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Petra watched as Dorothea carefully folded her clothes into her trunk.
“You are still going back to Fódlan?” Petra asked.
Dorothea lifted an elaborate, complexly constructed dress, and turned it into a neat square with only a few folds. “As much as I’d like stay, I do have to leave eventually.”
“You could stay longer if you wish. I would not be minding it.” More than not minding it. She would do anything she asked, if it meant she would stay longer. She had been close to Dorothea for a long time, six years by her count, and they’d only grown closer since Dorothea had come to Brigid. Her chest grew tight at the thought of her leaving.
“I wouldn’t want to take advantage of your hospitality.”
“You would not be taking advantage.”
She nodded in acquiescence. “Even so, I’ve got to settle down eventually.”
“You are still looking for a rich husband?” She knew the answer to that. She’d known Dorothea long enough, talked to her often enough, was close enough, to know that she was still looking. Would still be looking, until she found someone tolerable. Someone who would keep her off the streets and in a house for the rest of her life.
She sighed. “Still looking. It’s not really a crowded field of contenders.”
Petra paused, and took in a deep breath. Should she ask? This was her one opportunity, before Dorothea left in the morning. She did not want to be parted from her—and there was a way to make that happen, if Dorothea was willing. A way that could keep them together, and keep Dorothea safe from hunger and the cold. It felt selfish to ask, but sure the asking would not be selfish.“Would you be willing to marry me?”
Dorothea dropped a half-folded shift, stunned. She turned and looked at Petra, eyes roaming as she tried to read her face. “That’s a lovely offer, but I really wouldn’t want you to be offering that if it’s just to make my life easier—”
“I like making your life easier. And that is not the only why. I—” She blushed, and turned away, not able to hold her eye contact without breaking. “I would like to be staying with you, if you are wanting that.”
Dorothea closed the distance. “Petra, I—I had no idea you wanted that. Or, wanted that like that/ I didn’t think—I’d love to spend my time with you. But I’m just a commoner.”
She shook her head. “That does not matter to me.”
“I know it doesn’t, you’re good that way—” Dorothea took her hand, squeezing it hard. “But you’re a princess. Shouldn’t you be marrying for politics? I wouldn’t want to get in the way of that, as tempting as it is--”
She laced her fingers between Dorothea’s, and smiled lopsidedly. “Is a war-hero of Fódlan not enough?”
“I’m not sure your people would agree.”
“I can explain it to them. And the more they see you, the more they will be having the liking of you.”
“Oh, Petra.” She hugged her. “You really, really want to marry me? For real?”
She dipped her head onto Dorothea’s shoulder, and held her also. “I want you to be safe, and well fed, forever. I want to be with you forever. If I can be having both, I would be liking that.”
“Yes. I’ll marry you. Yes. Thank you.” She thanked her in Brigid, her Fódlan accent sitting heavy on her tongue.
“Do not be thanking me. I should be thanking you for saying yes.”