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“Aw, By, you got me a present!” Claude cooed as his wife handed over the neatly wrapped box over to him. He knew he probably looked insufferable right now, an all too pleased grin on his lips, feet shifting in place to keep himself from dancing. But Byleth had given him a gift, unprompted by ceremony or holiday, and even if a mating pair of wyverns crashed through the roof right now he would not care.
Byleth’s face remained passive, but Claude caught the sprinkling of pink across her cheeks. “It’s something I thought you might find useful.”
That only made Claude giddier. Whatever it was, Byleth had seen it and thought of him. Claude tore at the paper, letting it flutter to the floor without a care. He was not about to waste any time with delicacy when a prize was close at hand.
He found a box beneath, and just as quickly removed the lid. Claude caught himself blinking down at the carefully folded material within, a mess of yellows, browns, and greens in differing shades. He picked up the knitted scarf, long enough that when he held it in the middle at the height of his head, both ends still draped down to the floor. The colors clashed with each other, not horribly, but it was not a pattern any designer would have chosen. As he looked closer, Claude saw a few knits were looser than the other, his eyes catching where the needles had been a bit too rough with the yarn.
“I thought it was something you could wear when we go visit the Kingdom next month. I know you don’t like the cold,” Byleth explained. She looked sheepish, that look of uncertainty seemingly out of place on her beautiful face.
Claude roped the scarf around her, using it to pull Byleth close to him. He leaned down to capture her lips, basking in the warmth of them as she happily kissed him back. “I love it,” he told her, resting his forehead against hers. There was not an ounce of dishonesty in the statement.
He would love it no matter what it was, simply for the way it made Byleth smile when he said those words.
/
“Did you pack your scarf?”
Claude blinked at his wife before remembering what exactly she was talking about. “Ah! No, my love. I almost forgot it.” He walked back over to his wardrobe and pulled out the knitted garment, making a show of wrapping it around his neck and turning back to Byleth to pose for her. “How do I look?”
Byleth smiled, covering her mouth with a hand to hide her laughter that was very much not a giggle. “The green looks good on you. Although perhaps I should have forgone the brown.”
Claude picked up the ends of the scarf, studying the odd color pattern, before his brain fully processed what Byleth had said. “You? You mean you made this?”
Byleth blinked at him, her lovely smile dropping from her face. “Well, yes. I thought you realized that when I gave it to you.”
“By, no offense, but I have to somehow make sense of the fact you know how to knit,” Claude countered.
Byleth frowned at him, trying to assess if he was teasing her or not. “One of my father’s mercenaries taught me,” she explained. “There was a particularly harsh winter when we did a job in Gautier territory one year. We found ourselves snowed in together in a hunting lodge. One of them taught me how to use knitting needles to keep me occupied. It also seemed like a useful skill to have. Do you know how many socks I’ve had to mend over the years?”
Claude found it easier to picture than he thought it would be. “It’s just, it’s so homey I never associated the activity with you before.”
“I did one time stab a would be assassin through the eye with one of my needles, if that makes it easier,” Byleth added on, unable to keep her frown as Claude fell into a peel of laughter. “Completely ruined the mittens I was working on too.”
Claude bent over double, laughing so hard tears started to stream down his cheeks. Byleth, unable to stay annoyed in the face of her husband’s open mirth, smiled as well. She sat on the bed, waiting until Claude gathered himself again and could finally speak.
“Ah, my beautiful guiding star,” Claude praised. He leaned in, cupping Byleth’s cheek even as her own hand rose to wipe away a stray tear. “That sounds exactly like you. I said it before, but I fear it bears repeating now that I know you made it. I love your gift, Byleth. I’m going to wear it the entire time we’re in Faerghus.”
Byleth shook her head, tilting her head up to brush her nose against Claude’s. “Lorenz might have something to say about that.”
Claude snorted and shook his head. He pressed his lips to hers, falling onto the bed as Byleth’s hands curled into the scarf and pulled him forward. He found himself trapped between her legs, languidly kissing her and losing himself within her completely. All thoughts of finishing their task of packing was forgotten, clothes ending up scattered across the floor instead of in trunks.
Lorenz moaning the death of his precious schedule was rather amusing. And when it crossed the line into annoying, Hilda reprimanding him for not adding extra time when he knew this happened before every royal trip, because come on, he really should know the royal couple better at this point, was equally enjoyable.
/
“That is the last of the reports I have for you,” Seteth said, straightening his papers and stashing them back in the folder he had carried into their carriage. “I will see to it that Queen Petra is informed of the construction requests before we reach Gautier territory.”
“Thank you, Seteth.” Byleth nodded her head toward her advisor, deft fingers still filling the carriage with the click click click of her needles as they worked.
Seteth returned the gesture and pounded a fist against the side of the carriage, alerting the driver of his desire to stop. “I shall give the two of you some privacy. We will all be rather busy when we arrive in Faerghus, so please take this time to relax.”
Claude blinked at Seteth’s retreating back until the door closed after him. “I never thought I would hear Seteth actually utter the word ‘relax.’”
Byleth shook her head and offered him that gentle smile, barely there and sweet as the vanilla she enjoyed in her desserts. That was his smile, the one she only aimed at him, and Claude treasured it each time it graced her face. “He is loosening up a bit. I think we can thank Flayn for that. I think he’s just happy she is happy.”
“I would have thought he’d be livid that Ferdinand would dare propose,” Claude said, his eyes glancing to the knitting project currently in Byleth’s lap. He wondered if they had a daughter how he would react when someone asked for her hand.
“A lot happened during the war. It made him realize that even though he was trying to protect her, he was also smothering her.” Byleth’s needles clicked as she finished the tiny sock, setting it in her lap with the other. She began to rummage through the bag next to her, Claude having no idea what she was trying to find.
“It’s also hard to say no when you see someone smile like that,” Claude added, his own gaze traveling back up to Byleth’s lips where that precious smile still sat upon her face.
“Mmm, yes. You certainly seem to have a hard time of it.”
“Why, oh why, did I ever think it was a good idea to teach you how to tease people?” Claude tapped his boot against Byleth’s foot, her immediate response to lift both her feet and trap his ankle.
“Because you enjoy it,” Byleth countered.
He did. He truly did. There was something about his lovely wife that made nothing less than authenticity acceptable, and for someone like himself who had spent so much time as the very embodiment of distrust, teasing had become an easy form of affection.
Claude stared at the socks as Byleth switched to a thinner set of needles. Her small fingers worked the yarn, turning the sock back and forth as it transformed into the beginnings of a lace trim.
"Byleth," he said slowly, staring at the tiny sock in his wife's hand.
"Khalid," she answered pleasantly. Claude did not miss the turn of her lips as he felt heat flush across his face. She was openly teasing him now in her own quiet manner.
Claude coughed to clear his throat, turning to look out the carriage window for a moment before that tiny sock demanded his attention again. "Is there something you need to tell me?"
Byleth burst into laughter. The noise was so unexpected it caught Claude completely off guard. “Byleth?”
“I’m sorry,” Byleth said through a giggle. “I did not mean to make you think I was hiding anything from you. These are for Ingrid.”
“Ingrid is pregnant? When did that happen?”
“She hasn’t announced it yet,” Byleth explained, picking up the sock to begin working on it again. “But I wasn’t sure if I would get another chance to make these, so I wanted to take advantage of it now.”
“Oh.”
Byleth looked up at his dejected noise, her smile dropping as concern clouded her features. “Were you hoping it was for ours?” she asked, straight forward as always.
Claude shrugged, turning to stare out the carriage window. The first snowflakes were beginning to fall, and he pulled the scarf tighter around himself, sinking into its warmth. “Perhaps at some point. But I am a jealous man, By. I think I want you to myself a little longer.”
She did not respond, only the click clack of the needles filling the carriage. It was a comfortable silence that fell between them, Claude’s mind going back to wondering about his imagined daughter and what she would be like. He pictured a smaller version of his wife, wrapped up in her own set of knitted mittens and scarves.
“Claude,” Byleth almost sang his name, her voice tilting back toward teasing as she regained his attention, “would you like me to make you a pair of socks as well?”
“Can it match my scarf?”
Byleth grinned at his eagerness, leaning in to press her own smile against Claude’s. There was no hiding his happiness from her when she kissed him like that, pouring all the emotions she still struggled to express into the gesture. Claude drank it up, almost overwhelmed by the feeling of being loved that came from that kiss. Stars above, he loved her so much.
“I can do that.”
Claude settled back into his seat, fingers happily tangled in the knitted wool, content to watch Byleth knit. He loved his wife. He loved her very much.