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    Summary

    When she sits before him once more her gaze sweeps over him, assessing him like a battlement she means to break, a fortress she means to besiege. A castle that she will conquer.

    “This excites you,” Byleth says. It is not a question, and there is no order to answer.
    But there may be pleasure in his answering, so he nods. A trickle of sweat stings against the tiny cut upon his neck.
    “I had not imagined you given to such mortal hungers,” she continues, seeming amused.
    “Mortal is the word indeed,” the knight agrees. He looks at her—she who wields the sword that will destroy him, if not now; she who has taken his blood for the first time. She will come for the rest in her turn. “There is an aching I feel when I see you with a weapon in your hand, and it drives me to seek you.” This much she knows, but he has never asked … “Do you not feel the same?”

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