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“I’m not a fan of sweets,” Rodrigue explains when he declines the cake.
The combination of his dark hair, the Crest of Fraldarius on his cloak, and those annoyingly familiar words all bring Felix’s surly face to the forefront of her mind, resulting in Annette scoffing a loud, unladylike, “Ugh.”
Rodrigue blinks, clearly taken aback.
Annette has heard him scold Felix for his bland greetings of “Hey” on more than one occasion. Naturally, she begins to panic.
“I—I—“ She bows her head. “I am so sorry, Your Grace! You, uh—“ She laughs nervously, chancing a glance up and confirming that Rodrigue hasn’t decided she needs to be sent to the dungeon for her rudeness. Not that they had a dungeon. He would have Shez commission a dungeon just for her! “You just reminded me of Felix!” she continues. Noticing her misstep, she fumbles. “I—I mean, um, His Grace?”
“You think of my son and your reaction is ugh?”
Annette flushes even further at his terrible imitation of her. “No?” But that clearly isn’t true. “I mean yes? I mean…” Annette clears her throat and straightens her spine, hoping to get through this conversation with as much dignity as she can muster. “I apologize. You just reminded me of Felix. Er, His Grace. He always says he doesn’t like sweets when I offer him snacks.”
“I see.” Rodrigue crosses his arms, the hint of a smile on his lips. “Do you offer him snacks often?”
“Of course! I offer some to everyone whenever Mercie and I bake something. And back at the Academy, I even got him to try my ginger cookies.”
“A fine accomplishment indeed.”
Annette pouts, unsure if he’s teasing her because it’s possible that villainy is genetic. But Rodrigue brings a hand to his chest and surprises her by bowing.
“I thank you for always looking after my son, Annette.” Rodrigue straightens and Annette catches the sadness in his eyes. “I placed a heavy burden on him two years ago. It pleases me to know he has people that take care of him.”
“Oh.” Annette tries tucking her hair back, but it’s already held back by her bandana and now she looks silly. “I mean…of course.” She offers Rodrigue a shy smile. “Felix is my friend,” she says simply, forgoing the title that will always feel foreign on her tongue. “I’ll always take care of him.”
She feeds him and forces him to take breaks and organizes his documents for him because he's honestly terrible at keeping things neat. She heals his wounds on and off the battlefield and when he's visibly stressed or frustrated, she sings for him too.
Rodrigue’s shoulders feel a tad bit lighter. “I’m glad.”