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Dedue had never been so happy to not recognize someone.
At the Academy, it’d been like waiting for an attack he did not know how to prepare for. He could have tried to intervene, but what if he’d just made things worse? What if, in his misguided attempts at salvation, he made everything worse? No, it’d been better to stay vigilant, stay loyal and alert so that, should anything go awry, Dedue could at least offer his support.
Dimitri had always been someone complex, and yet not. At the very centre of his being was one of the kindest hearts this world had ever known, and Dedue found it an honour to know he held a place within it. But beyond that unwavering goodness were several layers of suffering, twisting those pure intentions into something abhorrent, something to be feared by everyone the continent over—and Dedue hadn’t been there to help him. Dimitri had berated himself with Dedue’s voice and face, convinced himself he’d somehow done wrong by his companion. He’d torn apart that goodness until it was nothing more than a blade to drive into his own chest.
But no—this man, right here, waiting unsurely for the Duscur representatives to arrive, was a man who was ready to give everyone a piece of his kindness. He was the king Faerghus had needed the entire time, a ruler who would guide his people into a new age with a gentle yet firm hand—a leader who would not squander the power he was so eagerly given.
Dedue did not know who this man was, not well, but he was eager to learn.
“Your Majesty,” he called gently, hoping to soothe the nerves of his king.
And he would have, if he’d gotten a response.
“Your . . . Majesty?”
Dedue had seen the small shift in Dimitri’s line of sight, but it would not move all the way to Dedue. He sighed.
“Dimitri.”
Dimitri, with an innocence that truly did not belong on his regal features, turned to his guard. “Yes, Dedue?”
It was intimidating, to be under all the pressure of Dimitri’s gaze. Losing an eye hadn’t deterred him apparently, because Dedue still felt like there was a volcano set to erupt in his stomach, still felt as if he were being offered the most lovely of flowers by the gods themselves—still felt like he was impossibly lucky to be standing beside a man who put every ounce of effort he had into everything he did.
“I . . . simply wished to tell you that you have nothing to worry about. The people of Duscur are almost certainly pleased with the hand you’ve extended to them.”
The second the crown had been placed on Dimitri’s head, he set out to repair what was left of the relationship between Faerghus and Duscur. He was a whirlwind of official orders and regal authority, leaving no room for argument or pushback. Duke Fraldarius was right next to him, supporting each decision Dimitri made with swiftness and finality. Of course, when the two were in the King’s chambers to discuss these matters, Felix would always put up a fight; not because he had any less faith in Dimitri than the rest of the Kingdom, but because he cared enough to make sure Dimitri’s dreams could stand the test of time.
“He’s the king I always knew he could be,” Felix had said one night, with Dimitri off to tend to some minor matter gone awry in the kitchen. Apparently, a diplomat’s food sensitivities had not been met. Neither Felix nor Dedue envied the king. “But if you tell him that, I’ll kill you.”
“I do not think this would be news to His Majesty.”
Felix hummed low in his throat, but there was none of the bite he’d had during the war, or even the Academy. He was still Felix, just with a little spit shine around the edges. Or maybe that was what being in love did to him, for the duke was always glowing with happiness when he rode in from Fradlarius territory. Dedue supposed he understood the feeling.
He understood it perfectly well as he looked on at his king, who was anxious and excited under the polished shell of royalty. His eye, cobalt and striking, revealed all to those who knew how to look. There was an odd current in his eye, imposing and unpredictable, yet certain in its path. The king knew what he wished to accomplish; he simply needed assistance getting there.
There were guards stationed outside the door, though Dedue was the only one placed inside the room with Dimitri. Perhaps it was foolish; Dedue had a sneaking suspicion that the only reason the king made them the only occupants of the room was so that he could look at Dedue as he really wanted to—adoring and free.
A knock pounded against the ornate oak door. “Your Majesty? Your visitors are here.”
The messenger’s strained tone did not go above Dedue’s head—or Dimitri’s, for that matter. “Thank you; please go down to the kitchens and alert them of the arrival.”
Dimitri’s voice may as well have been shards of glass, cutting through the air with its harshness and indifference.
When the messenger had gone, Dimitri shook his head. “I hope that the people of Duscur do not encounter negativity before they even have the chance to walk through the door.”
“Even if they do, the sight of you will surely lift their spirits.”
Gods help him, that sounded worse than the drivel that had spilled from Sylvain’s mouth when they were younger. Dimitri’s crimson blush only served to prove his point.
“What I mean is—”
“No, no. Let’s leave it at that. I . . . quite liked it.”
There was nothing Dedue could have done to gather the courage to keep his eyes on Dimitri, so he settled for staring down the door instead. Any threat that marched in would be dispatched without a second thought.
“You’ll be here, won’t you, Dedue?”
Dedue smiled, rare and treasured by the king, and nodded. “Always, Your Majesty.”
That smile of Dimitri’s should be immortalized by only the deftest of paint strokes—but even then, not a soul walking this planet could capture the glimmering starlight around him.
Dedue frowned. Starlight wasn’t the correct word. No, Dimitri reminded him of the rivers on the edges of Faerghus, of the water that shone like diamonds under the winter sun. Dimitri was not so far out of reach as to be ethereal and distant as the stars, but the beauty that ran in the heart of his country. A younger Dedue, blinded by loyalty, may have thought the stars and moon of his prince, but now—he knew the man in the seat before him was no less human than the rest of them. Maybe that was what made his heart of gold so captivating—what made Dedue want to follow it down any path.
The door opened with a great yawn that ripped Dedue from his shining dreams of stolen touches and gentle whispers, and he readied himself for whatever laid ahead. The Faerghus he’d always dreamed of was slowly falling into place, and gods help him he would see it through.
The progress was small, barely a blip against the grand dream they one day hoped to achieve, but—it was progress.
A trading route was to be opened between Faerghus and Duscur. Dimitri wanted to create a lasting bond between them before he laid the option of complete sovereignty on the table. Dimitri couldn’t afford to be as trusting as he wanted to be with the people in the northern lands; there was no guarantee that Duscur would not turn their backs and destroy hopes of communication if given back independence. One day, they would, even if it took Dimitri’s last breath—but he was a king first and a dreamer second.
“That went well.” He turned to Dedue. “That went well, didn’t it?”
He got no response. Dedue seemed entirely lost to the world, sunk into his own thoughts and oblivious to his king’s attention. Dimitri cracked a small smile, felt a familiar fondness swirl like freshly fallen snow along the bottom of his gut, and simply took in the sight. It was so rare to catch Dedue absentminded. Dimitri wanted to enjoy every second of it.
He was only granted a few more blissful moments before Dedue came back to himself. Dimitri didn’t even bother to wipe the smile from his lips.
“Your Majesty, I apologize, I was just—”
“There’s no need to apologize for being human, Dedue. Truly, I did not mind seeing you so . . .” Goodness, was there even a word? All Dimitri knew was that he loved the sight so much he nearly asked to see it once more.
“Distracted,” Dedue grumbled. Strange. He was annoyed.
Dimitri cocked his head. “Sit with me, Dedue.”
“Your Majesty—”
“Sit. Don’t make me order you around.”
Dedue sat easily enough in the seat closest to Dimitri. Here, the burnt sun could cast a lovely glow in the shimmering paths of Dedue’s scars, silver and gold—pain and victory. Here, they were not king and vassal, but . . .
Dedue hummed soft and happy as Dimitri brushed his fingers along the inevitable line of his jaw. Dimitri’s fingers knew every scar that ran across his skin, every pinch of stubble that would grow back if not tended to. He knew just how Dedue liked to have his hair raked through, how much he enjoyed the feeling of holding Dimitri in his arms.
“Someone may see.”
Dimitri held back a scoff. “And what would they do? Run off screaming?”
“Precisely.”
Is he . . . ? Dimitri furrowed his brows, trying his best to convey his disbelief—but it was so hard when the person he was trying to frown out was so damned handsome. “You can’t be serious.”
Stoney-faced as ever, Dedue moved his shoulders in a small shrug. Dimitri let out a quiet, incredulous noise before pressing a soft kiss to the tip of Dedue’s nose. He was pleased to feel the skin heat up as he pulled away.
“Dimitri . . .”
Goddess above and everything she deemed holy, how was he ever supposed to get used to Dedue saying his name like that? He treated the word as if it were the most valuable of gold, delicate and untainted and adored—he took the utmost care to curl his lips the right way, bend his tongue just so. Dimitri came this close to blushing just thinking about it.
“Yes, Dedue?”
“I believe the day is coming to an end.”
“So it would seem.”
Dimitri knew what this all meant. Dedue was itching to come back to his quarters, to burrow himself into sheets of a quality he was slowly coming to appreciate, to press himself against Dimitri for the sole purpose of reminding them both that they’d made it out alive—that now, they could walk this road together. They could make their dreams come true.
So, that was exactly what Dimitri did. He cared not for the strange looks he was encouraging as he grabbed Dedue’s hand and marched down the corridor like a man on a mission. He smiled at passing maids, easily rattling off their names—because of course King Dimitri would know the names of all those in his employ. He turned up his nose at all those who cast disheartening looks at Dedue, pulling him closer as the king kept steady in his gait.
“People are staring, Your Majesty.”
“Let them. I have nothing to be ashamed of.”
Dimitri did not have to turn around to know that there was the prettiest of blushes sitting on Deude’s cheeks. It seemed even the simplest, most basic of sentiments was enough to send the man into a flustered stupor.
Dimitri didn’t say anything more while they were still under the careful watch of castle staff, but once they were together, with a door separating them from all the struggles they faced, he let loose. “You are my equal in all the ways that matter, Dedue. Never forget that.”
“That . . . is something I will have to get used to. But—thank you.” Dedue averted his gaze. “Dimitri.”
There it was again, that pleasant warmth. It was like having the sun right there in his chest—and frankly, if it meant getting to stand next to Dedue, like this, the same on every level save for their height, he would gladly burn up.
His resolved only became more unshakable when Dedue made the first move, wrapping his arms around Dimitri, sturdy and unbreakable—gentle and loving and everything Dimitri had always seen within the man’s heart. The bed was pressing against the back of his knees, but he would stand resolute if it meant staying in this hold for as long as he could.
“Thank you, Dimitri.”
Dimitri wasn’t sure anything in the world, magical or otherwise, could tear him away from Dedue in this moment, so he simply hummed his confusion. “Whatever for?”
“You did not have to meet with—”
“I’m going to stop you right there. I absolutely did have to.” Dimitri pressed the slope of his nose into the crook just above Dedue’s collarbone. “Do you realize that I haven’t once referred to Duscur as Kleiman? Even when every map created since then is intent on wiping it from history? Because it is still Duscur. The nobles of Faerghus can parade their blood-stained, sickening ‘victory’ until their hearts stop and their bones break—but they will not treat Duscur as some trophy. It always has, and always will be Duscur.” He feared he was overstepping some things, but who else could he do it with? “So, yes. I had to. Because most of the nobles and citizens have been spewing inaccurate nonsense for nearly a decade. I had to . . . because Duscur will not be lost.”
Dedue’s chest was shuddering, Dimitri noticed. Good, now he’d gone and angered him. He needed to fix it—
But Dedue’s lips, pressed against his, were very confusing. He’d have to consult someone, but kissing usually wasn’t the way one expressed anger. His confusion only grew when Dedue near-collapsed, arms still snug around Dimitri’s waist, and—oh. Dedue was crying.
To watch it all unfold was both heartwarming and gut wrenching. To know that Dedue trusted him enough to let down his guard, to not be the impenetrable defence between a threat and the king set something magnificent alight in Dimitri’s heart—but no one enjoyed hearing their loved ones cry. Especially not when they were so distraught.
Dedue was gritting out vague, grateful words, but Dimitri quieted them all, playing with Dedue’s hair and gently pulling out the tie. “There is nothing to thank me for, my love. I am simply righting a wrong—one you and too many others have faced for far too long.”
Dedue tried his best to choke off his sobs, and he eventually succeeded, though still on the floor and still taking unsteady breaths. Dimitri was completely content to stay here for hours, holding the man he loved the most with caring hands. Dedue was strong; Dimitri didn’t have to constantly worry about accidently hurting him at any given opportunity.
Time passed—though how much, neither could say. Dimitri ushered Dedue onto the bed, love and adoration filling up every empty cavity of his chest and then some. Some distant, annoying part of his mind told him that the nobility would soon start pestering him about his search for a wife—and he may very well throw the archbishop’s name out there purely for the horrified looks he knew he’d receive. But as he looked at Dedue now, this man who had done nothing but save him and protect him since the day they met, he knew there was no other. Even if it meant staving off intrusive questions with absurd answers for the rest of his days, Dimitri would do whatever it took to hold Dedue’s heart in his hands and know it belonged there—that Dedue trusted him enough to treat it right.
“You’re staring.”
“I am.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re positively striking.”
Deude’s cheeks warmed, close enough that Dimitri could feel it on his own face.
“Dimitri . . .” Dedue reached forward to take Dimitri’s hand in his. “I want to follow you to the end of this road.”
The king cocked his head. Had there been a doubt?
Dedue, of course, could read him like an open book with obscenely large font. “I know that I have always sworn I would stand by you, and I do not regret having said that. But even I can admit, I said it out of a sense of duty. A duty I still carry.” Dimitri would relish in the sight of a flustered Dedue later. “What I mean to say is—this, what you are hoping to achieve in your lifetime—I want to stand by your side. To support you.”
If Dimitri was not careful, he knew he would cry just as Dedue had not moments before. “That . . . is an honour, Dedue. One of my greatest.”
“Please, do not—”
“Hush.”
Dedue listened, as he always did, shifting until he could circle his arms around Dimitri.
“I wish to spend my life with you,” Dimitri whispered, gentle and certain. He buried his face in the neatly combed white hair in front of him.
“Dimitri—”
“I know that it is not proper, for a king to sit on a throne without a queen by his side—but I find I quite like having you next to me instead. If I go down as the King who lost his mind”—Dimitri bit back the unpleasant memories at his own choice of words—“because I reined in my control over a land that was not mine to begin with and ruled as a one-man show, then so be it. They simply do not understand.”
“Do not understand what?” Dedue sounded so relaxed, so comfortable. Dimitri would spend the rest of his days keeping it so.
“That I love you more than words can express.”
Dedue pressed kisses along Dimitri’s chest—whatever area he could reach without moving too much. Dimitri felt the sun beaming down on him through the gap in the curtain, melting the stress and uncertainty left behind by the morning’s meetings. Felix may have his head for napping in the middle of the day, but . . .
Before Dimitri could fully submerge himself in the murky depths of slumber, he thought he heard Dedue say something.
“Perhaps I knew you better than I thought I did.”
But there was time to ask about that later.