Chapter Text
Blue and gold.
Dimitri was getting sick of the colors blue and gold.
For the past two weeks, it felt like that was all his life had been about. Those two colors, and a myriad of other seemingly inane questions that he was supposed to have the answers for. Which would you like more of, blue, or gold? Would you like white accents? Silk, or muslin? Oh, no no, my lord, don’t even bother with those, those are cotton fabrics, and of course only the best should be used for this occasion! If you are having trouble, might I suggest this fabric? Yes, yes, the muslin, do you not think the king would like to see you wrapped up in layer upon layer of- no? Oh, my apologies, my lord! Please do not be angry!
It had taken nearly ten minutes for Dimitri to calm the tailor down and assure him the redness of his face was due to embarrassment and fluster at the thought of being clad only in the air-thin fabric, not because he was angry at the poor man for ‘presuming to know the machinations of his royal mind,’ as the tailor put it. Goddess, Dimitri thought as he held his arms out to the sides for the man to get back to work taking his measurements. If Khalid was here, he would be having a field day with this…
But his husband was nowhere to be found, not nearby, anyways. Dimitri was sure that Khalid was fielding just as many stupid questions in preparation for their ‘big day’. Dimitri never knew how much went into royal weddings. Their private little ceremony which wed them in Fodlan had been so much simpler than this…
It was a quiet service at Garreg Mach. The weather was gleaming gold with just enough clouds dappled across the blue sky to keep the heat away, but without the threat of rain. It had been one month since Fodlan’s unification and the ball which had officially marked it… one month since the night of Claude’s proposal. It had all happened so quickly – and yet, for those who knew them, it couldn’t have happened soon enough. Even Claude and Dimitri themselves were eager to tie the knot, and so the simple wedding with only their closest friends had been put together as quickly as possible. Dimitri’d had very little say in it, besides having Felix as his best man. Really, there was little to organize at all; Hilda had managed to get flowers and decorations and outfits made for them, the best Maid of Honor they could have asked for. She had handled everything; all Dimitri and Claude had to do was show up for the big day. They were wed on the steps of the Goddess Tower, whispering promises to one another that would never be broken. Dimitri’s vows had made Claude tear up; Dimitri had wept upon hearing Claude’s. Their first kiss as a married couple had been messy and needy but no less loving because of it, beautiful and impractical and perfect. Everything else that had happened leading up to and during the ceremony had faded in Dimitri’s memory in light of that one joyous moment of rapture, of kissing his husband…
Dimitri desperately wished that he would have as much joy in being married for a second time when this was all over. His husband tried to look for the positives, painting everything in bright rose-colored shading for Dimitri. “Just think!” Khalid had told him. “Double the weddings, double the presents, double the feasting, double the hon-ey-moooooon,” he had practically sung at Dimitri, grinning at the color that immediately flooded Dimitri’s usually pale skin. Thinking back on their first honeymoon brought an entirely different feeling swirling low in Dimitri’s stomach and urging his heart to beat quickly… but that sensation was ruined utterly by the tailor interrupting his thoughts yet again with another inane question.
“What pattern do you think you would like for the embroidery, my lord?” the mousy little man asked, smiling up at Dimitri with a glint of pride in his eyes. “The King has honored me with the privilege of making the spread for your Sofreh-ye Aghd,” he spoke. “Though he requested that the design be left up to you.”
“Did he, now?” Dimitri asked, aiming for a smile that he hoped looked genuine, and not annoyed. Damn you, Claude, he cursed internally, using that name that referred to the more mischievous side of his husband. It would have been so easy for Claude to just tell the tailor what to do; his husband was a natural leader and arrived at simple decisions such as these easily. Meanwhile Dimitri, who was still getting acclimated to Almyran culture in general, was about ninety-five percent certain that anything he suggested would somehow be construed as an insult by someone. When he’d said that to Khalid the first time the tailor had come by to take measurements of his head so he could start the delicate work of the wedding veil, Khalid had just laughed and reminded Dimitri that it was their wedding. And as far as Khalid was concerned, it was Dimitri’s wedding. Khalid wanted their Almyran wedding to be everything Dimitri dreamed it could be, and so he had given Dimitri full autonomy when it came to the aesthetic decisions. Why he had done that, Dimitri would never know. Khalid knew him better than anyone else in the world, which meant he had to know that Dimitri had no head for fashion, no sense for design or anything else that warranted him being in charge of such a thing besides the fact that he was, technically, the bride. When it came down to it, Dimitri couldn’t care less about the decorations. All that mattered to him was being at his husband’s side, taking their vows for a second time here in Almyra so that no one in the world could call their union into question.
Khalid had to know that, didn’t he? And yet, whenever Dimitri went to his husband asking for his advice because yet another servant had come to him with a question about flower arrangements or wall hangings, Khalid just gave him that Claude-ish smile and told Dimitri to just do whatever he wanted. Dimitri supposed that would have been nice, if he only had to pick between one or two things. But there were so many choices for things he didn’t even know there could be choices about and it was making his head spin. Even now, the tailor was going on and on about the different flowers he and his daughter were skilled at embroidering, orchids and lotuses and marigolds…
Dimitri finally just blurted the one thing he had been trying to avoid saying ever since this wedding decoration business got offloaded onto him. “You decide!” he said, and the tailor startled a bit. Dimitri backpedaled just a little bit, not wanting the tailor to think he didn’t care, but, well… Dimtiri simply couldn’t bring himself to care about this stuff anymore. “I mean- you certainly know what you and your daughter can make look the most beautiful. Why don’t you decide, and let it be a surprise?” he asked, offering up his best smile. The tailor responded in kind with a shaky smile of his own, giving a nod.
“Very well… and shall the colors of the spread also be blue and gold, my lord?” he asked. Dimitri almost exploded. So many questions, too many questions…
He and the tailor were both spared from his outburst by a voice at the door. “Knock, knock,” came the pleasant chime of his husband’s voice, and Dimitri turned around so quickly that it almost bowled the tailor off of the stool he was sitting on while measuring Dimitri’s waistline. It was only speedy reflexes which saved the man, Dimitri’s hands darting out to stabilize him quickly.
“Apologies!” he said, but the man waved him off, assuring the consort-to-be that he was all right. Dimitri still felt horrible for it even as he saw the man was uninjured. The tailor was easily in his sixties, and decades of working bent close over tables, stitching away, made him a thin, gnarled sort of old. It was easy to imagine someone like Dimitri snapping the poor fellow like he was a twig, and so Dimitri was especially careful as he helped the man back to his stool, Khalid coming over to assist.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to cause such a fuss,” Khalid said, offering the tailor a reassuring smile as the man quickly attempted to bow to the newly-coronated king. “Please, don’t worry about that… you already bowed when you first came into the castle, that’s plenty enough floor-scraping for me…” he said, only for the tailor to then launch in on a speech about how humble and kind his new King was. Khalid took it well enough, with smiles and gracious nods of his own, but Dimitri could tell from the blush that rose on the back of his husband’s ears that he was still flustered by the attention. He probably would be for quite some time still, Dimitri thought. His beautiful husband had only been coronated three days ago. Planning a wedding and a coronation at the same time had taken a lot of their attention, and Khalid definitely hadn’t had time to get used to the idea of wielding all the power and respect of his new station in the meanwhile. When, finally, the tailor was once again settled on his stool, Khalid straightened up and turned to look at Dimitri.
“I was just coming by for a moment,” he said, reaching up to cup his hand against Dimitri’s cheek. “Darting from one meeting and going into another… a King’s work has no end,” he sighed, but Dimitri could see that he was putting on, just a bit. “I had a free minute, though, so I wanted to come see how your outfit was progressing.” He trailed his hand down Dimitri’s front, along the fine blue silk which the tailor had draped over his shoulders when Dimitri refused the muslin. Khalid’s attention made Dimitri stand up a little bit straighter. To this, Khalid only laughed, hooking his finger in the collar of Dimitri’s shirt and pulling him down for a quick kiss. “You’re beautiful as always, my Dima,” he trilled, and Dimitri’s cheeks flooded. Before he could come up to say with anything in response while Khalid was so close, though, his husband was pulling away and looking back to the tailor.
“I had a couple ideas for the spread,” he said, taking out some papers from within the layers of his tunic and offering them to the man. Dimitri didn’t get much of a glance at the pencil-scribbles on the otherwise blank sheets, but seeing the doodles made him smile slightly. His husband had such a beautiful and creative mind, always needing something to work with if there wasn’t enough stimulation being provided for him. Dimitri had no doubt that those pictures were drawn in the very meeting Khalid had just come from, sketched out absently by hands that would otherwise be frustratingly idle while he listened to suggestion after suggestion.
“My word, these are beautiful works, your majesty!” the tailor exuded, and Khalid gave a little smile.
“There’s no need for such flattery, they’re just conceptual sketches. I’m sure you’ll be able to breathe a life into them with your zardozi that I certainly could never hope for,” the King responded, and the tailor bowed deeply.
“Your praise is deeply moving, my King. Shall I use these as inspiration for the spread?” he asked, and when Khalid nodded, the tailor bowed again. “If you will allow me, then, I only need a few more measurements from your fiancé…”
“Take all the time you need with him. I made sure his schedule was clear for the day,” Khalid responded, standing on his toes to kiss Dimitri’s cheek and laughing at the little pout Dimitri wore. He had been hoping Khalid was coming to give him a reprieve from all this wedding business. No matter how boring Khalid insisted his next meeting was going to be, whether it was on details of that year’s harvest or tolls upon the roads or even something like repairing upholstery in the western wing of the castle, it would be a welcome change from all this talk of flowers and decorations and blue and gold. And yet, right now his husband was just shooting him that impish, knowing smile as he turned to head out of the room and leave Dimitri with the tailor. “I, on the other hand, must attend to affairs of state.”
Take me with you! Dimitri pleaded with his expression, but to no avail, because the door slid shut behind his husband and Dimitri was left holding still while the tailor got out some needles to start pinning the silk in place around Dimitri, muttering excitedly all the while about Dimitri didn’t care what. In fact, Dimitri elected to just stare over at the wall, letting his Fodlani brain take over and tune out the Almyran muttering until it was just background jibber-jabber… only to have his attention pulled back when he heard the tailor mumble the word ‘shi-ro’. That had been one of the first Almyran words he’d learned, and it always caught his attention. After all, it was a word that had been used as an almost nickname of sorts for the Fodlani Prince ever since he had arrived in Almyra.
“What about a lion?” Dimitri asked, blinking back to awareness as he looked down at the tailor. The man was doing a couple more pinnings around Dimitri’s legs, now, but his hands were deft enough to do the work even while his eyes wandered, and Dimitri could see that they had gone to the sketches which Khalid had brought in. “Ah-” Dimitri intoned with sudden understanding as he looked down at the image proposed for their wedding spread: a seated lion in profile, backed by an artistic depiction of the sun.
“The design is beautiful, is it not, my lord?” the tailor asked, and Dimitri found himself smiling. The picture would look stunning if it was brought to life in woven gold, and Dimitri could not imagine anything more perfect. Two of the greatest symbols of their respective homelands – the Lion of Faerghus and the Sun of Almyra – wedded together on their table spread as they, too, were married. It seemed like Claude’d had some mercy on him after all, hadn’t he? By coming up with this design he’d taken at least one thing off of Dimitri’s plate; one of the biggest things, at that. After all, this table spread wouldn’t only be making one appearance for their wedding. Khalid had expressed his desire to have their Sofreh-ye Aghd spread placed on display in the castle for at least a year after their marriage, so that all visitors to the palace might see it and be reminded of the union which bound not only two bloodlines, but two continents which had previously long been at war. Apparently, Khalid’s parents had done the same thing with their tapestry, though to little effect since their marriage had not been recognized in Fodlan by the Riegan family. Dimitri and Khalid, however, had already been given a royal wedding by the new Empress and Archbishop of Fodlan herself, and with this second wedding in Almyra the political statement would be undeniable. Khalid had high hopes that having their spread on display would create a much greater impact than his parents’. And Dimitri had to admit… the design was beautiful. So long as the tailor brought the idea to life just as Khalid envisioned it, it would make a tapestry he would be proud to have decorating the palace for a year or even longer.
“It’s gorgeous,” Dimitri agreed, kneeling down to pick up one of the sketches for himself to admire it more fully. There was something about the art which was undeniably Khalid’s style – quick, precise strokes jotted down on the page, seemingly without much care but still with very little error. Even just looking at the picture, Dimitri could imagine how his husband had looked while drawing it, every movement of his hand as he brought his idea to life on the page. Khalid was not an artist and never had claimed to be, but to someone cursed with clumsy hands like Dimitri, the drawing was nothing short of brilliant. “Will you and your daughter have time to embroider something like this?” he asked, lifting his gaze to look at the tailor. The wedding was only a few days away and the man had not only Dimitri and Khalid’s outfits to make, but the spread, as well…
Still, the tailor was quick to reassure Dimitri. “Have no fear,” he said. “Zardozi is a delicate art, but my daughter’s fingers are adept at it. She will work tirelessly to make sure it is complete by your wedding day,” he promised. Dimitri felt a little bit bad when the image of a woman bent over a piece of fabric for hours and hours with gold thread in her hand crossed his mind, but if she were anything like her father then she probably relished in the work, and besides that he knew that his husband would be paying them well for their efforts. All of that work would be well-rewarded, and so Dimitri didn’t let guilt plague him.
“I suppose I should let you get to it, then,” he said instead, and the tailor nodded quickly, standing up and beginning to take back all the bolts of fabric he had laid on Dimitri’s body while getting his measurements.
“Of course, your majesty. I believe I have everything I need here; I won’t keep you any longer. I am certain you have other things to be doing,” he said despite the fact Khalid had just told him that he’d cleared Dimitri’s schedule for the day. Dimitri hoped that meant he didn’t have another meeting with a florist or a chef to be attending right now, but if they had their questions they were certain to hunt him down wherever he was. There was really no escaping this work, was there? Still, Dimitri mustered a smile for the tailor and just nodded along when the man asked if he could come back and bother Dimitri again should he find that he needed anything more for the outfit or the spread. Dimitri was too polite, too chivalrous, to do anything but nod along. The wedding wasn’t his debut to the Almyran public but to many people it would still be their first time seeing him. He wanted to make a good impression on Khalid’s people, and thankfully it seemed to be working. The tailor bowed deeply and thanked him for his flexibility before straightening up and starting to gather his things. Being no longer required in the room and a bit tired of the floor-scraping man’s presence, Dimitri took his leave. He pulled the door closed behind him and then just stood outside for a moment, wondering where he should go. If he was supposed to be in a meeting right now, Khalid hadn’t told him about it. But just as he’d thought before, if someone needed him it wouldn’t take long for them to track him down. As he stood there in the breezeway, a passing servant hailed him and delivered the message that he was wanted in the throne room. It wasn’t his King that requested him, though, but another cadre of servants with more questions about the decorations. Still, Dimitri smiled and nodded and went there straight away. Everyone was working so hard to make this royal wedding as perfect as it could be; who was he to be stubborn and refuse his help?
Though the wedding was still days away, the throne room which Dimitri stepped into was already partially transformed. In preparation for the big day, Khalid had stopped taking audiences in the throne room so that the servants could have plenty of time to decorate, instead meeting with his public and hearing their concerns in the little-used courtroom which also had a door to permit public access. Dimitri figured that they were lucky to have not needed the courtroom yet in the months that they were here – it seemed any major problems which may arise as a result of Khalid taking the throne had the mercy to leave them be at least until things settled down. It was a good turn of fate and Dimitri was grateful for it, even if he had fate had their disputes in the past. So long as they could get through the wedding without anything going wrong, Dimitri would be more than happy. There was already so much taking their attention without an assassination attempt or war to distract them and though Khalid and Dimitri had already lived through both of those things and knew they could handle another, it seemed like fate knew that now was not the time. It seemed plenty happy with just feeding Dimitri minor annoyance after minor annoyance.
He had hardly any time to admire the throne room, with its elegant new curtains of royal blue hanging over the windows or the fine golden satin draped over row after row of pews which sat facing the dais where spectators would sit in comfort to witness their union. The work was still ongoing; servants were on the floor spaced every ten feet and working their knuckles to the bone as they polished the marble tile until it gleamed. There were even a few on scaffolds which had devoted themselves to cleaning the intricately carved ebony rafters. Dimitri had only a moment to admire their diligence before he was being hailed by a woman carrying an impossible amount of pillows who asked him which should be used for the benches. The long ones which spanned the entire length? Or should their esteemed guests all have personal cushions, like what Khalid and Dimitri would sit on atop the dais once they got the throne moved out of the way? Oh, and should those cushions be blue or gold, should they have rounded edges or would the square ones do, would he like them to be tasseled or embroidered or both or neither?
Dimitri’s head was spinning again; how could there be so many questions about pillows of all things? Still, the woman was asking him so earnestly for guidance, wanting desperately to please the King’s Fodlani consort and Dimitri knew he should be grateful that she cared so much about what a foreigner thought. So he picked answers for all her questions. The back five benches on either side which were reserved for lucky members of the public who managed to secure a seat would have the long padding put down on the benches, while the Warlords, Elders, and anyone else of importance would be given the round golden pillows when they arrived and could take them to their chosen seat on their own. As for Khalid and Dimitri, they’d take the square blue pillows with tassels on the corners to sit upon at the front of the room. Whether or not the servant thought all of this was a good idea, Dimitri would never know; she just kept that earnest smile in place and agreed with whatever he said. Dimitri had no idea if his decisions meant they would need to order a ridiculous amount of those round golden pillows or if they had to send away for the tassels on the blue ones. He would never know if his decisions were creating unnecessary work because he had learned that if he asked all people would tell him was not to worry about it as they smiled back at him. He knew that it was a royal wedding and that he was supposed to be able to have whatever he wanted. And yet, Dimitri still had the irrational fear that any one of his answers would breed resentment in the staff if he was unknowingly making ludicrous requests. Just how expensive was that golden satin? How much harder was it to make a round pillow rather than a square one? Or was he actually making an economic decision, if the shape saved on materials? But if he was worried about expenses, then shouldn’t he have simply ordered the long cushions for every bench? Or if he did that, would the Warlords be insulted at having the same accommodations as the ‘general rabble’? Had he made the right decision? Or were the servants going to whisper behind his back as soon as he left the room?
His ears strained to hear such whispers as he made his way out before someone else could corner him. The only murmurs he heard behind him, though, were just of the servants chatting with one another as they worked, many of them excited that the Sun King was going to be wed so soon after his coronation, that the non-traditional union promised prosperity and stability in the future, and that made Dimitri feel better. He and Khalid had both been hearing constant complaints from the Warlords that, without the freedom to raid Fodlan as they pleased, their soldiers would turn to banditry to keep themselves entertained. Khalid was above such fear-mongering tactics and insisted that the peace was going to hold, which led to a lot of grumbling and disgruntlement from the Lords. But wasn’t the promise of peace, trade, and cultural exchange a good thing for the populace at large? Sure, Almyra had a warrior-based society, but certainly mothers didn’t always want to send their sons off to be soldiers, did they? There was much to be gained from peace, and it seemed the common folk were looking forward to the stability it might provide. Not everyone in Almyra was suspicious of their new King’s motives; not everyone thought marrying a Fodlani Prince was a horrible idea. Dimitri’s heart actually felt a little bit lighter as he left the throne room behind him with those words buzzing in his ears.
All the same, it was barely past noon and Dimitri really thought he’d had just about all the wedding planning he could handle for one day. There was at least one place in the palace he could retreat to when he needed time to himself, and his feet carried him there automatically. Down the closed hallways of the palace and back through a door into an open breezeway that spanned the large courtyard between the main palace complex and the private royal villa. Tucked away among the many fountains, statues, and delicate drought-resistant flowers was a small shrine surrounded by century plants. The shrine was decorated with a faded red cloth wrapped around its base, and nestled in among that fabric was a tiny statuette of the Goddess that Dimitri had brought with him from Fodlan. At first, he had been worried that bringing the little statue to the shrine would be heretical or sacrilegious in some way, but Khalid had assured him that the Almyran gods and goddesses wouldn’t mind. After all, they worshipped the Blue Sea Star here in Almyra, as well, just by a different name. And according to Khalid, the pantheon which the Almyrans worshipped was made of up very distant deities, to whom mortals were like ants. Even if Dimitri did offend them somehow, it wasn’t like they would care to do anything about it. Most Almyrans didn’t pray because they believed that they were so insignificant to the gods that their words would never reach divine ears. They could only ever gain their attention with big, elaborate ceremonies or festivals like they had for coronations or to dispel droughts… or, well, weddings, which Dimitri was learning were draped in so much pomp and circumstance specifically so the gods would pay attention enough to bless the union. Even if Almyrans didn’t pray, that didn’t mean that some of them weren’t religious, after all.
Dimitri, though, was still holding onto his faith from Fodlan. Khalid didn’t begrudge him for it even if Khalid wasn’t religious in the slightest. After all, it was Dimitri’s Faith which granted him his abilities in White magic… and more than that, the peace he found in prayer did wonders for his mental state. Khalid had made it clear to all the servants and guards of the household that Dimitri was not to be disturbed while he was knelt out here in front of the shrine unless it was a matter of life or death, and so when Dimitri came to the garden, he was left in quiet solitude for as long as he needed. Whether he spent his time actually praying, or just admiring the flowers and listening to the water run in the fountain, he had peace here. That was just what he needed after a morning like the one he’d had.
Very few people dared to disturb him when he was knelt at the shrine. Since all the servants had been warned against it, Dimitri knew that it could only be one of three people when he heard footsteps approaching him, some indeterminate amount of time later. Tiana never had a problem with visiting Dimitri here, pushy as she was. She respected Dimitri and his love for her son and had been a staunch ally to him in the court, and so Dimitri welcomed her presence at any time. Nader, too, was one of the few allowed to intrude on Dimitri’s quiet hours, as he often came with requests which, while not ‘matters of life or death,’ were ones which Dimitri didn’t mind attending to, like spending time with the wyverns or delivering some message on behalf of Khalid when the king couldn’t pull himself away from court. And, of course, the third person who it could possibly be was Khalid himself.
That was who it was, Dimitri thought with a smile as he heard those familiar, light footsteps. Dimitri opened his eye and began to turn, but before he could his husband had draped himself across Dimitri’s back and hugged him from behind. Khalid settled his chin on Dimitri’s shoulder and hummed quietly. “I see you managed to escape,” he commented, and Dimitri gave a weary sounding chuckle.
“No thanks to you…” he murmured, reaching up to place his hand on Khalid’s arm. Khalid turned his head just enough to press a kiss to Dimitri’s cheek.
“Oh, don’t be cross with me. I was just as busy as you were. Trust me, it’s no more fun to listen to the results of this month’s salt mining operations than it is to choose flower arrangements,” he protested in return. Dimitri grunted.
“I haven’t gotten to flower arrangements yet,” he said. Khalid quirked his brow.
“Well, I daresay you had better get on that,” he responded teasingly. Dimitri stood up in retaliation, holding onto Khalid’s arms and refusing to let go so that his husband was hoisted off the ground, feet dangling as Dimitri’s superior height and strength lifted him with ease. “Hey!” Khalid protested, but Dimitri could hear the laugh in his voice. Glancing around, he saw how the shadows in the garden had grown long. Had he really been out here all afternoon and into the evening?
“I assume you came to fetch me for dinner?” he asked his husband, ignoring the way Khalid had started fidgeting in an attempt to get himself down from Dimitri’s shoulders. Khalid grunted and Dimitri took that as a yes, turning towards the palace and beginning to walk. Khalid huffed in the shape of a smile when he made the realization that he had no option besides being carried around for now, tightening his grip on Dimitri’s shoulders as his feet swung like a pendulum behind them.
“It’s been served in our quarters,” Khalid said, settling his head next to Dimitri’s once again and pressing another small kiss to the shell of his ear. “One of the servants spotted you out here earlier and thought you could use a quiet night in.”
“Sweet of them,” Dimitri said and took a left when he reached the breezeway, the path that would take them towards their private chambers rather than the small dining hall where they usually took dinner with Tiana and Nader. The scent of their meal hit his nose as soon as he pushed open the door with his hip, and he couldn’t help but smile. He had grown up eating Faerghus fare, lots of pork and beef and potatoes in dairy-based sauces. Even at the Academy, he had never been very adventurous when it came to meals, choosing cheese-based dishes whenever they were available. He’d become more of a texture-eater than a taste-eater since Duscur, anyways. But here in Almyra, everything was so colorful… the people, the clothing, and of course the food. Though Dimitri still didn’t have as much of a sense of taste as he used to, the spices they used here always managed to dance on his tongue in a way few things had managed to since he was young. Today’s meal looked to consist of stew; Dimitri could detect the scent of lamb and limes. Even though he would be unable to taste them, quite, the aged sourness of the limes still made his lips pucker. They sat down at the table and dug in.
For the first couple minutes, the only noise in the room was the smack of their lips as they ate. But, true to form, Khalid could never stay quiet for very long. That never bothered Dimitri, of course; he loved the sound of his husband’s voice. So when he broke the silence with a little chirp of Dimitri’s name, Dimitri looked up at him with a smile.
“Dimitri?”
“What is it, beloved?” he asked, surprised when Khalid didn’t come right out with whatever he wanted to ask him. Instead, Khalid’s gaze pierced into Dimitri in that way only Khalid’s eyes could, peering right through his defenses and all the way down to his core. Dimitri shifted a bit as he was fixed with that soul-searching gaze, and his smile faded as his demeanor grew concerned. Khalid rarely looked like that when the matter was not very, very serious. There was always the chance that his husband could be teasing him with the deep stare, but Dimitri found that unlikely when he could practically see the gears whirring away inside Khalid’s head. His husband was strategizing, just as he did whenever he had something to ask which he thought might upset Dimitri. And so Dimitri sat up a little bit straighter, his expression quite earnest. “Khalid?” he prompted. Just come out with it! he wanted to say. He didn’t like the fact that Khalid treated him with kid gloves at times. He was so much stronger now than he used to be. Whatever Khalid wanted to say, Dimitri was sure he could handle it-
“Dimitri, how would you feel if I asked you not to wear your eye patch for the wedding?” Khalid finally asked, and all of Dimitri’s surety drained away like water out of a tub. He could feel his expression drop and Khalid reacted immediately, reaching out a hand towards him as though to ward away the bad thoughts that all suddenly flooded Dimitri’s mind, but Dimitri just flinched as it came closer.
A hand nearing his face. Claw-like nails pushing past his eyelid. A wicked laugh. “You aren’t going to need this, anyway. You’re going to be executed in just a few more days…”
“Dimitri?”
He snapped back into his body as Khalid’s hand reached its destination on his cheek. Khalid had half-risen out of his chair so that he could properly lean across the table to comfort his husband, but Dimitri withdrew out of reach. He pulled his head back, stood up, and began to pace, wringing his hands and coaching himself into breathing normally again. There was no danger, no Cornelia in the room and Dimitri knew that. He still couldn’t help the furtive glance around he took with his single eye, which had gone wide. Even as he did his best to stop himself from allowing trauma to twist the path of his mood, he could not help but mull over Khalid’s question and the taste it put in his mouth which was far more sour than the limes.
Khalid didn’t want him to wear his eye patch. He knew it was most likely an innocent request, but with how hard Khalid had been staring him down, Dimitri also knew that Khalid knew it was still a request which would upset him. Khalid had to know how vulnerable Dimitri felt without the eye patch. He was self-conscious of the scar on his face, and asking him to appear in public without the patch was like asking him to walk into battle without a shield; taking down his defenses just to expose a weakness to be exploited. Dimitri continued to pace as his mind and stomach both churned, and Khalid left him to it, slowly sinking back down in his chair but watching Dimitri’s every movement with sad eyes.
“…Dima…” he called after a while, and Dimitri tossed his head and growled at Khalid, which made his husband sigh in response. “I’m sorry, forget it,” he said. “I should have known better…”
The defeat in Khalid’s voice made Dimitri slow down and glance back over towards him briefly. Khalid was staring back with worry clouding his eyes, but there was something else there that Dimitri couldn’t put a name to. It made him pause. Khalid wouldn’t ask such a thing of him without reason. There had to be a reason. And Dimitri never wanted to disappoint his husband, who asked so little from him.
But did he trust Khalid enough, want to please him enough, to grant this?
Dimitri wasn’t so sure.
Dimitri needed to breathe. He needed space to think. Quiet…
He had started walking towards the door before he had completed that thought, the slap of his feet against the floor ringing hollowly through the room. There was a shuffle of fabric from behind him and Dimitri knew that Khalid had twisted in his chair to watch him leave.
“Where are you going?” he asked. The question was not hostile or accusatory, and Khalid made no move to stop Dimitri’s departure. He was only curious; sad, but curious.
“Shrine,” Dimitri answered shortly, and he pulled the door closed behind him.