgotten.
“How did you even know—” Dimitri started to say, as Dedue simultaneously said, “Yes, he is.”
Dimitri pinched the bridge of his nose. “Dear goddess, now there’s two of you... What of the carriage, Dedue?”
Dedue narrowed his eyes in a clear we’ll-discuss-this-later manner, but let the matter drop.
“Unfortunately, we were unable to dislodge the wheels. I hate to ask on today of all days, Your Majesty, but...”
“Nonsense. Happy to do it.”
“Happy to do—” Byleth started, but Dimitri had sprung out of his seat and launched himself out of the carriage with remarkable speed, slamming the door closed behind him before she finished, “—what?”
Normally she’d follow them, but the thought of stuffing her gown back through the small door kept her seated. She tapped her fingers on the bench, then smoothed the fabric of her dress down, then repeated it all over again. Sitting idly had never been easy for her.
She was about to say screw the dress and go outside anyway when a shout came from up ahead. On cue, the carriage lurched upward, throwing her across the cabin to the front. A moment later, the rear end hit the ground, and her ass landed hard in her original seat.
The door swung open, and Dimitri climbed back in. His face had a pinkish tint again, but nothing like how he’d flushed in embarrassment earlier. The loose set of his shoulders and softened expression suggested a pleasant, windswept exertion.
She couldn’t help but think of a jittery horse after a long ride, its nerves calmed by the contentment of a hard job done well. Her hands twitched to ruffle his hair and offer him a reward. She didn’t have a sugar cube, but maybe he would appreciate a little praise.
“A king who helps his knights move a stuck wagon. No wonder your people like you.”
“Hm?” he asked distractedly. “Oh, the knights rode on to inform the guests of the delay.”
“Wait. You lifted the carriage?”
“Yes. These roads are in dire need of repair. Obviously, it was an issue I hoped to address before the war...” He trailed off when he noticed her wide, unblinking eyes and slack jaw. “What of it?”
“You lifted it by yourself?”
“Oh, that. The royal family has always been blessed with immense strength. I imagine it’s largely due to our blood, and perhaps our Crests.” He shrugged. “The driver and Dedue needed my aid, so I aided them.”
Byleth struggled to connect with any part of her brain that wasn’t fixated on the image of his muscles flexing as he lifted a wagon over his head. Or wrestled a bear. Or bent her over a table and held down her wrists...
She shoved that thought into a box and slammed down the lid.
“Well, you could have at least asked me to get out to eliminate some weight,” was what she said instead.
He huffed a laugh. “Compared to the iron wheels, you’re hardly a feather on top of an elephant. I didn’t handle you too roughly, did I? I tried not to lift it too high off the ground.”
She swallowed down a comment about him being welcome to handle her roughly tonight and stuffed it in the box with the others. He was already displeased enough with the wedding night arrangements without her dirty mind making him even more uncomfortable.
“Not at all,” she lied.
“Ah, good. Well, the trip shouldn’t be much longer now.”
It would occur to her later that with that kind of strength, he could’ve easily escaped when she grabbed him. Perhaps she did still have some sway over her former student.
Blaiddyd Castle, which had loomed gray and foreboding on the horizon, proved far more modest up close. The entire structure could have fit into the stables of the Imperial Palace in Enbarr, and it lacked the ostentatious golden accents of the Empire as well. Squat, square, and made entirely of stone, the only thing that distinguished Dimitri’s castle from any outpost stronghold were the many blue banners emblazoned with the griffon rider of Faerghus.
Their first stop was not in the castle proper, though, but just outside the walls.
Dimitri had spoken with more excitement about the Beggar’s Feast than he had the wedding. Apparently, a time-honored practice at any of the king’s banquets was to extend the invitation to the less fortunate. The kitchens made a lavish feast nearly equal to the one eaten inside, and for a single night, even the poorest citizens could eat like kings.
Byleth had been impressed by the amount of charity given to the needy in the Kingdom, whether it came from the crown, the church, or neighbors barely better off than the recipients. Perhaps having fewer resources than the other nations had fostered a more community-oriented culture. It evoked a memory of Jeralt, clearing bandits from poor villages in exchange for eggs and hand-knit socks.
These guests shared the same cheerful spirit she remembered from those towns. They’d dressed up in their finest, patched and mended as they were. The atmosphere was lively, with a tavern band playing upbeat songs for a circle of whirling dancers. The press of bodies and generous amounts of ale generated a warmth that drove away the Faerghus chill.
A small party of commoners approached the king and his new queen. A young girl offered Byleth a bouquet of wildflowers, while a blacksmith presented her with a plain but well-made steel sword. Eventually, Dedue brought a cart to receive the many gifts they couldn’t carry, and it was soon overflowing with everything from wolf pelts to homemade jam.
An older woman started to place a quilt on top of the rest, but Byleth intervened to accept it personally. The workmanship was incredible, with small, precise patches in dozens of shades of blue, the crests of Blaiddyd and Flames embroidered in silver thread on each side.
“This is lovely,” Byleth said. “Did you make it?”
The woman nodded. “Me, my sister, and my daughter-in-law, ma’am. With each stitch, a prayer for your good fortune.”
For the first time all day, the tension in Byleth's shoulders relaxed. Bawdy tales over tankards of ale felt cleansing after months of tense negotiations with people who all had three names. Moreover, the commoners actually seemed to like her, where the nobles sneered at her for one reason or another, usually her association with Edelgard or her low birth.
These folks were more practical: if someone came to town offering a lavish celebration and an end to the war threatening their way of life, they didn't much care where their savior hailed from.
If only they could spend the rest of the evening at this feast, but another duty awaited them. As the time for the royal banquet approached, a knot of unease tightened in Byleth’s stomach, and she instinctively clutched the blanket to her chest for comfort.
“Huh. This is an odd size,” she said to Dimitri as they made their way towards the castle. At first glance, she’d thought it was a lap blanket, but it would barely cover her knees when seated. “Does this hang on the wall or something?”
“It’s, er, for an infant, Professor.”
“But I— oh. Right.”
There had been so much talk of heirs in the abstract that she hadn’t fully processed that an heir was a baby. A baby she would be expected to give birth to. A baby that could possibly be conceived tonight.
Curious, she cradled the blanket the way she’d seen mothers hold their children and tried to imagine a little person bundled up in it. How much did they weigh? Probably like... two or three swords.
Children had never been a matter she had given serious thought to. Even when her emotions started to bloom, was far too focused on her students to consider dating, let alone marriage and kids.
Over the years, Edelgard had detailed some of the gruesome acts nobles had perpetrated in their pursuit of crested children. It wasn't a system Byleth particularly wanted to participate in, not until things had improved.
But for better or worse, an heir would undoubtedly stabilize the situation in the Kingdom. The commoners seemed to know it, too— a second glance revealed that many of the items on the cart were child-sized. Whatever complications might arise, it was hard to argue against a solution that promised to prevent another war.
Dimitri must have misinterpreted her long, musing silence.
“Please understand I have no intention of subjecting either of us to an unwanted physical relationship. Besides, I can always adopt an heir. You need not be involved, if that’s what is troubling you.”
“That doesn't trouble me.” His insistence that fucking her was some kind of unpleasant chore was starting to wear on her, though. A person could only take so much rejection, even the Ashen Demon. “We have to do it at least once to fulfill the treaty. The Empire doctor is going to check.”
The reminder of the unusual clause made his temper flare. “And whose fault is that?” he asked, disgusted. “What were you thinking, agreeing to that provision? Do you just do whatever that woman wants?”
“Edelgard wants to destroy the kingdom, so no, I don’t.” She cast a final look back at the Beggar’s Feast, at the people that finally had something to celebrate. “I’m just so tired of death and killing, Dimitri. Aren’t you?”
“I...” His eyes searched hers, trying to detect any hint of deceit. He shook his head, swallowing back whatever he was going to say. But his voice had softened when he continued. “About the examination, there’s more than one way to get a spot of blood on the sheets.” There must have been a subtext that she missed, because he slapped himself on the forehead and rushed to add, “N-not that I care if— I mean, I wouldn’t think any less of you if you weren’t…”
“I’m a virgin,” she finished for him before he combusted from embarrassment. “That plan won’t work if they want to look inside, though.”
All the color that had built up in his face from anger and embarrassment drained in an instant. “You don’t really believe that El— that she would require them to check for that, do you?”
“I’m not sure. You’re more familiar with this kind of thing than me.”
“I most certainly am not!” he insisted. “I’m not some kind of… skirt chaser like Sylvain!”
“I meant about nobles and heirs,” she clarified. Though she filed his inexperience away in a corner of her mind reserved for things that made her feel vaguely happy for unknown reasons.
“Oh. Yes, I suppose. However, this... situation is wholly unfamiliar to me as well. Surely we can work something out, though. I could speak with the doctor, perhaps?”
“Maybe,” she said. Goddess, he was stubborn. “I still think the simplest method to satisfy the treaty would be by just having sex.”
As they reached the castle, the heavy doors creaked open, revealing two guards who bowed deeply in greeting.
“Thank the goddess,” Dimitri muttered under his breath. He pressed against the small of her back to usher her inside. “We don't have to decide anything right this second,” he said. “Let's just try to get through the banquet.”
Maybe Faerghans really were as prudish as Hubert claimed. She hoped so; it would certainly be preferable to Dimitri being so repulsed by her that he couldn't stomach the idea of laying with her. She placed the blanket atop the other gifts on the cart and entered her new home.
Dimitri held her hand as if it were delicate crystal— or a poisonous snake— as they made their way through the castle toward the banquet. It was equally likely that he was worried about hurting her with her strength as being tainted by her traitorous, bloodstained hands.
He paused before the doors to the ballroom.
“Professor...” He rubbed at the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable. Had she already committed some unforgivable gaffe? They were barely inside the castle. “It’s customary for the couple to dance the first song, but if you are not, er, familiar...”
Oh. He just thought she was an uncultured rube. Considering how she’d torn into that sweet bun earlier (and nearly flashed her breasts about ten times), it was a fair assumption. She’s pretty sure he caught her fishing for pastry remnants in her bra, too.
“It’s fine. Edelgard taught me how to dance, back at the academy.”
Of all the reactions she might have expected from him, a snort of laughter accompanied by a wistful smile was not one of them. “I suppose we’ll be well-matched, then.”
He swung open the massive doors and led her inside. It seemed as though the crowd had grown since the ceremony. There were so many eyes on her, sharp and predatory like crows trying to tear flesh from her carcass as she passed.
She took a deep breath and raised her chin. Stay focused. Let them see she wouldn’t be intimidated so easily. They’d soon realize that she was neither a traitor nor a helpless war prize. The new queen of Faerghus would bring peace to Fodlan, and these nobles could either help her or be left behind in the past.
The ambient murmurs quieted down as they reached the center of the room, dozens of silver chandeliers illuminating their steps. Thick, intricately woven tapestries on the walls and plush rugs on the floor kept their footfalls from echoing. For such a cold, rugged country, the palace was much warmer and more comfortable than she had expected.
A harpist played the opening notes of a song she didn’t recognize, joined by a complement of violins and a... cello, she thought it was called. Back at the academy ball, she hadn’t had the chance to properly appreciate the music. She had been too busy being passed around from partner to partner to pay attention, and she’d fled the ballroom quickly.
Where Dimitri conveniently waited, also alone. Had he arranged it that way, or had it been fate?
Sothis had insisted that fate was real, but Byleth had her doubts. Five years spent lying useless in a river while her students and all of Fodlan suffered could not have been the goddess’s plan for her. And in the past year, she was no longer a boulder rolling down the hill, but running down the hill ahead of it, trying not to get crushed. If there was any grand design to the world, she was unable to see it.
Dimitri had said something similar when he invited her to the goddess tower all those years ago— that even if Sothis deigned to reach out her hand, we lacked the means to grasp it. He was closer to the truth than he realized.
They hadn’t danced that night. She’d noticed his gaze lingering on her several times, but he waited until they were outside to approach her.
It would have been nice to have a dance together under their belt, rather than this very public first run. But Dimitri danced exactly as she would have expected— technical perfection with very little warmth, his hold on her feather light. He kept his eyes level with the top of her head.
It was so mechanical that her gaze started to wander out of boredom. Everyone in the room stopped what they were doing out of respect for the royal couple, but there was an undeniable undercurrent of scrutiny. There was a lot of tittering behind fans, leaning to whisper in a neighbor’s ears, and poorly hidden amusement.
They were dancing like strangers, and the lack of affection between them was plain for everyone to see.
That wouldn’t do. An Adrestian-chosen bride would not inspire unity if the king was clearly indifferent to her. For this plan to work, their marriage had to be believable. She would try to find a way to endear herself to Dimitri, but until then, they’d have to fake it.
One bold step closed the distance between their bodies. Her hand slid from his shoulder to his waist.
His steps faltered, and he looked down at her in confusion. “Professor?”
“Our guests have noticed how tense you are,” she said. “I don't blame you for disliking me, but we should probably appear cordial. In public, at least.”
She attempted a reassuring smile. Edelgard always seemed to like it when she did that.
Dimitri went even stiffer than before as he gaped at her, then averted his eyes. “It’s been a long time since you made that expression.”
That wasn’t exactly the reaction she was going for. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”
She retreated a step to reestablish the space between them, but he tugged her back even closer, so close she was forced to rest her face on his shoulder. It was surprisingly comfortable.
Edelgard had always talked about Dimitri like he was a hapless brute, but he made the transition from stiff to fluid look effortless. As if he were simply a doting husband slowly losing himself in affection for his bride. It was hard to convince herself that he wasn’t her loving husband when they were close enough that she could count his eyelashes.
“You didn’t make me uncomfortable,” he said, speaking softer, right beside her ear. “Your smile is... well. I had simply forgotten how mesmerizing it is.”
“Oh.” Her cheeks burned with the unfamiliar stretch of an even wider smile. “Thank you.”
“And I don't dislike you,” he added. “I mean, I do like you. Or I did, when we were acquainted. But now we're married, and I'm not sure how to act. Adjusting to this new reality has just been…”
“A lot.”
The tension he'd carried deflated with a little huff of laughter. “A lot. I shall endeavor to be more cordial.”
The muttering might have died down after that. Or maybe she simply didn’t care about it anymore. With Dimitri’s hand splayed protectively across her back and the reassuring thump of his heartbeat at her ear, nothing else in the room could penetrate their intimate bubble.
The song ended before she was ready to let him go, but there was no time for such selfish whims. She squared her shoulders as they parted, armoring herself for the inevitable barrage of both flattery and condescension.
Sure enough, just like at the academy ball, a line of people waited, vying for her next dance. She suppressed a sigh and tried to paint on a neutral expression that didn’t look too intimidating. This would be her life from now on, after all.
“My wife is quite famished from all the delays,” Dimitri said, placing himself between Byleth and her would-be dance partners. Something in the way he said wife made her stomach do a little flip. “Please excuse us.”
He led her to the head table, a possessive arm around her as if he expected someone to snatch her away.
Dimitri held out her chair for her, and no sooner had he finished pushing it in than servants were already heaping steaming trays in front of them. The tantalizing smells emanating from them had her stomach rumbling. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was until then.
Still, she sat with her hands primly in her lap, determined not to embarrass Dimitri with her poor etiquette the way she’d done earlier. There was surely an established protocol to begin the feast. Her eyes scanned the crowd, hoping for a clue, but they simply stared back at her. She blinked. Her stomach growled embarrassingly loud. Nothing happened.
Dimitri cleared his throat, leaning towards her to whisper, “They’re waiting for you to begin, Your Majesty.”