Chapter Text
“I thought I’d find you here.”
Annette reacts to Felix’s voice with a little less surprise after months of studying together and fighting side-by-side. Granted, that fighting came to a halt just weeks ago with the monastery’s closure. And she didn’t even do her part in the most important battle yet. She tightens her grip on the tome she’d plucked out, but soon eases her hold when she considers how old and precious it must be.
“Try not to blow up this library,” he continues as he strides closer. Felix makes a face as he looks at the pile of broken wood in the corner that was once tables and shelves that were ruined in the fight against Rufus and Cornelia. “It already took enough damage as it is.”
“I wouldn’t know,” she mumbles.
After all, Annette chose to do nothing to protect her family rather than do everything to protect her friends.
Felix stops in front of her, his usual scowl making him look childish in an outfit so reminiscent of his father’s. Felix seems so strange like this, dressed for politicking instead of cutting down his enemies. There are too many layers, too much fabric, not enough room for the speed and dexterity he’s known for. But, she supposes, it somehow suits him. He might not have the best manners or any degree of subtlety at all, but Felix protects the people he cares about, and who could possibly be better to become the newest Shield of Faerghus.
Before he can say anything, Annette cuts him off. “Why were you looking for me?”
“I got sick of all the people congratulating me on becoming the youngest Duke of Fraldarius in history,” he mutters. “Then I heard singing.” Felix bypasses the perfectly useable chairs and sits on the edge of one table. Annette doesn’t think it’s appropriate to sit on the table in the royal palace library, but she supposes neither was warfare. After a moment, Annette joins him. “This party is for Dimitri’s stupid coronation. Why can’t they leave me alone?”
“They’re just being nice.“
“Tch, like they’re not trying to size me up.” His hand falls to the sword at his side on instinct. “As if I couldn’t beat any of them in a duel.”
“You can’t do that anymore,” Annette reminds him. She’s heard his father and Ingrid and even Sylvain all scold him for things he did that were barely acceptable when he was just the Duke’s son, not the Duke himself. “I heard you’re not allowed to get into brawls anymore.”
Felix’s lips curl into a pout and Annette can’t help but smile. “This is terrible,” he grumbles. “Fighting people is more effective.”
“You’ll be fine,” Annettte tells him, nudging his shoulder with hers.
Felix smirks at her and when he nudges her back, he nearly shoves her off the table. He reaches for her hand when she yelps, pulling her towards him so strongly that she collides into his side. Annette raises her chin, meeting his eyes and finding his face inches from hers.
“Felix,” she whispers. Her gaze flickers to his lips, dangerous territory to fixate on, so Annette looks away while finding her courage.
She could stand to have more of that really. If she had been braver, she would have followed Ashe’s lead and stood for what she believed in when Dimitri gave them the choice to join him in Fhirdiad against his uncle. She would have fought for her true king, she would have had Mercie’s back, she would have healed that new scar on Felix’s arm before it left a mark.
She looks at the sliver of pink on his wrist that hasn’t quite yet faded and touches it, suddenly bold.
“Felix,” she says again. Annette swallows thickly as she looks up at him. “I—I’ll fight your battles for you.”
“What?”
“You’re not allowed to get into petty fights anymore because you have to think about your reputation. And His Majesty’s.” Annette hops off the table, energized and eager and holding her fists in front of her the way Felix taught her to when a brawler knocked her out cold nearly half a year ago. “So I’ll fight for you instead, okay?”
Weeks ago, Annette chose to do nothing.
But now, for Felix, Annette knows she can do anything.