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Sometimes, Annette would just sit on her bed and think—think of her father’s face so that she wouldn’t forget how he quirked his lips in a secret smile. I have to find Father, she’d think. He’s out there somewhere. She’d map it out in her head, her plan; she would put her blood, sweat, and tears into her success at the School of Sorcery, get a recommendation for her attendance at the Officer’s Academy, and search for Gustave.
It’d been easy enough in her head. She’d gotten it all right. She’d followed the plan to a T, and yet—when she finally, finally met her father again, he didn’t spare her a second glance. Those eyes that she’d inherited had passed over her like she was nothing more than a broken spear on the battlefield. Insignificant.
When she thought of that blank look, she threw herself harder into her work. She scribbled down notes until her hands cried out in pain and she couldn’t pick apart the words in front of her. When she walked back to her dorm room, she would sing a song on the way to keep herself awake. Only then could she collapse onto her bed without thinking of that look. Her exhaustion would simply be too great.
“Annette.”
Okay, so the scream she let out wasn’t appropriate for a student of the Academy, but in her defence, she’d been certain there was no one else here. Goddess, what if it was a ghost?
“I’m sorry,” said a familiar voice. “I didn’t think you’d be so startled.”
“It’s okay, Professor, just making some notes.”
Byleth peered over her shoulder, brows drawn together ever so slightly. “This is much more advanced than what I’ve been teaching you.”
Busted. “Oh, it’s just—I figured it’d be less of a burden on you if I just understood it sooner, right?”
The professor, to put it lightly, was taking none of her shit. “Annette, the whole point of you coming to class is me teaching you—and if you don’t understand, I go the distance to help you. This . . .” Again, Byleth looked at the materials in front of Annette. “Annette, this is insanity.”
“I’m really sorry, Professor.”
“Don’t apologize. Just . . . Take care of yourself, okay? We need our all-powerful mage to back us up in battle.”
Pleased and more than a little embarrassed, Annette nodded with a laugh. “I’ll wrap up soon, Professor.”
Byleth nodded, bringing something forth from that blasted cloak to plop in front of Annette. “Could you give this to Felix? I still have to hunt down Dedue to give him his watering can.”
Annette frowned. “Where do you keep this stuff you find, Professor?” And why do you think Dedue will be gardening at this hour?
“I think it’s best we all keep our secrets.”
She watched the professor’s retreating back, staring down at the little spur in her hands. She knew it well; there was one just like it, mounted on Gustave’s old knight uniform. She’d figured one day, he would come back for it, but the shining steel was still sitting in the Dominic household, collecting dust.
She positively dreaded giving this back to Felix.
Felix’s whereabouts weren’t exactly a mystery. It was nearly inevitable that he was practicing his footwork or driving a sword into a dummy that really hadn’t done anything to deserve such treatment. Except perhaps exist. Annette wasn’t about to get into the logistics of dummy ethics.
As she’d feared, her humming as she made her way to the training grounds had given her away. Not that she’d expected much else; there was so little life after the sun had set that he probably heard her jog down the stairs.
“What do you want?”
Annette huffed. “Why can’t I just watch this training you’re so proud of?”
“I’m not proud of my weakness.”
Huh. Not that she could judge; before the professor rolled around, Annette had never been able to stare down at what she’d done and be fully . . . proud of it. She could look at it and appreciate the objective positive qualities, but it was always so much easier to pick apart the good until only the flaws remained.
Judging by how often Felix had a sword in his hands, the flaws were all he saw, full stop.
“I, uh, have something for you.”
“If this is another bribe to forget your—”
“Shush!” she cried. “No! Stop it!”
Felix looked more annoyed than usual. “Unless you have something important—"
“Goddess, Felix, take this.”
She should have thought better than to shove a spiky thing into someone’s hands, but Felix’s amber eyes were startling in the low light of night.
“Oh.”
Annette wished she could help fight back the darkness that was slowly blanketing Felix’s features. She knew how awful it could be, to stare at a twisted memory of a loved one long passed and be reminded of everything you hated. Knighthood had taken Glenn from Felix just as it had taken Gustave from her. Except now, Annette had the pleasure of passing her father in the hall as if she were a stranger.
“It sucks, doesn’t it?”
Felix didn’t immediately draw his sword, so Annette figured she was safe to continue. “It sucks, hearing everyone praise knighthood when so much of it ruins lives.”
“Don’t try and sympathize with things you don’t understand,” Felix warned, voice low and threatening—though all Annette could see in her mind’s eye was a face that may as well have been carved from stone.
“They try to justify their actions with loyalty and chivalry, but then when it really counts, that’s the thing that rips them away from you. They don’t see how much it hurts—”
Eyes burning and throat clenched shut, Annette cursed how easily she cried, how much of a fool she was making of herself.
“You’re . . . not talking about Glenn.”
Annette laughed, broken and wet, shaking her head. “No. No I’d never insult him like that. I’m sure he wanted nothing more than to come home to you.”
“Putting words in the mouths of the dead. Bold move.” Felix didn’t sound nearly as angry or righteous as before. He looked away, staring at a dummy before speaking. “But you’re right. About everything.”
Feeling her legs about to give way, Annette sat on the edge of the training grounds, staring up at the white stars speckled throughout the pitch canvas. She hoped that, if she could count high enough, the sickening tightness in her stomach would go way—just maybe, she’d feel small enough that her problems would shrink, too.
“My father doesn’t treat me like his daughter,” she said.
She never regretted anything more. Ready to leap up and never look Felix in the eye again, Annette wasn’t ready for Felix to sit on her left and lie down with her.
“My father expects me throw my life away for a cause I don’t believe in.” A pause stretched between them. His breath hitched. “Could you—?”
Silence dragged on. Annette knew better than to make eye contact with Felix, let alone start asking him questions, so she simply lost herself in the stars, counting and counting and counting until there was only breathing to her left and a universe to lose herself in. She found herself humming quietly, barely anything against the stillness of the night, and was intrigued when she heard Felix let out a long-held breath.
Nobility had never been Annette’s thing. Living with her uncle had given her more fabric to swaddle herself in than she could have ever hoped for, but she was still happy to laze around a shoebox of a bedroom and sing her songs.
Marrying Felix had given her a bit of both.
Technically, she was now Duchess Fraldarius—and that made her a little giddy, but only because she loved the ring of it. And because she had an excuse to accompany her husband to the capital to see the king and a few select knights.
“What are you smiling about?”
Being duchess gave Annette more than enough work to occupy her busy brain. Felix did not share her enthusiasm, but according to him, her simple company made his tedious responsibilities worthwhile. Annette knew it was also the drive to help his people, but she’d never dare say such things.
“Oh, you know, the usual. Being married to the most wonderful man I know.”
Felix turned his head away. Annette had to stifle a laugh; he was so cute when he blushed. “Have you been hanging around Sylvain again?”
“I’m not allowed to compliment my husband?”
Felix did turn back around then, staring intently at Annette’s hands. Years, they’ve known each other, and only a fraction of them were spent making eye contact. “I suppose I can allow it.”
“Good, because he deserves it.”
Smile fully on display now, he turned back to his work. He probably wasn’t reading a single word. Her suspicions were confirmed when he set down his quill with too much flare.
“Well, now that you’ve officially distracted me, there’s not much else to do but retire for the night.”
“What, really? I didn’t mean—”
“Please?”
And really, how was she supposed to refuse him when he was being so open? She took his hand in hers, running her fingers along the small scars there. “Of course.”
He dropped her hand as they walked the halls, but he stayed pleasantly close the whole way. Some things about the man would never change, she supposed.
Getting into bed wasn’t a huge affair; Felix would strip down completely, pulling on softer pants than the ones he wore to brave the Faerghan cold, and Annette would wear one of his shirts that really didn’t belong to him anymore. She was just small enough for it all to work out perfectly.
Before Felix could slip in after her, she pressed her face against his pillow with a small kiss. Now, after so many nights just like this, it was routine.
“What are you doing?” Felix had asked her the first time.
“Giving you good luck for your dreams.”
The war had left them both with scars they didn’t care to name and dreams they didn’t dare verbalize. They’d stuck together through most of it; there wasn’t the need to bring it all rushing back. This was Annette’s way of telling herself she was helping—but, sadly, a kiss to a piece of cotton wouldn’t do much.
Felix fell in love with the idea, and would frown at her until she kissed his pillow if she forgot.
Still, it was only a surface-level solution. Even now, years after the war and their victory at the palace and the Battle at Gronder, they couldn’t outrun every one of their memories. Felix would jolt up in a cold sweat, screaming out someone’s name, and Annette would awake with a gasp and tears falling down her cheeks.
This seemed to be one of those nights.
Annette, blessedly, woke up before Felix could startle any of their staff. She did not touch him, but she did do something she hoped would soothe the crinkle between his brows and the sweat collecting near his curtain of hair.
“Oh, how I just love to clean, clean the library room.” Annette pointedly ignored the heat building in her cheeks. Marriage had made her a true fool. “Just takes a flash of light and then a big boom.”
Felix made a small noise in the back of his throat, eyes twitching and nose scrunching.
“A flash, and then a big boom.”
“If you’re going to keep singing that song, you’re going to have to tell me how it all ends.”
Annette smiled, pecking Felix on the forehead. His fiery eyes were tired, shadows smeared just below them, but he seemed more relaxed as he listened to her voice. Tension seeped from Annette’s shoulders; that had been the goal, after all.
“Isn’t that part of the charm? The mystery?”
“If I wanted charm, I certainly wouldn’t look for it in your songs.”
She gasped. “Hey!”
Felix merely smiled, wrapping his arms around Annette’s waist and pulling her closer. “Thank you,” he muttered into the curve of her neck. He grew hotter, insistent on keeping his face right where it was.
Annette buried her hand in the mess of dark hair in front of her, humming in hopes that Felix would have a more restful sleep this time round.
“The entire Kingdom should hear your songs.”
“Oh?” Annette nibbled on her lip for a second. “The singing Duchess?”
“They don’t know what they’re missing out on.”
“Hm,” was all she said. After a moment, she continued with a smile, “Maybe my first song will be about a swordsman repairing a library.”
Felix hugged her closer. “Of course, the downside is that I won’t be able to have that voice to myself.”
“Aw,” Annette said, voice light with a laugh, “don’t be like that. You know I’ll always sing for you.”
“You do always seem to know when I need it most.”
Annette sang for a little while longer, content to let Felix slip into a slumber in her arms. It was so rare that he let himself go, allowed himself to be anything other than a warrior or a duke. Here, in her arms, he was simply Felix, a man who loved so fiercely it hurt him—who would do anything to keep those he held dear safe. He was the man Annette had fallen so deeply for.
Felix didn’t know this, but there was a small stack of papers hidden away in Annette’s desk, packed with sickeningly sweet lyrics about a swordsman with a prickly exterior and loving heart. Most likely, she shouldn’t publish them, but perhaps she could perform them for an audience of one . . . .