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It's the second night in a row.
With the years, Dedue is acutely aware of the ebbs and flows of politics and government. Some months there is more leisure where royal tours and visits are made. Some others are frantic with Social events back to back with politicking and parliament sessions and negotiations thrown in-between. Peace, he has found, is a myriad of schedules, reports, oration, negotiation and the occasional emergency response. Sometimes he and Dimitri barely have time for themselves to be themselves.
He wouldn't have it any other way. Not when the fruit of their labor and sacrifices are so sweet. When Duscur is well on her way to be restored by her people, with education and a growing respect for her culture and people among the Kingdom.
Peace is a wonderful balm, that even if it won't heal, it will continue to soothe the bleeding wounds war tore apart. Orphans now have a roof over their heads, food on their plates and guidance. Hospitals were funded, education reforms, landscaping and harvest of fields sometimes he himself has helped grown... The fruits of peace and their constant work are bountiful.
But for a proper continuous harvest, one must be dedicated and patient. He knows the flow of politics, he knows this is the season of drafting local treaties, budgets, landscaping. All carefully done and studied for a successful negotiation.
Yet this is the second night in a row that Dimitri has not come to bed. Their bed.
Oh, he had been in the room. His used clothes had been set aside in a basket, and the door of the closet room had been ajar when Dedue woke up. By the barely heat traces left on the bed when Dedue woke up that morning, Dimitri ought to have laid on their bed for a bit as well.
Dimitri had dismissed him the night before with a small kiss on the palm of his hand, promising to return to Dedue and their bed after finishing the budgeting draft Lord Hernés Galatea had sent that morning.
It was a testament on how tired Dedue had been that he'd fallen asleep waiting for Dimitri.
But not tonight. He'd been dismissed tonight after he'd brought supper. Dimitri, skin pale and with a smudge of ink on his right cheek, had thanked him.
The blond had been holed up the entire day in the royal study, analyzing the proposal for a new orphanage and hospital that Yuri had forwarded through lady Hapi. It was a project close to their hearts, and out of respect Dedue hadn't commented on the faint darkness starting to bloom under Dimitri's eye, on the dryness of his lips, or the constant blinking. Dimitri would come to bed and rest, the fatigue would come to pass.
That had been four hours ago. The moment the clock struck twelve he dressed himself and with light feet went back to retrieve his stubborn husband.
He enters the study without a sound, and frowns at the sight. There's barely any change from when he was here last. Dimitri is still sitting ramrod straight, face leaning just a bit to better read the document in his hands. The only changes are the bigger stack of parchment on his left (finished documents) and the number of broken quills and parchment on the basket on his right.
Dedue closes the door behind him, and since Dimitri is too enthused in his readings –something Dedue will have a strong conversation about at a later time-, he takes a moment to study the room.
He notices the small crystal jug of liquid salve Lady Constance made to soothe the exertion of Dimitri's healthy eye is almost empty. It was supposed to last one Moon. It is barely the tenth. The candles that were completely melted, had their wax drip into the desk. Dimitri, instead of cleaning it, has just moved the parchment out of the way.
Dedue narrows his eyes in absolute disapproval. They had argued once about the merits between an oil lamp and a candle and which one was better for illuminating a room at night. Dimitri had insisted that while an oil lam shone brighter, a candle gave him a better notion of the time, and could help him to manage it better.
Clearly that wasn't the case here.
His food, the food he made for Dimitri, cool and barely touched. Enough.
"Dimitri, is past midnight," He announces his presence, and can't quite keep his disappointment and exasperation from his voice.
Dimitri tenses minutely and then relax. It speaks of his disorientation. Dedue frowns.
At least he has the decency to look chagrined when he puts the parchment down and looks up to him. "My apologies. I'm almost finished here Dedue. One more hour and I'm done."
Dedue knows this dance quite well. For some, the fight would be to wake their spouse after they ask for five more minutes. For Dedue it is taking his workaholic husband away from one more work letter.
"Is that what you told yourself when you interrupted your supper?" He questions serenely, one eyebrow raised.
Dimitri blinks, looks at the table, and the splutters red faced, hands waving. "By the goddess! It was not intentional I swear Dedue. I just had this brilliant Idea while I was eating and I couldn't—"
"Time to sleep," he interrupts resolutely. Dedue is well aware of Dimitri's abysmal self-care habits. It is still quite soothing to know his efforts and dishes were not rejected out of disgust or carelessness.
Dimitri's lips twist in a stubborn moue. "One more hour please, I'm almost done."
By the fast blinking, Dimitri ought to be aware he won't finish in an hour. If he's ignoring his body's limitations, this time it is going to be a veritable struggle for Dedue to pry him away from paperwork. He breathes in. "This is the second night you pull this. Mercedes told you--"
"Mercedes would understand," Dimitri interrupts quickly "We are so close on making a comprehensive law on orphanage management that--"
"Will be worthless if you fall ill, your Majesty" Dedue states bringing the big guns.
Dimitri recoils, blue eye wide, and even if Dedue hates himself for the agony he elicited in his beloved, he's glad the words struck true.
The King breathes, something ragged and vulnerable. A true testament on how defenseless these nights without slumber have made him. "Don't," he warns with authority. Yet Dedue has known him for so long he can easily identify the strong inflection for the plea it is.
With an impassive glance, he turns his heart to stone.
"If his Majesty won't listen to me as his husband, His Majesty will listen to me as his vassal," he hotly demands, and it is a fight to not let his voice be as furious as the boiling in his veins. Once in the academy, he could not be this assertive. Part of him still blames himself for not strong-arming Dimitri after the incident in Remire, of having to ask the professor to intercede for him. Not anymore. "What the Kingdom needs is a King, fully rested and refreshed so that he may balance his duties, center his mind and not burn himself to illness and an early grave!"
The air still between them. Dimitri's frozen, like a small kid being scolded, and Dedue wonders if perhaps he went too far.
A blink of an eye, and the moment is gone. Dimitri stands up with a snarl, chair screeching. "Fine!" he says, this time with genuine authority, and strolls out of the study.
Dedue makes quick of locking it and catching up to Dimitri. The walk back to their chambers is a tense one, and only at the doors Dimitri turns to him.
"The King wishes to sleep alone," he declares with a growl taking the key of his study room out of Dedue's hand.
It's a slap, one Dedue ought to have seen coming the moment he used title between them in private. Yet the blow is sharp. He clenches his fists, staring at the smaller man, blue eye defiant. If this is how Dimitri wants to play, Dedue will not bend the knee.
"As His majesty wishes," he mildly complies with a bow, turns around and walks away, back straight chin high and dignity intact. Dimitri doesn’t call him back, Dedue listens at the opening and closing of the door of the royal bedchamber.
It is a short walk to his bedchambers. They are near the King's. A strategic maneuver when Dimitri officially took the Royal quarters right after the war. All with the objective of familiarizing the castle staff and visitors on the arrangement under the guise to better protect his Majesty. They were careful, and the shift was done gradually enough that nobody ever ventured to this wing after eight unless it was an emergency.
His bed is cold, bedsheets stiff from not being changed over a few weeks, and—
He swallows the lump on his throat, rummages his closet for clean small clothes and night clothes and changes into them with militaristic precision. He has enough in this room –his official room. His favorites are in Dimi- his King's, but the ones here are serviceable enough.
Tomorrow Dimitri would be well rested and more agreeable. Knowing his husband, he would probably apologize in the sincerest and most eloquent way that would leave Dedue burning with embarrassment and delight. This was a spur of anger, nothing more…
…If Dimitri is there is the morning and was not Kidnapped during the night.
Dedue opens his eyes wide, sits up on the bed and breathes deeply. No.
It will be fine. Dimitri will be there in the morning. They are in peaceful times. There is no Cornelia that will yank him right from under his sight. The witch is dead. The empress and her army are dead and gone. The remnants of Cornelia's allies, the people that conspired in Duscur, that harmed Hapi –they are dead too. Dimitri, Hapi and himself made sure of it when they raided their whole lair.
Dedue breathes in, breathes out. Everything will be fine. This was just a fight. They will make up in the morning. He did the right thing. He should rest.
The bed is still cold and a bit dusty, but he takes the pillow and sighs into it ready to sleep.
Cornelia took Dimitri right under his watch. He's stronger now. Nothing will happen...
... and it'll be easier to snatch him away this time. The enemy could have been waiting for this opportunity. After all Dimitri is not under his watch right now is he? Dedue wouldn't know until morning when he knocks on Dimitri's door and finds the room empty.
Dedue opens his eyes.
He can't sleep.
He stays in vigil on his dusty bed until sunrise lights his room, birds start chirping and someone knocks softly on his door. He practically springs out of his bed, taking three long strides to his door. His mind is already preparing for the terrible news, recriminating himself for allowing this to happen, for not insisting—
It is Dimitri at his door.
Dimitri, wearing only his nightgown.
Dimitri is a disaster. Hair tousled, the shadows under his eyes coalesced into black rings, there's even a faint trembling on his fingers. Dedue stares, lungs trapped between wanting to breathe and holding his breath.
It doesn’t matter if Dimitri is a mess. He's here, he's alive, he's in the castle and safe and back in Dedue's sight.
Dimitri opens his mouth, closes it. He looks one way, then the other, and a faint rosiness colors his cheeks when he looks back up right at Dedue. "I couldn't sleep," he admits, voice thick.
Dedue breathes, with a sound more familiar after a spar than just crossing a few steps to his door. "You Majesty..."
Dimitri flinches, and violently shakes his head. "I miss my husband. I..."
Dedue makes a move but Dimitri holds up his hand.
"No. Allow me to finish, I beg of you." His voice is thick, but it is the piercing desperation in his blue eye that roots Dedue into the spot.
He nods.
"I must apologize. Last night I hurt you," He begins, and for a moment Dedue fears he will cry. "But the coals of my anger and stubborn pride ran cold at the fear of losing you. Of you being taken, with your Duscurian brothers far away to permit the miracle during the war. That in my anger I put you in danger, and in my stubbornness harmed you irreparably."
"You did not harm me," Dedue lies, trying to placate.
"Your eyes tell a different story. The last time I saw them this red rimmed was after Gronder," Dimitri counters with the surety of one confident in his knowledge. "The only time I remember them ever coming so close were during the first two nights after the Emperor’s death. That I made you relive some horror of the war… What kind of man, King, or husband, if you'll still have me, am I?"
Dedue will forever be in awe at how Dimitri can break his skin and leave himself bare and vulnerable so sincerely and with such poise. It is a testament of the strength of Dimitri's trust –though Dedue is also aware of the unbridled kindness and wounded hunger for connection that nurtures it. And now it is all laid bare to his feet.
Dedue swallows, takes a step closer and is suddenly at loss on what he should do next. Where should he touch? Should he touch at all, here in the corridor, when both are still not presentable enough?
"You did harm me," he admits, and the heaviness in his chest lightens. It is that more than anything else that spurs him to take Dimitri's hands.
Dimitri's bleeding expression at the contact stings Dedue, and he squeezes his hands reassuringly. "But not your words," he explains taking one cold hand and placing it on his chest to warm it up. "I too have fears of that night repeating again. That my harshness last night pushed us into an opening our enemies could exploit."
Dimitri shakes his head. "You were as harsh as you needed to be..."
Dedue sneezes.
Immediately Dimitri pivots and suddenly Dedue's crowded by a man a head and half shorter than himself.
"Dedue?" Dimitri asks, already leaning up, one cool hand pressed against his forehead.
"It's the dust," he explains gently taking the hand off his forehead and pointedly not looking at the inviting cleavage Dimitri's nightgown shapes for him whenever the blond leans up.
Granted. it is far easier to get lost in the sharp frown, those long golden eyelashes framing his one blue eye glinting with fury. "Were the maids lacking in their responsibilities?"
"No, we had agreed to only have them change the sheets once a week unless required otherwise," Dedue reminds, oddly touched at the spark of rightful indignation on his behalf.
The fury disappears as swift as it came.
"I will take my tasks for today at a more leisure pace and wholly eat everything offered," Dimitri vows, sealing the promise with a kiss on his knuckles. "and will retire to bed right after supper. This I swear to you."
(By late afternoon, the sneezes become more frequent. When he's in the royal greenhouse weighting on the merits of avoiding dinner with Dimitri to not worry him, his husband arrives like a storm and, with a decisive nod, hauls him up.
Dedue is shocked, as he always is when Dimitri's unrivalled strength is worked on him, and only realizes he ought to protest when they are strolling down the main Castle hallway.
Dimitri has deaf ears to the hushes throughout the castle corridors at the spectacle of the King carrying a vassal not unlike he would a bride. Those Dedue could care less about. While he had insisted their status to remain confidential, they were not prone to avoid contact in public.
What he can't stand are the giggles.
Fortunately, Dimitri's long strides carry them fast to the royal wing. There he notices a group of maids exiting his room.
"Your majesty," Henrietta, one of the palace maids Dedue recognizes from being head of the maid battalion during the war, curtseys as she informs them that Dedue's rooms have been cleaned with upmost care.
Dedue would commend on her professionalism, if his face wasn't growing hot by the moment. He almost misses Dimitri asking Henrietta is she would be so kind as to fetch chicken stew, soft vegetables, and ginger tea for supper.
"Of course your majesty," she says with a bow. "Shall we bring them to Lord Molinaro’s quarters?"
"No." Dimitri shakes his head, and Dedue notices the faint scent of his cologne. His favorite one, floral and woody. It had been a present from the Prime minister of Duscur. His reminiscences are cut short by Dimitri’s next words: "Please bring them to my chambers."
Henrietta blinks, and from his vantage point Dedue sees her smiling brightly. His ears are burning. "Of course your highness, I'll have them promptly."
"Thank you Miss Henrietta," Dimitri nods and skillfully opens the heavy iron door to the royal bedchamber and deposits Dedue on their bed.
"This is excessive," he comments at large resisting the urge to bury his chin on his scarf. He's still processing the last few minutes.
Dimitri snorts retrieving a jug of water and a basin. "Words said by the man who's sneezing and working on pollinating the greenhouse."
"We have a short window of time, and the bees are not enough for the whole greenhouse," he reasons. The royal greenhouse had gained a new wing and grown almost twice its size since last year. They still needed a sixth, maybe a seventh beehive for the bees to pollinate all the trees and plants inside it.
Dimitri pushes him back to the bed, and places a cold wet cloth on his forehead. The sigh of relief that escapes him is involuntary, and when he opens his eyes Dimitri is eminently smug.
"You could have asked for help. Remember Dedue, you must delegate tasks, you can't do everything by yourself."
Dedue huffs at the soft lecture. It is a habit he doesn’t think he'll ever grow entirely out of. Though the views on people of Duscur had changed in the kingdom, and Dimitri had been exceptional and incisive in picking the staff and knights for the castle, some habits remain. The skills and tactics he learned for survival those first few years in Fhirdiad, they will remain with him.
He is still learning to let them go.
Dimitri cups his face, and it brings Dedue back to the present.
"Allow me to take care of you, Dedue," Dimitri insists with a smile. Dedue knows him well enough to see the unflinching determination shining in his blue eye. It will take considerable effort to try and dissuade him from this. Dedue is wise in choosing his battles.
"Only if you remain here with me," he concedes, taking Dimitri's hand to kiss his palm, relishing at how the hand twitches at his touch.
Dimitri replaces his hand with the barest touch of his cool lips.
"Always," he vows.)