Chapter Text
Fhirdiad Castle
Harpstring Moon 1205
The fresh, crisp air in Fhirdiad is perfect weather for pegasi to spread their wings. Wrapped in a thick winter cloak, Shiida travels down to the stables to tend to her pegasus, Louie. Her precious steed greets her with a cheerful neigh as she approaches him with a body brush. Horses and pegasi are such gentle animals; they can always sense someone’s good intentions. Her pegasus patiently allows her to wipe the spare feathers from his wings, watching her all the while. Given her clumsy strength, pegasi are also the only animals she has no fear of harming.
Her pegasus huffs, his thick breath dissipating in the freezing air and Shiida decides to saddle him for a ride. Saint Macuil Day is on the horizon, where saints are honored through joyful music-making. The palace is holding a ball, so she won’t have too many opportunities to spend time for herself. A ride can offer some tranquility.
She guides her pegasus out to the runway and a couple of rowdy voices catch her attention. The castle youths play in the snow near the stables, crossing wooden swords and giggling. Shiida exhales, giving her impatient pegasus an apologetic look. Too much noise puts stress on the equine; it’s best to direct the children elsewhere.
She ties her pegasus’ reigns on a pole near the gate and addresses the youths. “Hello children.”
“Hi, Princess Shiida,” they chorus, excited to see the Princess on a free day. Shiida humors them, kneeling to their level, as they gleefully crowd around her.
“It’s nice to see you all having fun but remember, the stables are a quiet place. You can’t get too loud or you’ll spook the horses. Go find somewhere else to play, okay?”
“Okay!” They cheer, heading towards the open gardens. She hears their voices carry on in the distance. “Oh, I wanna play knights! Let’s play knights!”
Shiida shakes her head, amused at the playful displays and returns to her restless pegasus.
“Wow, you sure have a way with kids,” a voice calls out. Shiida shivers at the familiar voice and looks around to find the source.
“Up here.”
She looks back and finds a figure resting on the roof of the stables, twirling an arrow between his fingers. An Almyran, dressed in weighty winter clothes. She huffs.
“What are you doing up there, Altan?” She chastises. ”Do you plan on falling to your death?”
Altan smirks, putting away his arrow as he hops off the roof onto the barrels below. “I was bored and there’s no place outside to lie down. You know, aside from the piles and piles of snow.”
Shiida shakes her head, her dark blue hair spilling out of her scarf. “You’re going to catch your death of cold. Remember last year?”
“Right, right,” he brushes off, rolling his eyes. “I underdressed. Just not used to the cold. That’s all.”
“You were out sick for nearly a month. You can’t be so irresponsible in an unfamiliar climate.”
Altan crosses his arms, his cockiness seeping through. “That’s why I’m familiarizing myself with the climate now, Your Highness. Can’t keep getting sick, it’s a bad look for a future king.”
Shiida rolls her eyes. Now that Rodrigue’s training down at the Officer’s Academy, Altan’s probably bored. He’s more grating when he’s bored.
“There are better ways of getting used to the climate. Training, for example,” she suggests.
“With who? The only person who can match me on my level is your older brother. Everyone else is too green or too important to spare the time.”
Shiida contemplates. If she leaves him to his own devices, Altan will probably go jumping on roofs again. She looks at her pegasus Louie, now staring back at the stables towards the female pegasi rather than towards the runway. Mating season is coming up for the pegasi and Shiida did skip out on her training yesterday…
“Fine, you’re bored. Come with me,” she commands, reigning in her pegasus. “I need a sparring partner.”
“Hold on,” Altan smirks, amused with her proposition. ”Are you actually volunteering?”
“Maintain that tone with me and I might just change my mind. Hurry up now.”
On the castle’s training grounds, squires and pages gather around to strengthen their battle skills. Upon witnessing the Princess and the Almyran prince, they carve a space for the two to spar. Altan picks up a pair of practice swords, juggling them up in the air and catching them.
“Hope you don’t mind Princess, but in Almyra two-sword style is pretty common.” The squires stop, in awe of Altan’s sword tricks. On noticing his audience, Altan decides to play up his prowess with a showy act.
Shiida snorts, surprised at the extravagant display. “The Albineans also value the two-sword style, but it doesn’t matter. Pick up as many swords as you want. It still won’t help you.”
She grabs a sword to match him and on the count of three, they cross blades. She lunges forward but he side-steps her, dodging the initial blow. With a swift thrust, he hits her leg and scores a point. She quickly regains control of her footing and launches another attack. He dodges the first attack but he’s struggling to keep off her massive strength. She pushes forward, landing a blow on his shoulder.
He pulls back and for a brief moment, she’s terrified that she might have broken something. He rotates his shoulder, showing off his mobility and nods at her, encouraging a continuation. The way his lips curl, that confident gleam in his eye- in battle, all his small traits become so apparent. It’s clear to her now.
Altan is… captivating. Was he always this captivating?
He crouches into position and leaps forward, throwing caution to the wind. His grip is vulnerable and she sees an opportunity to knock one sword from his hands.
With a sudden thrust, she hits the top of his right arm, disarming him. He continues forward with the sword in his left hand, but she manages to block him with her elbow lodging his sword upwards. She laughs, confident in her victory when she feels a blunt edge poke her stomach. She looks down and sees a wooden short blade pressed against her side.
She glares at Altan, the prince smug at his little maneuver.
“You told me I could use as many swords as I wanted,” he repeats. She feigns a smile.
“Cute.” Loathe as she is to admit it, she must concede to his victory. She bows to show her respect and the castle youths crowd around them, happily chirping about the fierce display. Altan leans in next to her.
“By the way Princess, swords?” He remarks, dropping his voice to a whisper. “Hardly your weapon of choice. You had plenty of lances right there. Don’t tell me you were trying to make me look good.”
She snorts. “In your dreams. Your sword skills are weaker than your bow skills. I just wanted to even the playing field, that’s all.”
He shrugs, still proud of his victory. The castle youths clamor for a show of Almyran swordplay and Prince Altan was more than happy to indulge in a demonstration.
Satisfied, Shiida goes to wash up. Combat training is such a breeze; with her massive strength, it’s rare for her to actually lose a duel. As long as she doesn’t destroy any practice weapons in the assault, she’ll still consider her battle a victory. A few of the castle knights hang in the back, cautiously observing the Almyran Prince.
“Hmph, is that all there is? I would have thought Almyran swordplay would be more impressive. It’s just a bunch of tricks.”
“Why does His Majesty accommodate those people? They’re of no use to Fódlan. They should just go back to where they came from.”
Shiida frowns. The shameless disrespect of the Kingdom knights know no limits.
“Pardon me?” She intercedes, her arms crossed. “Would you gentlemen like to repeat that?”
“A-Ah Princess Shiida! I didn’t-“
“I said continue. If you’re brazen enough to insult our guest behind his back then you should have the courage to say it to their face. Insulting a respectable visitor is audacious and unbecoming of a knight.”
The knights bow and scrape, desperate to appease her. “O-Our apologies, Your Highness.”
“It will never happen again.”
Shiida scoffs and dismisses them, the knights scurrying off. Honestly, why do the Kingdom knights have to be this way? First, they spend years harassing the people of Duscur and now they moved on to a new target with the Almyrans. Bigots look for any target they deem weaker than themselves. What nonsense.
She wraps up and searches for the Captain to report the misbehavior of the lower knights.
A few days later
Within the castle library, Altan brushes up on Fódlan culture, hoping to distract himself. He can’t shake off this urgent unease.
The ball is on the morrow, an event that serves as a means of connecting the influential members of the Kingdom court. His family received an invitation and Pops thought that it might serve as a good opportunity for their family to familiarize themselves with the reserved Northern nobility. Most of their past parties and balls took place at Garreg Mach, but the North seem to hold especially rigid traditions, both with formal events and with outsiders.
And none of that would be a problem, honestly.
Altan’s always been pretty good at adapting to Fódlan’s strange rules and customs; most people seem to like him well enough. No, the ball’s not the reason he feels anxious.
A sting hits his shoulder and he rotates his sore muscles. The Princess is as fierce and formidable as ever; her blow leaving solid bruises along his shoulder and forearm. It’s been three days and his shoulder still aches. He thought some light reading might take his mind off the throbbing pain but clearly he was mistaken. That woman is an absolute beast, a striking force of nature. With her cerulean hair and graceful figure, she’s almost like a sky goddess.
Too bad her personality’s nothing like a goddess, Altan muses. They’ve argued too much over the years for him to think of her as graceful and polite.
Things have gotten a little better since they were kids; she doesn’t hate him anymore at least. But now she’s turned into a nag; every time he comes to visit Fódlan she’ll chastise him if his clothes are sloppy or if he naps under a tree out in the open or stays out too long when he’s training or hunting. Gods, it’s like having a second mother.
Still, he can’t ignore that duel.
After they wrapped up their little sparring match, he overheard her talking to those knights; honestly, the whole training ground heard her. Shiida doesn’t know how commanding her voice actually is and she has this habit of carrying her voice across a room, especially when she’s angry.
She’s… so confusing. Shiida’ll never say a nice word to his face but she’ll stand up for him when others badmouth his Almyran heritage. She’s kind to everyone else, especially kids, but for some reason, he so rarely sees that kindness aimed towards him. He’s never been called “respectable” before.
His pride dictates that he should show his gratitude but logically, he knows that she’ll only get more upset if she realized that he overheard her. Or worse, if he tries to be sincere, she’ll assume he’s lying to her.
I swear, a couple white lies here and there and suddenly it’s like I’m the shiftiest guy here.
He means it this time though. Plus with that party tomorrow, all her friends will circle around her. He’ll never hear the end of it if any of those girls overhear him expressing gratitude. They’ll end up gossiping for weeks. If only there was a subtle way to…
Altan shuts his book and goes off to enact his plan.
After finishing her morning ride, Shiida returns to the stables and finds the Almyran prince chatting with a nearby errand boy. Shiida eyes him suspiciously.
“Altan, what a surprise,” she feigns pleasantries, “I normally don’t see you out this early. I would have thought you’d have taken the opportunity to sleep in.”
“Oh I always get up this early,” he fabricates, “I usually engage in some morning mediation but I figured a nice walk out on the castle grounds might serve me better.”
“Really? You mediate? Try to pick a better lie next time. No one comes to the stables in the morning for an early walk. The courtyard maybe, but not here.”
“Hey that first part was true-!” He protests before cutting himself off. “You know what, forget it.”
“Uh-huh,” she dismisses, focusing on brushing down her pegasus. Altan sits up on the wooden railing, wrangling between silence and conversation.
“So…” he starts, forcing an air of indifference. “You guys have a big party coming up. Imagine you’ve got a line of guys out the door just itching for a chance to ask you to dance.”
“Perhaps,” her suspicion seeping through. “Why do you ask? Are you interested perhaps?”
“No, not at all,” Altan brushes off, a tad too quickly to be convincing. She scolds and he quickly backtracks. “I mean I’m not that great a dancer. I’d only embarrass myself if I got on the dance floor.”
Shiida softens her scowl. Goddess, she really is too critical for her own good. She didn’t want Altan to feel out of place at the ball, just mindful. An ache sits in her chest, disappointed to hear that Altan doesn’t want to dance with her.
"I wanted to ask, if you have some spare time from all that dancing, if I could borrow some of your time? Just to chat.”
“Oh,” the disappointment escaping her voice. “Yeah, we can talk.”
Oblivious to her tone, Altan hops off the railing, weirdly pleased with the turn of events. He’s never been good at hiding his ulterior motives, but what he expected to gain from the interaction, she has no idea. Unless…
The eve of the ball arrives and Shiida is absolutely giddy for the affair. The balls and galas of Fhirdiad and Garreg Mach are the only times in the year where she has a chance to see and reacquaint herself with some old friends.
Count Galatea is here with his daughter Gertrude. Margrave Gautier is bringing Emile, Juno and Tate, though knowing Emile, he’ll will probably wander off on his own, his popularity attracting the eye of many young bachelorettes. Ira claims to be indifferent to Emile’s admirers but Shiida’s caught an odd glare here and there from her best friend.
Duke Fraldarius and his family arrived a week ago and Ira, with her long jet black hair tied back, helps Shiida get dressed, much to her eternal gratitude. She hates asking the maids to help her with something as trivial as dressing herself but Shiida’s cumbersome strength in the past destroyed countless buttons and pins and zippers. Delicate dresses and the Blaiddyd Crest do not mix.
“This is so tight,” Ira mumbles, straightening the buttons on Shiida’s back. “You haven’t been neglecting your exercises, have you?”
“Of course not,” Shiida blushes at the accusation, “You’ve seen me. My skills are as sharp as ever.”
Ira pulls the fabric back and Shiida grunts at the dull pain. The dress is digging into her chest and Shiida rubs the sensitive skin.
“Are you ok?”
“Yes it’s just a little tight is all,” Shiida falsely assures. Of course, she knows the real reason why her dress is so tight; it’s just too humiliating to say aloud.
A great number of people in the Royal Court say that she takes after her mother. Mother is beautiful- stunning really- both on and off the battlefield. She’s proud to look like her. But mother is also endowed with certain… assets. They’re starting get a bit excessive, especially in form-fitting clothes. Goddess above, if she keeps growing she’s not going to have any dresses left to wear.
“They keep getting bigger…” she mutters, the aches subsiding.
“What did you say?”
“Nothing!” Shiida squeaks. “Nothing at all!”
Ira shrugs, not entirely convinced and manages to finally fasten the dress. “There, this should hold for the evening.”
“Thank you Ira. You’re a lifesaver. Now I just have to apply my makeup and-“
“Ugh, here let me do it,” Ira directs, grabbing the brushes and powders. “We both know you’re a klutz when it comes to applying makeup. Remember that time you crushed my mother’s favorite makeup kit?”
“Me?” Shiida snorts, “I recall that it was your idea to play with her accessories. It was your plan to go into her room and practice. Though that powder did get everywhere. I think it took a week before I could breathe properly through my nose again.”
“Heh,” Ira smirks, preparing the foundation, “That was a sight to behold. It was almost worth the scolding from mother afterwards.”
Shiida gives a curt nod, the pleasant memories flooding back, allowing Ira to work on her face. Accidents like the make-up incident were commonplace as a child. Her parents are used to her clumsy accidents, understanding the struggles of her Crest, but the rest of staff…
Perhaps she imtimidates other people without her knowing. Constant criticism does weigh one down.
“Ira, am I too mean?” Shiida wonders.
Her friend’s hand slows on the application. “What are you talking about?”
“It’s just- I don’t know.”
“Is it Altan?” Ira guesses.
“Huh?” Shiida blinks, accidentally catching foundation in her eye. Her eyes water as she tries to clear them out and Ira groans.
“Don’t play innocent with me. I’ve seen you. For the past two days, you’ve been looking at the archery range like he’s suddenly going to appear."
Shiida debates on denying the accusation but she knows it’s pointless against Ira. Her intuition is just too sharp. “I wanted… to see if he would be interested in sparring again.”
Incredulous, Ira presses on. “Really? Just another spar?”
“Well,” Shiida mumbles. After the disgraceful display from the Kingdom knights, she doesn’t want Altan to wander through the castle alone. He’s safe, of course. No one is foolish enough to attack a prince in Fhirdiad; that could escalate to a full on war.
Still, staying in a foreign castle without any allies must be pretty lonely. Without Rodrigue to keep him company, Altan might hear those foolish comments from the knights more frequently. No one deserves that…
“I wanted a rematch,” she lies, “He tricked me last time and I want another go. I hate losing to a dirty fighter.”
Ira sighs, brushing more makeup on her tools. “If you say so, Shiida. Just don’t get mad if he tricks you again.”
The sun falls and the festivities begin. Spring serves as the month of celebrations towards the saints, honoring their memory through joyful music-making. Saint Macuil, the Wind Caller, was said to have an unparalleled gift for strategy and a love for music before his passing. Thus, all the Kingdom partake in merry-making and the Royal Court gathers.
All eyes are on Shiida’s family as they enter. Her father, the King, doesn’t hold any special love for these types of celebrations, as evidenced from his stiff and serious demeanor, but he tolerates the festivities for mother’s sake. Mother is always grateful for the opportunity to converse with old allies, many separated across vast distances. Shiida’s younger siblings bask in the company of their companions, conversing and playing as all young children do at these types parties under the watchful eyes of their parents.
Speaking of attention, she can feel a great number of eyes on her back, young men enthralled at her beauty.
The young men ask for a dance and she is more than happy to accept, though the number is much higher than last year. At times like these, she regrets not bringing a fan with her. She’d rather not give off the appearance of a flushed strawberry the entire evening.
After her fifth dance, she spots Juno and Gertrude chatting alongside a vexed Ira. Shiida decides to take a break and join them.
“It’s rare to see you all on the sidelines. Is something the matter?”
Juno intervenes, a mischievous smile spreading on her face. “Oh, I’m afraid Ira is feeling a bit under the weather right now. The pressure is just too unbearable.”
“Shut up," Ira gives a harsh whisper. “That’s not true!”
It’s Gertrude’s turn to chuckle. “You say that but…” Gertrude turns her eyes towards the source of Ira’s ire. A crowd of young ladies surround a tall, red-headed man all eager for the opportunity to dance with him. Shiida grins.
“Really, Ira? You can just ask him.” Emile’s popularity is starting to get the better of him, especially now that he’s entered marriageable age. As next in line to inherit the Gautier estate, all the eligible bachelorettes in Fódlan will jump at the chance to enter his good graces. His pleasant reputation and handsome looks don’t hurt either.
Juno giggles. “My elder brother would never turn down an opportunity to dance with you, Ira. You know that.”
“Oh please. You know he loves the attention. I’m not going to ask my friend for a dance when there’s a stupid line to get to him.”
Gertrude shrugs. “Suit yourself, but you know we’re not going to be waiting in the sidelines forever. Enjoy yourself at the least.”
“Hmph,” Ira huffs, annoyed at her own jealousy. She’ll try to deny it, of course, but Shiida’s known her dear friend long enough to know when she hides her temper.
“Um, pardon me, Your Highness,” a gentle voice intercedes behind her. Shiida turns and finds a stately young man with auburn hair bowing towards her. He rises up, his blueish eyes reflecting in the chandelier light. “Might I take this opportunity to ask you for a dance?”
Shiida clears her throat, surprised at the sudden invitation. She can feel the eyes of her companions drilling on to her back, encouraging her to go. She humbly accepts and the young man leads her to the dance floor. She racks her brain trying to remember his name but once the music starts, she’s swept up with the rhythm.
He’s a bit of a forceful dancer but she pays him no mind. A beautiful evening like this with a handsome gentleman, there’s nothing that can go-
When the music stops, she feels a hand squeeze below her waist. Her eyes widen and her gentleman friend has an odd gleam in his eye. Her hand balls into a fist as she suddenly becomes aware of the positioning of his hands.
“Mind if I intrude?” A familiar voice cuts in. Shiida turns and finds Altan with a glass in hand and blissfully unaware. He shoves the glass into the tramp’s hand and grabs her hand. “Take these,” he commands to the assailant. “Her Highness owes me the next dance.”
“Altan-!“ She protests, squirming but he’s surprisingly persistent. He drags her away from the smug dancer, satisfied with his blatant show of disrespect.
“Altan, I swear if you don’t let me go right now-!”
“Whoa, whoa Princess!” He assuages, pulling her far away from the dance floor. “I saw. I know.”
“You did-?” Oh Goddess, how many people saw? “I’m going to kill that scoundrel!”
“With your strength, I’m sure you could and that would be a sight to behold. Unfortunately, a bloodbath has no place on a dance floor. In situations like these, you’ve got to wait for the right time.”
A violent cough echoes in the ballroom as a person suddenly retches, the guests screeching with disapproval. Shiida’s arm slacks and Altan gives a knowing smile.
“The first rule of any party,” he answers smugly. “Don’t drink anything someone forces on your hand. Never know when there might be a poison in it.”
“Were you seriously walking around with poison in your pocket?”
“What me? No,” he protests until he catches her glare. “Well, yes. Doesn’t everyone? It comes in handy.”
Shiida huffs, but can’t suppress her smile. “You know what. You’re right.” She leans in close to his ear and whispers. “Now let’s get out of here before they figure out you had a hand to play in this.”
She takes his grip and leads him out to the gardens, amongst the ne’er-do-wells sneaking off for their illicit love affairs. She shakes her head and looks for the stairs up towards the balcony on the second floor. Altan, surprisingly compliant, follows her up the stairs to a quiet section of the castle, free from interruption. The fresh wind blows past her hair and she clears her throat.
“Thank you. For helping me back there.”
“Y-Yeah of course,” Altan replies, bashful. “Just returning a favor. Guy totally had it coming. I mean… laying hands on a lady, the Princess of all people. Tactless really. Must have had a death wish.”
“I have no qualms with sending idiots to meet their maker,” she affirms, “Honestly, this night was going so well.”
“Yeah I saw, dancing away without a care in the world. You’re really good at it- the whole dancing thing I mean.”
Shiida shakes her head. “I’m hardly good at it. According to my last dance lesson, I keep injuring my partner’s toes. My instructor told me I needed to be more ‘ladylike’ in my movements.”
“Nah, you’re plenty ladylike,” Altan differs, “You’ve just got a lot of force in you. You know, in Almyra, women who hold their own are highly respected, whether in a fight or in a dance. That’s the reason my grandma left Fódlan, supposedly. Almyra gave her the freedom to do whatever she wanted.”
“Hmm…” she muses looking up at the numerous stars above. “Some days I wish Fódlan was like that. With the freedom part, I mean.”
Altan clears his throat. “Well you know Fódlan has a lot of really great things too. There’s a lot of people coming in from across the sea and a rich history of magic.” He taps his fingers on the railing, as if there’s something on his mind that he can’t quite put into words. The silence clings to the air and Shiida basks in the stillness. It’s pleasant, being here with Altan.
“And you know,” he mumbles, breaking the silence. “Dances. Dances are pretty cool. A little stiff and formal for my taste, but fun.”
Shiida giggles, “Dancing? Are you serious?”
“Yeah, Fódlan. Home of magic, the sea, and dancing. Pretty cool place.”
Shiida clicks her tongue at his brazenness. Fódlan is the only home she’s ever known. It’s daunting, learning that there is a vast richness outside the palace walls. Yet it’s a world she wants to experience. “Hey Altan, will you show me how to dance? Like they do in Almyra?”
“Uh, yeah. Can’t do much wild stuff up here, but…”
He extends his hand and she follows his lead. His footwork is interesting, quick and precise. She leans into him and his chest radiates heat. She tilts her head up and he pulls away, almost embarrassed at this embrace. Shiida decides to have some fun.
When his eyes turn away, she brushes her lips against his neck. Altan flinches and pulls away as if someone threw a wild cat at him. Shiida giggles.
“Oh?” She teases, her lips curling upward. “One little fake kiss and the prince falls to pieces. How cute.”
He shivers, relief spreading across his face as he grips against the stone railing. “Fake or not, you can’t joke about those kinds of things. Especially in our positions.”
“Right…” Of course. They’re the prince and princess of two separate kingdoms. They can’t be irresponsible. A bad rumor or misunderstanding has long reaching consequences, not just for them, but potentially their families and citizens. A relationship- even a joke relationship- would serve divisive both among both the Almyrans and Fódlanese, with many pushing their own political agendas. Even if Altan somehow had feelings for her, it’s naive to think that they’d form a lasting relationship.
Altan’s hands tremble on the stone railing, his face crestfallen. Shiida leans in close, checking to see if he’s holding out.
In a sudden swoop, he leans in to peck her on the cheek.
“Wha-What?” She pulls back, flushed at the sudden gesture.
“Ha! Fooled you, didn’t I? You should have seen the look on your face!”
“You moron! That’s the last thing I want after what happened at the dance!”
“Hey, you did it to me first! You can’t complain.”
She sniggers. It’s been years and they still have these childish fights, unchanged by time. Altan catches on and joins in her laugh. She gives him a pat on the back and he yelps, his body flung over the stone railing.
Oh no! I hit him too hard! Frantically, she pulls the kicking prince back up and finds his face completed blanched. In a desperate flurry, she apologizes, completely misjudging her strength. Eventually, Altan gets back up on his feet.
"Oh wow!” He exhales, trembling from the near fall. “I think I was this close to meeting up with the Goddess. My ancestors would roll over in their graves if I died here.”
“Ha- ugh,” she groans, half exasperated and half relieved. “Why did you lean so close against the balcony? I almost killed you!”
He snorts, regaining his composure. “That’s what I get for making fun of a princess right? People have died for smaller offenses than that, you know.”
“I am nothing like that,” she retorts, pressing his hands to her head, her guilt overwhelming.
“I know,” he smirks, leaning against the railing, his head looking up at the sky above. “I know. Despite all our constant fighting, I know you’re too kind for that. Too honest for that.”
She wriggles her hands. He’s so close to her, it almost feels like he can hear her heart beating. “Altan…”
He turns to her, his green eyes glimmering in the faint torchlight and she blurts out. “I don’t want you to go back to Almyra! I want you to stay and study here! …In Fódlan.”
He blinks, his emerald eyes reflecting his inner emotions. “Wow, that’s…I-I can’t. I have my studies in Almyra to attend and besides if the crown prince goes missing for too long, the rumors will start to fly. My dad ran off, sure, but there was a succession crisis back then. I’m an only child. Crazy stories will start, like Fódlan holding me hostage as a political prisoner or brainwashing me to pledge my alliance. I-“
She grabs his hand in a desperate clasp. “Please don’t go.”
Her grip tightens, perhaps a bit more clenched than comfortable, but still. For all their bickering, she values his company, his opinions, his personality - maybe a part of her just never wanted to admit it. She’s probably just being selfish again.
Altan tenses, contemplating the confession. Gradually, he inches closer and closer to Shiida to the point where she can feel his breath upon her cheek. His lips come dangerously close to hers and he breaks the space between them.
It only takes a second but the kiss between them feels magical, almost cosmic in a sense. Her eyes flutter open and she finds Altan, flustered. She releases his hand.
“That was-“ he forces a cough to clear his throat, suddenly growing much more bashful. “That was… You know what, I’m just going to say it. I love you, Shiida. I think I have for a really long time.”
Her heart flutters before her dejection sinks in. “But you can’t stay…”
He shakes his head. “No matter the distance between us, my feelings won’t change. I can promise you that.”
“Then I’ll come to Almyra with you,” she proclaims. “Someday…”
“H-Hold on you mean-“
Without thinking, she leans in to give him a second kiss. It’s a rougher kiss than the first, more passionate and she accidentally knocks her teeth into his, yet he seems to reciprocate the affection all the same. She never thought she could feel this way, much less with a person she thought hated her. Yet here and now, anything seems possible.
They dance once again and although the night is brief, she’ll never forget this moment with the man that she loves.
Meanwhile, on the first floor, the Almyran King excuses himself from the festivities to search for some fresh air outside in the courtyard. His Queen follows suit.
“Sweetie? What are you doing out here?”
“Huh?” Claude ponders, leaning against the stone railings. “Oh hey, Hilda. Just taking a chance to admire the stars, that’s all.”
Hilda hums. She’s used to him wandering off to look at the stars. Claude does that a lot when he’s feeling down, almost like he’s looking up to them for advice. Give him a moment and he’ll open up.
After a few minutes, he sighs. “Altan walked off from the party.”
“Oh that,” she assures, grabbing hold of his arm. “Don’t worry about that, sweetie. I’m sure he’s fine. Enjoying the time with his friends.”
“I wish he was out here, building his rapport with the Fódlan nobles.”
“Oh stop. It’s never going to happen. Just let it go and let’s go back inside," Hilda coaxes. It’s not every night she gets to enjoy a ball; there’s no point in thinking about what-ifs. “It’s too nice a night to be moody. And besides your poor wife is lonesome.”
Claude shrugs. “Alright, alright. You convinced me, I’ll let it go. I’ll just have to come up with some other way to secure Almyra’s alliance with Fódlan.”
Too bad, Hilda muses to herself. It would have been nice if the Fódlan princess and my son got along. Form a nice little alliance between our Kingdoms. Oh well, no use worrying about that now.