Archive of Our Own

"I," announced Duke Rodrigue Fraldarius one fateful summer morning, "am to hail at the Dominic Barony for political conference within two days."

Felix Hugo Fraldarius, sitting across the table, looked up from his luncheon plate—quail egg scramble with potato hash, supplemented with a pleasant cup of tea. Dominic. Even the name made him sit up a little straighter, but he managed to keep his face bland.

"Political conference?" he said crisply.

Rodrigue nodded. Like Felix, his face betrayed no expression. Unlike Felix, his resting face was actually pleasant. "Yes. I assume it's about Cornelia's rising power with the Faerghus Dukedom."

"I see." And Felix waited. Waited for the invitation he knew his father, as the head of the house, should present to his first scion. Waited to be invited to visit Ann—er, the Dominic demesne.

He waited, and kept waiting.

Rodrigue sipped his tea with no hint of an invitation.

The birds chirped, the sun sifted through the curtains, and still, his father extended no invitation.

Felix gritted his teeth. His old man knew. Someway, somehow, his old man knew, and he was using it against him.

Normally, Rodrigue should have offered for him to attend: Oh, Felix, you should come with me, it will aid with house negotiations. Oh, Felix, would you like to accompany me? Oh, Felix, this would be a good opportunity to show our house's unity.

But instead, his father said nothing.

Waiting.

Letting Felix squirm.

If he wanted to go to House Dominic—if he wanted to see Annette—then he would have to trash his pride and make the first offer.

Felix remembered his last encounter with Annette: last month, she'd arrived with her uncle Baron Dominic, drenched from a flash flood and seeking shelter for the night. They'd had a customary dinner followed by a customary dance, and seeing her bright smile had knocked him breathless and reminded him how much he'd missed her. He'd gotten used to it after three years of political turmoil and border skirmishes within Faerghus, but her appearance had dredged up unwelcome emotions he hadn't known were buried.

"The Dominic Barony?" he asked flatly, meeting his father's gaze.

Rodrigue nodded. His face betrayed no emotion past mild pleasantry, but Felix knew. He knew his father was internally rubbing his hands with glee.

"Should I..." Felix swallowed and tried again. "Should I... go with you?"

Rodrigue raised a brow and his lips parted—but it was fake surprise, pretend surprise, the same expression that he gave when he was playing with politics at balls. His mouth closed and he shook his head with a polite smile.

"Oh, no need," he said. "I doubt the conversation would be of much interest to you."

This damn old coot. What was he going to have to do, beg?

Felix gritted his teeth. "I'll go regardless." He searched frantically for a plausible excuse. "The roads are thick with thieves."

"That sounds rather troublesome for you," said Rodrigue. "I can simply take a unit with me if you prefer."

That would be the wise decision, of course, because it was always best to have a figure of authority staying within the domain at all times.

Felix didn't care.

"I'm going, old man," he snapped. "End of story."

Rodrigue smiled, and it seemed a bit smug. "Very well. If you insist."

He left the room, and even though Felix had gotten his way, he felt like he'd lost.

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In the eastern tower of the Dominic residence, absolute disaster was unfolding.

A mountain of fabric was bearing down on Annette Fantine Dominic's bed, so cumbersome that the mattress creaked and the frame curved beneath the weight of a hundred dresses. Somewhere in that mountain was Annette, rummaging frantically through every piece of decent clothing. She laid out pieces only to fold them away in the blink of an eye.

How could her uncle possibly have had the gall to drop into her room, announce stiffly that Fraldarius was hailing within the hour, and depart with all nonchalance, as if he hadn't just dropped an explosive barrel right on her head? Did he know what utter chaos he'd invoked? Did he know what damage he'd inflicted upon her soul?! One did not simply force a woman to choose the most perfect ensemble in her life within an hour!

Seiros help me, Annette thought, before remembering that Seiros was quite ancient and probably had fashion sensibilities a few centuries out of date. With all due respect. Annette didn't want to be smote by lightning for couture blasphemy. She returned to her dresses, feeling a growing sense of despair.

Lavender chiffon? No, too delicate, too sensual, she didn't want to seem obvious—

Bright raspberry? No, she didn't want to look like a little girl—

Burgundy and cream? No, she wore that all the time, this called for something different—

Annette's hands reached up to crumple in her orange waves, and she felt a distinct sense of panic rising in her chest. House Fraldarius was coming. Felix was coming. She had no idea what to wear. None at all. This situation called for a flawless outfit, something chic but not overbearing, young but not childish, pretty but not stifling, and classy but not outdated. Oh, if only Mercie were here to bring a second opinion and a keen eye. Mercie was always so good at making decisions.

Why do you care so much? said the voice of Mercedes in her brain, gentle and kind and bubbling with amusement.

"Because," Annette stammered, "I didn't have options before because I was in my riding dress and we ran into a flash flood and we had to take shelter at Fraldarius—but now I have options! I have no excuses! I have to look my best!"

Why is that? said Mental Mercedes.

"Because," Annette said, "he'll make fun of me if I don't!"

Would he really? said Mental Mercedes.

"Okay," Annette said. "Maybe not."

Then why do you really care, Annie?

"Because I want to look nice," Annette said, "and I really don't like where this is going, Mercie."

Why do you want to look nice?

Because she... because she...

Nope. She wasn't going there. She wasn't even entertaining the thought.

Annette swiveled on her heel and regarded the pile of clothes with a critical eye. She nodded sharply, keeping her tone confident and firm as she rebutted Mental Mercedes.

"You know what, Mercie," she said aloud, "you're right. Why do I care so much? It's just a brief visit from a friend and a classmate. That's all. Nothing special."

She set her jaw, leaned forward—

—and still picked out her nicest dress.

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House Fraldarius hailed in the afternoon, galloping in with a troop of light cavalry—enough to secure Duke Fraldarius from any highway banditry, but not enough to pose a serious threat to House Dominic.

As such, Baron Dominic opened the gates.

They rode through the city, peaceful and clear white, unmarred by the bloodshed currently plaguing Faerghus. Felix noted the hushed whispers of the citizens as they passed. As the retainers to the previous king, Fraldarius was a significant house, and therefore privy to extensive gossip.

They arrived at the castle soon enough, and found Baron Dominic waiting for them on the steps. Next to him was Annette, dressed extravagantly in a deep teal gown, ears and neck adorned with pale gold jewelry. The sight was so alien that he couldn't help but stare. She looked like a stranger, and he wasn't sure if he liked it more than the spunky little siren of the greenhouse.

Rodrigue pulled up at the threshold and dismounted. He bowed. "Hail, House Dominic."

"Well met, Lord Fraldarius, Sir Fraldarius." There was no trace of a smile on Baron Dominic's face, but he nodded politely in Felix's direction. Then he glanced at Annette, waiting for her own greeting.

Annette curtsied. "Sir Fraldarius. Welcome."

Felix nodded. "Miss Dominic. Hail."

With the greetings over, Baron Dominic ushered Rodrigue into the great hall of his manor. Felix knew better than to follow; this was clearly to be a private audience between the heads of houses, and he wasn't privy to it.

Thankfully, Annette spoke before he had to. "How do you do, Sir Fraldarius?" she said politely.

"Well enough," he said. "You?"

She bowed her head. "Quite well."

Silence fell. Annette's gaze drifted, and she seemed like she was thinking very hard about something.

Felix braved the silence. "What's wrong?"

She bit her lip, but said nothing.

He waited.

Annette breathed in, then blurted all at once, words tumbling like a fern downhill: "I've been thinking of you."

Felix blinked. There was an odd thump in his chest.

Annette flushed and cleared her throat. "I mean. I've been thinking of your safety. Because the roads—it's dangerous now, and my uncle told me you were coming, so I'm glad that your trip was safe. Was it safe?"

Her explanation disappointed him. Wait, disappointed? What for? It was a thought that was nice enough. "Just a few bandits looking for trouble. Nothing my blade couldn't silence."

"Oh, good. Good." She nodded firmly. "Now that you're here, safe and sound, I won't have to think of you anymore." A moment. "Not to be—I hope that wasn't rude."

"Why would it be?" said Felix.

"As long as it's not," said Annette. She straightened and recovered a little of her decorum, smiling with an elegant curtsy. "Would you be open to some tea, Felix? I've had a table prepped just in case."

Right. She didn't know.

"Sorry," Felix said. "I don't think we'll be staying long. A few hours at most."

"Oh," Annette said, and was he imagining it when her face fell? "Just a few hours?"

"Yes," he said. "An emergency council's being held with the Dukedom's dissenters, like Gautier and Galatea. We ran into an express messenger on the way. They want us to attend."

Annette's eyes widened, and her face was solemn. "I hope that everything turns out well."

"Thanks."

Another moment of silence fell, and Annette clasped her fingers together, fidgeting. She seemed unusually nervous. And that was when it finally clicked for Felix—when he finally realized what he'd been missing all this time.

Nice dress.

Nice hair.

Nice makeup.

Acting a little nervous, a little bashful.

It all snapped into place for Felix, and his mouth tightened.

She was supposed to meet a suitor tonight.

Some other man would arrive for dinner, and they'd sit in a room together, tittering and talking about vapid things and maybe even singing. Some other man would be able to stare at her pretty face and her pretty dress the whole evening. Some other man was in hot pursuit of her, and from the looks of it, she liked him back.

Felix's fingers perched on the pommel of his sword. Duels were still legal. He could challenge this man to a duel and win, no sweat.

But what if she's really happy? whispered the voice of Ingrid in the back of his mind.

Damn it.

Felix loosened his jaw through sheer force of will. He tried an easygoing, unaffected smile, the likes of which he'd seen from his father, but it came out as a tight grimace.

"Good luck," he forced out, "with the meeting. Tonight."

Annette blinked. Her brows furrowed and her lip jutted out in a cute, confused pout. "Meeting?"

He looked away, refusing to say anything more.

"I have a meeting tonight?" Annette asked.

"Don't you?"

"If I do, no one told me," she said, and she was starting to sound panicked. "I have a meeting? With who? Why?"

"If you don't have a meeting," Felix snapped, "why are you dressed up?"

Annette's face colored bright red and she glared fiercely at him. "I'm not that dressed up, I always try to look nice!"

"With this much effort?"

"Yes!"

"I don't think so."

"Then what do you think, Sir Fraldarius?!"

"I think that you're dressing up for someone," Felix said bluntly, anger still boiling in the pit of his stomach, "and that's why you look so nice."

"I look—" Annette's face melted into confusion, and she stared at him, cheeks still pink. "I look really nice?"

Seiros. He masked his embarrassment with a harsh glare. "Well, I assume you don't do this every day."

Annette's bashfulness crushed back into a petulant glare. "Oh, okay, then. You might as well just call me a slob!"

"I didn't even—" Why did she always have to jump to the worst conclusions when it came to him? "That's not what I said!"

"Then can you please stop giving me backhanded compliments and just tell me what you really th—"

"You look pretty!" Felix barked.

Dead silence over the hallway.

Annette stared.

Felix turned away, clearing his throat. He was both thankful and resentful of the fact that no one else was around.

"Um, thank you," said Annette faintly.

A pause.

Then:

"You also... look really handsome." She flushed.

What?

"I don't look any different," Felix said. He was in his ordinary wardrobe, fresh off a day of riding, not particularly groomed or—

"I said what I said," Annette said in a rush.

And she'd said he looked really handsome.

Felix's gaze bore into the wall. The back of his head had a pleasant buzz, almost like he was casually tipsy after a drink. His lips were pulling up, and despite his best attempts, they refused to flatten.

She wasn't meeting someone, and she liked him. Or at least how he looked.

"Still," Felix said, "you shouldn't wear stuff like this too often. At least until the war's over. It's too difficult to move in."

Annette laughed like tinkling crystals. "I don't know if you noticed, Felix, but all the female mages have pretty inconvenient clothing."

He frowned. "Always wondered about that. Why? Is there some interaction with the fabric when it touches the skin? Does it conduct your power in some way?"

"You'll never understand the reason."

"Try me."

"Fashion." Her eyes glittered with amusement and her cheeks were blooming with mirth. "Pure, dead, stupid fashion. Tight silhouettes are flattering for girls. That's why they wear the dresses like that, but guys have loosey goosey robes."

She was right. He couldn't understand. It was ridiculous. Aesthetic had no place on the battlefield if it put the wearer in danger.

"Is it worth dying over?" he said incredulously.

"That's why our robes have to knock 'em dead first."

Saints. He hated that he wanted to laugh. "You should start a new trend. A trend of surviving."

"That's not very fashionable."

"Then let fashion die so you can live."

"But how else am I supposed to get—someone to notice me?"

He snorted. "If someone marries you for your fashion sense, they clearly have no common sense."

Annette gaped. "Wow, okay, uncalled for, much?"

"What? It's ridiculously impractical in battle." He gestured vaguely to her dress. "There's no common sense behind it."

Her shoulders loosened. "Oh, that's what you meant."

"What did you think I meant?"

"Don't mind me. I was a second away from throwing a punch."

He smirked. "Now, I'd pay to see that."

Her eyes flashed, maybe with indignation, maybe with amusement—but before she could respond, Rodrigue Fraldarius strode into the hallway and politely cleared his throat.

"Felix," he said, his face oddly tense, "I believe we must be on our way."

Felix almost balked. Already? Surely they hadn't tarried for any longer than a few minutes. He'd just started conversing with Annette.

"Lord Fraldarius," said Annette a little hurriedly, and she threw in a polite curtsy, "please, I insist you stay for an afternoon of refreshments, at the least. It would be no burden."

"Thank you, Miss Dominic, but I'm afraid we must see to urgent business and have imposed for long enough." Rodrigue's tone was courteous, but firm, and had layers that only Felix could pick out. His father was unsettled. "Felix. At once, please."

He swept out of the castle, leaving no room for argument.

Felix turned to Annette, feeling an odd, heavy sort of weight on his shoulders. Disappointment, maybe. He couldn't deny that he wanted to stay longer. Seeing Annette after so long was like taking a deep breath of fresh air after a week underwater, and now he had to hold his breath again.

"Goodbye," he said awkwardly, not finding the right words.

She bit her lip. "Safe travels."

"Oh, yeah. Peace to your domain."

There was a moment of silence, and Felix knew that he should be walking out the door, but he loitered, shifting idly on his feet. Seiros. This was what he'd turned into.

Annette's eyes rested on him, glimmering in the dim light. He expected her to push him out the door or scold him for tarrying, but she didn't. If anything, with her lashes lowered and cheeks slightly flushed, she seemed... expectant.

Felix, said the voice of an irritable Rodrigue in his head, and Felix stopped wasting time.

He slid forward and pulled her into his arms. She squeaked, stumbling a little, fingers gripping his sleeves. She smelled like apples and cinnamon, and her hair was deliciously soft in his fingers.

"This is payback," was all he said.

He lingered there for just a moment, taking in the shape of her form against his, then stepped back, turned, and strode quickly out of the corridor. A tactical retreat. Not fleeing.

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I'm sorry to have to cut your pleasantries short, said Rodrigue on the way back.

Felix said something vaguely generic, like he hadn't minded. He noticed that something was not the same with his father.

What went wrong? he asked.

Rodrigue's eyes turned, refusing to look at him. House Dominic may soon become an enemy, he said.

Felix turned back to the road. They both urged their steeds on faster.

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Dear Mercie, wrote Annette.

She stopped and stared at the paper, her pale fingers clutching tightly at the quill between them. Her gaze trailed to the window, and her hand reached up, resting against her hammering pulse.

Dear Mercie, everything has changed.

Dear Mercie, life is very confusing.

Dear Mercie, I've fallen and I can't get up.

She crumpled the paper and threw it away.

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Summer passed, and autumn began to hail.

Leaves faded from their verdant green to tones of gold and orange, flickering from the trees like phoenix fire. Sometimes, the second son of Duke Fraldarius would watch time pass from his window, hating how the warm colors of autumn incessantly reminded him of one tragic fact: House Dominic planned to align with the Faerghus Dukedom.

In other words, Annette Fantine Dominic was now an enemy.

With no more reasons or excuses to pass through Dominic territory, Felix had been tempted to write to her—but it was a foolish idea on all fronts. For one, he had no idea what to say. For two, with the Dominic Barony as potentially hostile, the innocent messenger might be captured, tortured, or killed. A minor disincentive, really.

Of course, in this period of silence, his brain had the gall to barrage him endlessly with her songs, her smile, and the stupidly cute glare of hers that made him tease her more than he should. All in all, it left Felix in a very contrary state of mind. He threw himself into training and drilled the elite guard until they probably wanted to kill him, but it proved about as effective as applying salt on a wound.

His father seemed to notice his sullen mood and, during one afternoon in the pavilion, made a simple suggestion: "Why not invite her to tea?"

Felix balked. "Isn't she aligned against us?"

His father smiled a little smugly, and Felix realized his mistake. Rodrigue hadn't mentioned a name. He cursed lightly under his breath.

"So," Rodrigue said. He took a poignant sip of his tea. "The Dominic girl."

Damn it, why did his old man have to be so smug. "Don't know what you're talking about."

"What if I told you there was a way to see her?"

Despite himself, Felix froze. Rodrigue clocked his reaction, and his mouth pulled up into a smothered smile.

"Not interested," Felix said, though the words took effort.

"Invite her to tea," Rodrigue continued, ignoring him, "and her house will assume that it is for proposals." When Felix choked, he clarified: "Political proposals."

Felix surreptitiously wiped at his mouth, which was now splattered with tea.

"As the scion of Fraldarius, rather than the first lord, you have some measure of flexibility," Rodrigue said. "You are her peer and match her age. Therefore, they will see your invitation not as a threat, nor a potential trap, but as a respectful proposition. And with your invitation, send a teacup as a gift."

Felix frowned. "A teacup?"

"Faerghus custom. It's a measure of insurance for her." Rodrigue set down his teacup. "It signifies to House Dominic that she is welcome to bring her own silverware and refreshments. In other words, it insures that she will never be poisoned."

Oh. That was... surprisingly smart.

"Well, what do I know." Rodrigue shrugged, and his eyes drifted out of the pavilion. "That's an awful lot of work for a man to do when he isn't even interested in a woman."

This damn old coot.

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In the bedchambers of Duke Fraldarius's second son, the incessant scratch of a quill could be heard, followed by the sound of crumpling parchment.

Annette, scion of House Dominic.

Too formal.

Annette.

Too casual.

Dear Annette.

No, terrible idea.

Lady Dominic.

She wasn't married.

Felix growled and stood from his desk, pacing in a tight circle with his hand seeking his sword. This was ridiculous. He'd spent over fifteen minutes just trying to formulate some kind of proper salutation.

Invite her for tea. That was all he had to do. Why was he making this so difficult?

Felix sat down again and resolutely wrote.

Annette Fantine Dominic:

I request the honor of your presence for afternoon tea and refreshments on the third day of the month, in two weeks' time. I look forward to your reply.

Felix Hugo Fraldarius

He left himself no time to re-read the notice or fret over it any longer. He sent it to the messenger and resolutely put it out of his head.

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Felix Hugo Fraldarius:

I gratefully accept your kind invitation and will hail House Fraldarius at the appointed time.

Annette Fantine Dominic

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Leaves crackled underhoof as Annette rode into the Fraldarius Dukedom, light cloak streaming behind her. She was quickly tended to by the servants, who brought her belongings to the finest guest room. Felix waited at the pavilion, steeping the tea in anxious silence.

Weeks had passed since he'd sent the invitation, and he still didn't know what to say.

Annette entered the pavilion in burgundy and cream, hair cropped to just below her shoulders. She wasn't carrying any of her own china or refreshments—at the very least, she trusted him not to poison her.

"I trust your journey was pleasant," Felix said as she settled across from him, attempting to sound polite. He only sounded sarcastic.

"It was uneventful," Annette responded, her tone also measured. "That is more than what I could ask."

He nodded and poured the tea. Rose petal blend. Not his favorite, but it was Annette's. He sipped at his cup and managed to hold back a grimace at the soft, sweet flavor.

"So." Annette folded her hands on her lap and cleared her throat. "Sir Fraldarius, for what business did you call me here?"

"Business?"

She glanced at him—side-eyed, really. "Well, the scion of House Fraldarius, aligned against the Faerghus Dukedom, calling the scion of House Dominic, which is mostly a swing territory... I mean, I just assumed you needed to talk politics."

Yes. That's what he should have called her for. He, as the son of Rodrigue Fraldarius, knowing that battle with the Faerghus Dukedom was right on the horizon, knowing that it would probably be just a handful of weeks before he was back on the frontlines—he should have called Annette to attempt manipulating alliances. That would've been the logical thing to do, the smart thing to do.

Instead, he called her for tea. Because he wanted to see her. And no other reason.

Felix leaned against his chair, eyes drifting to the pond by the pavilion. He let the moment of silence build up his courage. Usually, he didn't need courage; he could brute force his way past any obstacle without a hint of fear. But this called for social finesse. And he was bad at social finesse.

"I didn't call you for politics," he said. "I thought this could be a meeting."

A pre-suitor meeting. A let's-actually-get-to-know-each-other meeting. The most terrifying kind of meeting, much more terrifying than a duel to the death.

"Oh," said Annette. "Well, that's what you call two people making contact, right? A meeting."

She missed it completely.

"I just want to say that I don't mind if it's for politics," said Annette. "It's okay. You don't have to think that you're being insensitive."

"It's not a political meeting," Felix snapped.

She blinked. "Oh. Sorry," she mumbled.

Saints. He needed to learn to control his words.

"I meant," Felix said, fumbling a little, "I just wanted some tea with you."

Annette stared at him for a moment, then ducked her head with a slight flush over her cheeks. Oh, that was cute. "Thanks," she said uncertainly.

She still didn't believe him, and he knew it. He didn't blame her. Even he couldn't believe himself. Courting, romance—all those concepts had been so vapid and silly to him next to bladework and war. Even now, he wasn't in love. He was just tired of not seeing her for so long. They were completely different things. Incomparable, really.

A silence descended over the pavilion. Annette's fingers tightened on her teacup, and her eyes darted around. She looked nervous, like a trapped deer.

For the first time in his life, Felix wished he was a little more like Sylvain. Sylvain would know how to put her at ease and get her to relax, Sylvain would know how to handle all of this—

"We're siding with Cornelia," Annette blurted.

Apparently, she hadn't been able to handle the silence.

She was side-eying Felix with a hint of fear, like he'd draw his blade and separate her head from her shoulders right then and there. A tinge of disappointment worked its way up from his stomach.

"I know," he said calmly.

Annette's trepidation melted into shock. "You do?" she said, jaw slack.

"Had an idea, at least." He watched the sun glint off the scales of a goldfish in the pond. "My father gathered such from his discussion with your uncle."

"Oh," said Annette. Then: "Oh."

He glanced at her from the corner of his eye, and was oddly satisfied to find pink scattering in her cheeks. So, she remembers.

Annette stared at her tea again. The words seemed to come easier when she didn't have to look at him. "My uncle—he was against me coming here, because... well, you know how it is in war. He thought that House Fraldarius might take me hostage and use me as a bargaining chip." Annette bit her lip. "It took a lot of convincing."

It took a lot of convincing. She'd wanted to come. Here. To Fraldarius. So urgently that she'd argued with her uncle until she could make it happen.

Could it be that she'd wanted to see him? Or was that ridiculous to think?

"I'd never take you hostage," Felix said sharply.

She smiled, and the warmth reached her eyes. "I know."

"I value my library too much."

She hit him on the shoulder, gaping. "Oh, you are so low."

He rubbed his shoulder. He probably deserved that one. Every time he had the opportunity to be genuine, he frittered it away on sarcastic jabs.

"Have you written any new songs?" he fumbled.

She glared petulantly at him. "Now, why would I tell you after you went and said something like that?"

"So you haven't."

"I didn't say that."

"So you have."

"I didn't—I didn't say that, either." She angrily bit into a cookie, and Felix had to stifle a laugh.

"Please, Annette?" he finally said. Given her reaction, she definitely had a new song—and if she had a new song, then he wanted to hear it. At least it'd give some variety to the endlessly looping playlist in his head.

Annette quieted, and he wondered what he'd said wrong.

"Are you sure?" she said, and her voice sounded oddly tense.

Felix frowned a little, but nodded. "Of course."

Annette wound her hands around her teacup. She closed her eyes and breathed.

And she sang: sang about ashes on the wind, sang about wilting royal blue, sang about periwinkle poppies growing for a golden prince—

It was funeral dirge.

For a golden prince.

Felix stood suddenly, a heavy weight settling like steel in the pit of his stomach. "It's getting cold out," he said shortly. "Let's head inside."

Annette's eyes were wide. "Felix—"

"Come on." He was already striding from the bridge and back to the castle. His fingers cut like knives into his palms as the haunting tune replayed like a hollow laugh.

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They settled into the common room by the hearth's fire—Annette with a weighty book on some advanced principles of white magic, and Felix with a bundle of paperwork related to Fraldarius's contracted battalions. The silence was awkward between them, stiff from the morning's events, broken only by the infrequent turning of pages and scratch of a quill.

Felix knew that he wasn't being fair. He hadn't been the only soul affected by Dimitri's death. Everyone in the Blue Lions had been—and arguably, more so than him. He went out of his way to despise Dimitri and hold him at an arm's length, but others, like Annette, had grown very fond of the charming prince with a gentle demeanor. She'd written that dirge for herself, for her house, for her homeland—written it to cope with the noose that loomed over all of their heads and the young corpse that lay six feet below.

It didn't stop the ache.

Are you sure? she'd asked. He should have listened.

The hours stretched by, and Felix managed to absorb himself in his work. Managing battalions was by no means intellectually stimulating, but it was a requirement in a nation driven by war. Annette should have berated him for his rudeness towards her, but she didn't; she only continued to read, the occasional spark of magic dancing from her fingertips as she practiced.

The sun was sinking down for the night when the double doors flew open and Rodrigue strode in, cape aflutter. His face was deathly serious.

"The beacon from the northern outpost," he said crisply. "An army marches upon Fraldarius."

Felix looked up, papers forgotten. "Who?"

"The scouts are still surveying, but the outpost's estimate is four thousand. They carry the banner of the Faerghus Dukedom."

Annette and Felix drew to their feet at the same time. Felix's hand immediately shot to the pommel of his sword, adrenaline kicking without warning through his veins. Battle. At long last, Cornelia had made her move.

Rodrigue looked to Annette, face grave. "I apologize that you came at so grim an hour," he said.

Annette shook her head. "Let me help," she said—and Felix could feel the energy gathering to her, crackling around her fingertips.

"No," he said sharply. "Don't show your face. Your uncle's aligned with the Dukedom now. They're going to have troops stationed at his territory soon, if they haven't already. If Cornelia finds out that you're involved, then House Dominic will be slaughtered."

"But I..." She wrung her hands. "I can't just sit back and watch people die for no reason!"

"You'll have to for the sake of your house," Felix said cuttingly. "Aren't you supposed to side with Cornelia anyway?"

"I don't know, okay?" Annette cried desperately. "I know my uncle made his choice to protect his barony and my mother, and I know I should agree with him and I shouldn't fight Cornelia, but I also know—there's going to be a battle right in front of me, and I still don't think His Highness killed his uncle, and Fraldarius is hosting me, and I don't want to lose you, Felix!"

Silence dropped over the room.

Felix gaped at Annette.

Rodrigue awkwardly toed out the door.

"Uh," said Felix. He cleared his throat and tried again. "I... don't want to lose you either."

Annette blinked, and a crimson flush spread over her cheeks, like she'd just realized what she'd said. "Um... yeah. So... let me help?"

Right. Faerghus soldiers arriving. Business first. Confusing thoughts later. "Your strength in magic would be a powerful asset. And since you're a natural at leading troops, you can take our mage unit and provide support from the backline. I think they'd thrive with some organized leadership."

She flushed deeper at his praise, but nodded firmly. "Understood."

"And you'll need a disguise so you won't be recognized." He paused. "You're known for wind spells, so if you can, try to avoid those. We don't want any reason for suspicion on your house."

She nodded again. "Makes sense. Let's go. There isn't a moment to lose."

She started to walk past him, but he gripped her arm and stared into her eyes, picking out flecks of gold within the blue.

"Look, Annette."

Her gaze was serious as she looked up at him. "Yeah?"

"If things go south, you get out of here." He had confidence in his bladework, but if there was one thing he learned during this season of unrest, it was the value of contingency plans. The Faerghus Dukedom had allegedly accepted resources from the Empire—some machinery that they'd never encountered before. "Don't stick around and play hero. Chivalry means nothing. This place isn't worth dying for. You leave, and you don't look back, got it?"

And strangely, unexpectedly, a sly smile spread across her face.

"What is it?" he said.

"Oh, nothing," said Annette. "I was just thinking that I can't afford to lose."

.

.

.

Snow fell.

At the outer gate of the Fraldarius Dukedom, Felix stood before a regiment of soldiers bearing the battle standard of ocean teal. They waited in grim silence, eyes fixed on the horizon where indistinct shadows milled like morning fog.

The regiment wouldn't follow him into battle. He'd split off. He worked better alone, dismantling enemy battalions from the inside, not burdened by a unit of minions to worry about. But during the initial standoff, it was important to show his leadership and morale as the scion. The men needed to know that the lords of Fraldarius feared no one, especially no tyrant.

On the ramparts behind him, a mage unit with gathered around the artillery focusing orbs, led by Annette Fantine Dominic. She was dressed in ocean teal robes, and root dye had tinted her hair to a muddy brown. They'd decided against a mask, because it would only draw attention—and with attention, suspicions of a secret alliance among the houses. Better for Cornelia to believe that she was merely some no-name mage than to have any reason to investigate House Dominic.

Like loping heartbeats, war drums sounded in the distance.

Felix raised his glove, watching flakes of snow disappear into the leather. Out of season. The snow was eerily out of season, falling flakelike when it should have been crisp autumn leaves—as if the heavens knew that Faerghus was off-kilter and out of place. As if nothing had been right since Dimitri had died.

And yet, he wasn't afraid. He wasn't even particularly anxious. He'd always thought that Fraldarius was strong—known for generations as a house of strong fighters and brilliant commanders. Perhaps they would die on this battlefront, but they'd make Cornelia suffer for it. Maybe they could even cripple her army, relieve some pressure from the weaker houses like Galatea.

The war drums approached. Silhouettes converged into recognizable shapes, and Felix squinted.

Foot soldiers, cavalry, archers, and mages. No fliers. No artillery. No hulking golems. Cornelia had sent this as a test more than anything else—she hadn't dispatched her rumored monstrosities or even an important commander. Did she really think they would be so easy to quash?

As the Faerghus army approached, a wave of Felix's soldiers parted, and Annette stepped through, hood drawn over her face.

Felix frowned. "Annette, you shouldn't be on the ground."

"I know." She stepped closer, her now-brown locks tucked carefully into her cloak. "Draw your sword."

"What?"

"I want to set it on fire."

"What?"

She raised her head, her eyes still startlingly blue. "The initial standoff is about intimidation and strength, right? I've been studying weapon imbuement for a while. It'll look awesome."

Weapon imbuement was considered a generally useless area of study—swords were already deadly, so setting them on fire did very little to enhance their power. It only served to draw attention.

"Is it really necessary?" Felix said.

"Of course not," said Annette. "That's what makes it fun."

There was almost a playful spark to her gaze despite the impending bloodbath. He wondered if she thrived off of combat like him, but in a different way—as a means to practice what she so eagerly studied, rather than coop herself up all day with politics and social games.

He silently drew his sword.

Annette's fingers whispered over the blade and she closed her eyes. She breathed in, then out. Then she whisked her arm away in a sharp, fluid motion, and his sword crackled to life. Liquid flames seared along the edge, blazing bright like a torch, enshrouding the entire blade with a cloak of fire.

It was very, in her words, awesome. It immediately set him apart as the leader. He stood a little taller, feeling a little more regal.

"I'm next!" said an eager soldier behind him.

Annette raised a brow. "Nope."

"But I want a flaming weapon!"

"You become the next duke, and I'll do it for you," said Annette with a grin.

There was a light chuckle among the regiment, and Felix fought back a smile. There she was, being personable but commanding. She always had a talent for managing her troops with a trusting, cooperative kind of leadership. It made them loyal to her, even to the death.

If she stayed any longer, he might be in danger of mass desertion from his troops, ditching for the sake of the pretty lady of Dominic.

All the more reason to marry her, whispered a very strange, out-of-place thought in the back of his mind. They can't desert if she's part of the same house.

Strange, weird, crazy thought. He beat it into submission.

"Thanks," he said briskly, turning away and holding the sword upright like a beacon. It burned hope into the snow. Fraldarius's blade, imbued with Dominic's flame. It was probably a poetic metaphor for something. He didn't know. He wasn't an artist.

"No need to thank me," said Annette. "I've been wanting to do that for ages."

She started to draw back into the troops, to return to the ramparts—but something gave her pause, and she looked at him.

Felix met her gaze. "What is it?"

Annette blinked, then shook her head. "Nothing," she said. "I'll see you soon."

It was more of a command than anything else. One that he'd be more than willing to obey.

.

.

.

The battle wasn't arduous, but it was long, taking up the entire day. Rodrigue had sensed that this assault wasn't the brunt of Cornelia's efforts, and as such, his strategies were careful, minimizing damage and losses at the sacrifice of time. They had to save as much as they could for a potential real battle around the corner.

Either way, they disposed of the Faerghus regiment cleanly with no loose ends. It sent a proper message: they were ready, they were waiting, and if Cornelia wanted to subdue House Fraldarius, she was going to have to sacrifice a lot more than a pity party in Faerghus regalia.

.

.

.

That night, Felix was cleaning his sword when a knock came on the door to his chambers.

His limbs were weary after a day of battling, but in a good way, like the satisfying burn in his muscles after an intense training session. Perhaps he should've felt more bothered by seeing blood and slaughtering soldiers, but he couldn't bring himself to care. He had no regrets when it came to protecting what he held dear. And his enemies felt the same.

"Come in," he said to the visitor at the door, mildly curious. At this hour, his father would be resting, and most of the servants would have retired for the night.

The door creaked open, and Annette Fantine Dominic stepped into the room.

She was in a nightgown with an evening cloak wrapped around her for modesty, freshly washed from the blood and dust of battle. The dye was out of her hair, which had returned to its vibrant orange. She flushed as she entered the room, but her gaze held his.

"Sorry to intrude," she said.

Felix set away his sword, strangely aware of the fact that he was only in a loose nightshirt and pants, and this scenario—a woman from another house, a guest, dressed down and entering his room at night—was probably extremely improper. Not that he cared.

"Something wrong?" he said.

Annette's fingers clamped tighter on her cloak as she walked further into the room, the fire from the hearth casting her face in a warm glow. "I just wanted to check up on you... that's all."

She sounded utterly exhausted. Now that he was looking closer, Felix noticed that there was no energy in her gait, and her eyes were drooping as if struggling to stay open. Alarmed, he shot up from his chair and strode to her, gripping her by the shoulders.

"What happened?" he said quickly. "Are you sick? Were you poisoned?"

She blinked, alert for a moment at his touch. "Oh, no. This... it happens whenever I use too much magic in a battle. Magic is... uh, basically... there's only so much of one kind that we can do at once, or we'll wear out."

She swayed a little on her feet, and he guided her to his oversized armchair, which was more than big enough for both of them. As they sank into the cushions, his arm naturally curled around her waist. She was pressed to his side, so close that he could smell the light apple scent of shampoo from her hair.

Definitely improper.

"Why did you push yourself so hard?" he said sharply.

She laughed a little softly and distantly. "You're one to talk. Maybe we both have problems."

"I'm not falling over my own feet to stay awake," he pointed out.

Annette was quiet for a moment, her eyes fixed on the mesmerizing flame of the hearth.

"But you were bleeding," she said. "You limped back from the battlefield, and there was blood... left in your footsteps. Then I remembered... back at the academy, during the tournaments... you wouldn't accept any healing... until afterward."

His days at the academy. They were four years ago, and yet they felt even farther.

"Yeah," he mused. "Didn't accept healing during tournaments because it felt like cheating." He paused. "War changes things."

She tilted her head to look up at him, distractingly close. "Oh?"

"There's too much to lose," he said. Too much to be picky about how or when you were healed. There was never enough time, never enough strength, never enough resources.

Annette's face turned grave and she nodded.

There was a moment of silence between them, and they both pondered. Then:

"What did you lose, Felix?" said Annette. "What... changed your mind?"

He stared into the flames with her, his mouth dry. Nothing. He'd lost nothing. That's who he always was, who he'd always been—an achiever, ready to push himself to his limits—

"Maybe the boar," said his mouth. A breath. "Maybe my brother."

Annette wordlessly slipped her hand over his, the touch warm and gentle. It was friendly and compassionate, human, not with any other meaning, but he suddenly felt a tightness in his chest and a heat in the air that he couldn't ignore.

"I'm sorry," Annette said quietly.

He was still for a moment, listening to his heart beat. "We've all lost something."

"I don't know if... you've realized how much you've lost." Annette's fingers tightened a little on his. "Friend... brother... even father. I'm sorry... Felix."

Her words lanced straight through his gut. He bit down on his tongue, and iron filled his mouth.

"It's fine," he said. "I expected it. Things were never the same between us. Not after Glenn." He paused, then hurried to fill the void. "And they don't need to be. I've got other things on my mind."

Annette's gaze was on him, and she bit her lip, thinking.

"After His Highness's death," she said slowly, "your father... did he think about anything else?"

"He thought the boar's death was faked."

Annette's eyes lower. "So did my father."

They left the rest unspoken: they'd never been their fathers' first choices. Felix felt compelled to say something to lift the weight, or maybe to even give her a gleam of hope. He didn't want it to be cruel. Hope often was.

"It's not so bad anymore," he mused. "My old man, we eat together now, I guess, and argue sometimes. He's getting nosy. We talk here and there. We don't ignore each other anymore."

A spark entered Annette's eyes, and he knew that she was thinking of Gilbert. "Really?"

"Yeah." Being united against a common enemy, like the Faerghus Dukedom, really helped. "Could be better. But could be a lot worse."

"I hope so," Annette whispered, and she looked back to the fire.

Felix watched orange and red dance in her eyes and she suddenly seemed so lonely and small, distanced from her miserable father and her strict uncle, caught in a web where nothing seemed right. His hand curled around her waist, pulling her a little closer. Her frame huddled just slightly against his, and she let out a quiet sigh.

"You sure you're fine?" he said. She seemed so lethargic.

"I don't regret fighting her."

"I know. That's not what I asked."

Annette made a faint noise. "I'm just... spent." She slumped against him, her head resting on his shoulder, hair spilling over his shirt. "Probably gonna... sleep most of tomorrow... sorry..."

He moved his arm to brace her so that she didn't fall. His fingers lay on the curve of her shoulder. "Good. As you should."

"I'll... have to... impose another day..."

"It's fine," he murmured.

She drifted off into silence. He listened to the distant toll of the town bell, calling in the second watch of the night.

"Wish you'd stay longer," he said to no one.

.

.

.

Sunlight was sifting through the window when Annette woke.

She blinked at the warmth, shielding her face with slim fingers. For a moment, she was disoriented. This room wasn't her room. This chair wasn't her chair. And there was some large, considerable weight leaning against her, something that definitely wasn't one of her oversized plushies.

She turned, and instantly clapped her hands over her mouth when she was met with Felix's face. He was sleeping, thank the Goddess: a small mercy.

That was when slivers of memories poured in, one at a time: entering his room, sitting in the same chair, touching him, speaking so quietly and intimately—oh, goddess save her, had she completely lost her mind?!

Fire flushed across her entire face and burned at her ears.

She'd spent the night in a man's room. The impropriety! The sheer scandal! What had she been thinking?! No, what had Felix been thinking, just letting her traipse around and sit in his chair and touch his hand and lie on his shoulder?! How could he possibly have left her here instead of carrying her to—to—wait, he would've had to carry her back to her room while she was unconscious, which would've involved moving considerable weight right after an extremely lengthy battle. He must've been exhausted, too.

He was awfully welcoming, mused Mental Mercedes. And he treated you so softly.

Annette waved her away. Out of politeness. Only politeness. That gentle, warm atmosphere, that sense of weird, lingering space, the low whispers—it was only because of her exhaustion. She couldn't set herself up for any expectations.

She buried her face in her hands, mind racing at a mile a minute. What was she supposed to do now? Leave? What if a servant caught her as she was exiting? But if she stayed, what if someone came in? That would be even more compromising. Or, Seiros forbid, what if Rodrigue Fraldarius entered to see them together?! He'd consider her an uncouth, vulgar young brat, and he might declare war against House Dominic!

Then the worst thing possible happened.

Felix woke up.

He stirred slowly, his lashes—stupidly long, curse him—lifting as he took in his surroundings. Annette felt an odd skitter of warmth in her chest as he woke, and she suddenly realized that during the night, Felix's hand had dropped down and was now resting on the curve of her hip. He was also only in his nightshirt and pants, and this was extremely scandalous and she needed to abort right now. But she couldn't move. She was frozen in her seat, eyes fixed on Felix's face, caught in her doom like a stag in hunting season.

Felix's eyes skated around the edges of his room, as if cataloguing the shadows for threats, then to Annette's face. He blinked slowly. She waited for him to jump away, maybe with a disdainful look.

Instead, his eyes fixed on a lock of hair on her face, and he reached out to brush it behind her ear. She felt the calluses of his fingers skim over the edge of her ear, and she suddenly was quite faint. His face was very close, his eyes were very warm, and she'd never seen him look so... un-prickly.

"Did you sleep enough?" was all he said.

"What?" Annette said, much higher-pitched than she intended.

He leaned forward, examining her eyes—for bags, maybe? Either way, he was horribly, offensively, exhilaratingly close, and her mind ran completely blank. "You said you were spent. You can sleep all day if you'd like."

What was happening? What was going on? What was this? Who was she?

"Oh," she managed faintly. "Thanks."

And he reached out and—

—pulled her head back onto his shoulder.

What. What. What.

Annette lay there like a limp fish or a dead corpse. Or maybe a dead fish and a limp corpse. She lay there with none of her higher functions intact, feeling soft linen against her ear.

Felix sighed, a note of frustration in his voice. "Sleep before you get sick," he said.

And then Felix laid his head on hers.

If Annette's cognition had already been defunct, it was now officially disconnected from her body. She had clearly entered an alternate universe where everything was opposite. Nothing made sense. She was an abstract concept.

She glanced at Felix from her periphery, but his eyes were already closed. His face betrayed no emotion. Maybe he was just extremely tired from yesterday's battle—to the point where he couldn't summon the energy to climb into bed. She could understand that. But did he have to do this? He was throwing her completely off-balance—him and his dumb dry wit and his dumb handsome face and the weight of his dumb warm cheek on her head.

Felix, she wanted to say, what's happening?

Instead: "I... don't think I can sleep."

Felix snorted. "Try harder."

I think I'm going to retire to my room, she should have said. It would be the proper thing to do. The right thing to do. The Annette thing to do.

Instead, she closed her eyes, soaking in his warmth. Maybe, in the end, she could pretend this was a dream. It would be one of the most pleasant dreams she'd ever had.

.

.

.

Even after she was well-rested, Annette tarried for a week at the Fraldarius Dukedom.

She tarried until she knew her uncle would start to worry, until Cornelia would start to grow suspicious of House Dominic's allegiances, until she was pushing at the boundaries of propriety. She tarried, studying in the Fraldarius library and patrolling the ramparts with Felix and laughing at Rodrigue's ridiculous jokes. She tarried, wondering if she was overthinking how Felix would sometimes look at her or how the servants would chatter when they thought she wasn't listening. How he fancies her. The young master has never been in such an agreeable mood! I wonder if the house shall soon see a new lady.

When she could tarry no more, she finally packed her belongings and left the warmth of the Fraldarius Dukedom. Felix escorted her, sword readily in hand.

They lingered just outside the gates—Annette gripping the reins of her horse, and Felix standing next to her. The snow had long since melted away, replaced again by autumn leaves that crunched underfoot.

"I'll write you," Felix said suddenly, and the words almost didn't parse for Annette because they sounded foreign from his lips.

"Oh," she said. "I mean—I would like that, a lot, but since House Dominic and House Fraldarius are now... you know, if we sent couriers... I mean..."

Felix blinked. "Right," he said, looking away.

Even if they wouldn't actively wage war, extended communications between houses on opposite sides would be met with suspicion. Or worse yet, the messengers might be slain on sight if they were not bearing a white flag.

Annette's grip tightened on the reins. She knew that she should mount her steed, that she should ride away and leave this all behind. The banter with the battalions and dueling practices and dinner jokes would only become a sweet memory, like so much else in her life.

Felix turned back to her, and his face hardened, resolute.

"I was thinking..."

He trailed off, staring very intently at her in a way that made her cheeks warm. She waited, but he only kept looking at her, his gaze unreadable. It made her expect things. Scary, thrilling, scandalous things.

Around them, the wind was still.

"Are you still thinking?" Annette said hesitantly.

Felix blinked again. He breathed in, then out, and looked away again. Despite herself, Annette felt a little trickle of disappointment. She moved to grip her horse's saddle, ready to pull herself up, when—

"Do you have any brothers?" Felix said suddenly, his gaze sharp and somewhat intimidating.

Annette froze. "Uh. No? What?"

Felix muttered a curse under his breath and looked away.

"Uh, why?" Annette asked hesitantly. She'd never mentioned any brothers. No one had ever asked about brothers. He'd visited the Dominic barony, he knew she had no brothers. Why on earth would Felix have asked—

"Who am I supposed to fight for the right to courtship?" Felix said.

Annette blinked.

Felix kept staring pointedly... not at her.

Somewhere in the distance, birds chirped.

Hot fire flooded Annette's cheeks as her brain clicked into place. Courtship? Did he realize—was he asking—could this possibly—

"Courtship for—for me?" she squeaked.

"Yes, for you," Felix snapped. "Do you see anyone else around here?"

But that would mean—he was asking—

"You're not supposed to fight anyone," Annette found her mouth saying. "You could just, you know, ask me."

Inside, her brain was screaming incoherently at the thought that this was actually happening. This was not a dream. This was not a drill. Felix of House Fraldarius was seriously, legitimately asking to court her. Her.

Felix rubbed his neck and let out a frustrated growl. He turned to her resolutely, fixing his eyes on hers. Oh, saints, he was blushing and it was simultaneously the most adorable and the most attractive thing she'd ever seen.

"Annette," he said, then paused. "Scion of House Dominic." Another pause. "Let me court you."

Hearing those words actually spoken aloud struck Annette speechless.

Felix's hand slipped to his sword like a nervous habit. "I shouldn't ask until after the war. Especially with our houses... the Faerghus Dukedom... yeah, I shouldn't have asked. But I still am, and I can't apologize for it. I want..." His composure cracked and he looked away, muttering under his breath. "I want to see you more often than once every few years."

He reached into his pocket and withdrew something, extending it to her: a sleek necklace of sterling silver, set with a slim pendant of an artistic bird with wings flowing like the summer wind.

"Oh," Annette breathed.

Upon beginning courtship, Faerghus custom called for an exchange of gifts. The man, when requesting courtship, would present a small piece of jewelry, most often a necklace or a bracelet. If accepted, the woman would weave an intricate braided bracelet, often including a single thread of gold or silver.

Felix looked at her. "Because, you're... like a songbird. I guess."

Annette reached out, her fingers cradling carefully around the chain. Felix released the necklace, and the pendant fell lightly into her hand. She stared at it for a moment.

"It's pretty," she whispered. "I didn't think you'd... um, well."

"You didn't think I had good taste?" Felix said dryly.

She grinned sheepishly. "Can you blame me?"

He snorted. But then he turned away, ears reddening. "I wrote Ingrid."

"Oh?"

"She laughed at me."

"Oh."

"But then she gave me some honest advice on what to pick out." His eyes cut back to the necklace, and his brow furrowed. "Do you like it?"

"Yes," she said breathlessly, "I really like you. I mean, it. I really like it."

His ears tinged a little pink, and she knew that he caught the slip.

"Well," he said, clearing his throat, "it's yours."

If you want it to be, he left unspoken. Technically, Annette had yet to accept.

Annette swallowed and stared at the chain for a moment. She suddenly felt as if she was at a yawning fork in the road, and taking a single step forward would change her life forever.

It was exciting, and a little scary, but mostly exciting.

Annette extended the necklace to Felix. "Um... help me put it on?" she said nervously.

Felix's eyes flitted from the necklace to her face. He nodded tersely and stepped behind her, close enough to touch. Her pulse was zipping in her veins, unstoppable.

"You'll probably have to—um, your gloves. The clasp is tiny."

"Right," said Felix. He stripped his gloves, hanging them loosely on his belt.

Annette drew her hair to the side, feeling her neck tingle in the cool breeze. She waited, but Felix didn't move.

"Felix?" she said.

"Right," Felix said again.

He rested the pendant on her collarbone, then threaded the chain under her hair and around her neck. His fingers brushed her skin, and she swallowed. He paused, and she felt him breathe in. His fingertip trailed back, running lightly along the curve of her neck for just a second. Heat curled in her chest, and she waited with bated breath—for what, she didn't know.

Felix fastened the chain, but he didn't step away.

"There," he murmured. "Done."

He was right behind her, chest gently touching her shoulder. She could feel his mouth next to her ear and his hands resting on her shoulder blades. Everything about the position was tender and nervous and slightly intimate, and she wanted to stay there forever.

She turned into him, pressing herself to his chest. As natural and easy as a summer breeze, his arms slid around her, cradling her shoulders and pulling her close. She reached up and her fingers gripped his cloak.

His face was very close, and his eyes were boring into her with a dark intensity that made her feel faint.

Oh my, she thought, followed by, Seriously? "Oh my?" You're about to have your first kiss, and all you can think is—

Felix leaned down and like a magnet she tiptoed up and they melted into each other.

His mouth was warm, lips slightly chapped. He smelled of winter with a hint of pine. She slid her arms around his neck, and his hair was silky against her fingers, straight, unlike her stubborn waves. She was kissing Felix Hugo Fraldarius. He was kissing her. It was a mutual thing. They were mutually kissing, they were mutually in love. How delightfully, utterly weird.

He drew back only to kiss her again, and she felt something like sparkles erupt in her gut. Oh, she liked this. She really liked this. Suddenly, she didn't want to leave.

Felix broke away and leaned his forehead on hers, still so very close. His hands were cradling her face, and her fingers were linked around his neck, and she was breathing a bit fast and light in a way that made her dizzy.

"You should go," he murmured.

"Huh, what?" Annette said distractedly.

"Home."

"Yeah, hi."

He chuckled, and the low rumble spread across her nose and cheeks. "No, I mean. You need to go back to the Dominic barony."

"Oh," she said. Then: "Can you kiss me again so I don't have to think about it?"

"Don't tempt me."

"Tempt, tempt."

He laughed and kissed her—quickly, barely a breath. "There. No more."

"Stingy."

"I don't think you get it," said Felix, his eyes suddenly burning and his tone very strange. "If you don't leave, it'll be hard for me to stop."

Annette flushed. Oh. Oh.

He broke away and guided her hands to the reins of the horse, which—had it been standing there patiently the entire time? Oops.

She reluctantly turned from him and pulled herself into the saddle, arranging her riding dress to settle comfortably.

"I'll miss you," Felix said brusquely, looking away.

Something fluttered in her chest, and she beamed. "I already miss you," she said.

He glanced at her, then scowled. "Go before I pull you off your horse."

She flushed crimson, her heart pounding. She felt giddy and lightheaded and courtship had simultaneously changed everything and nothing at all.

"Goodbye," she said softly. Then, in a rush: "Love you. Is it too early? I don't care. Love you."

If she didn't leave now, she'd never be able to. She kicked in her heels, turned her steed, and galloped away, leaving Felix standing by the gate.

.

.

.

Rodrigue was stationed at the dining table, pouring over some dusty old trade agreements when Felix entered. He looked up to greet him, but stopped promptly in his tracks.

His son's face was completely flushed, red across the cheeks to the ears. He was murmuring something under his breath repeatedly, but it was too quiet for Rodrigue to hear. He stormed across the dining hall, pulling up by the table of afternoon refreshments to serve himself some fresh coffee.

Rodrigue grinned quietly to himself.

Felix felt the weight of his gaze, and his eyes snapped to Rodrigue. "Not a word, old man," he barked.

Rodrigue lifted a brow. "I didn't say anything."

Felix forced himself to settle down. He took his seat across from Rodrigue and reached for one of the letters that had been left on the table—correspondence from another house of Faerghus. And just as his beverage's bitter warmth hit the back of his throat, just as he was starting to relax—

"So, when's the wedding?" Rodrigue asked.

Felix choked on his coffee.