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It was cold on the bulwark, but that didn’t bother Sylvain. He was used to the wilds that formed the border between Faerghus and Sreng, which were never free of blizzards. Garreg Mach, by comparison, suffered only a mild chill even in the depths of winter. Sylvain simply rearranged the scarf around his neck and hugged his spear for the extra warmth the posture afforded, before continuing to scan the mountains for any sign of movement.
He really was groomed for war, as much as he might wish to pretend otherwise. He posed as a spurned lover, a rake, unwilling to work and vain of his beauty. But the long days demanded by the general’s life were nothing to him—not the early morning drills, the long strategy meetings, the night watches. Childhood routines and gruelling tours of the border had trained him well. Any fatigue was carefully boxed away in a corner of his mind where it couldn’t bother him.
If only he could do the same with other afflictions.
There was no point fighting the direction of his thoughts while on watch; their torment would only grow worse if he did, and there were at least thirty minutes left in his shift. It was a tedious business, trying not to think of something—of someone, since he was being honest.
Sylvain rolled his shoulders as he stepped through the events of earlier that day. Dimitri had been sitting at a table in the dining hall with the professor and Ingrid. They were speaking together quietly, their voices a soft hum that defied any attempt to eavesdrop. Sylvain hadn’t been interested in eavesdropping anyway, so he’d dropped down next to Ingrid without trying to be discrete.
“Ing, Professor,” he’d said, before turning his gaze entirely on Dimitri.
“Your Highness,” he’d added softly.
Without acknowledging the greeting, Dimitri had calmly gathered the remains of his meal onto his tray and pushed to his feet. “Areadbhar needs my attention,” he’d said before leaving.
Another excuse to add to the list, Sylvain thought as he frowned at the mountains. Pretty soon he’d be able to compile a book with them all.
The distance Dimitri kept had made sense when he was consumed by revenge. He’d been vicious and unashamed, a man Sylvain barely recognised. A man like that—one that thirsted for blood—didn’t have time to waste on petty things like friendships or for former flames. He’d had greater battles to fight, battles that would etch his name into the annuals of history.
But at least back then he’d let Sylvain watch over him.
Now, Dimitri couldn’t bear to be in Sylvain’s company for even a minute. Even the professor had given up and started assigning Sylvain’s unit as far from the prince as possible.
It hurt. It hurt so much more than Sylvain wanted it to.
At the beginning of the war, on their last night in Fhirdiad— the night Dimitri was arrested—Sylvain had snuck into the prince’s room. They’d laid together in his bed, holding each other tightly, wishing away the storm they’d both known was coming with gentle caresses and chaste kisses. Sylvain had carried all his best intentions that night, all his determination to do right by Dimitri.
Perhaps he hadn’t wished hard enough.
Their sanctuary was disturbed in the early hours of the morning by Cornelia’s lackeys. They’d kicked in the door and dragged Dimitri from the bed. He’d gone without resisting, too defeated by the months of grief and anger to fight. Sylvain could picture perfectly the look on his face, the sadness and defeat. The desperation with which he had met Sylvain’s eyes, examining him unblinking as though it was the end and Sylvain was the last thing he wanted to see. The memory he wanted to carry to his grave.
Sylvain had been arrested too, but his confinement was short. His father’s promise to send him to the Sreng border had been enough to buy his freedom.
The day Sylvain read the news of Dimitri’s death, he’d been sitting alone in his freezing quarters on the border wall, enjoying a break with a tin cup of lukewarm tea in his hand. Felix’s letter was written on an unassuming scrap of parchment. The news it contained toppled Sylvain’s world. He didn’t remember much of what happened next: only the hands had wrenched him back from the edge of the wall and the tiny, empty cell he was locked in to calm down. When he’d been permitted to return to his freezing room, he’d found the tin cup on its side on the floor, the tea frozen across the stone.
Maybe madness was a Faerghan trait.
Four years later, learning Dimitri lived had injected new purpose into Sylvain’s veins. He knew again what he was supposed to do, and why he had been spared when others were not—despite how frequently he had thrown himself into the thick of danger. After returning to Garreg Mach, he’d folded Felix’s letter and placed it in a locket that he wore by his heart, a constant reminder of the reason he was fighting. Even if that reason was pointedly avoiding him.
“General Gautier, sir!”
Sylvain blinked and straightened, habitual shame at being caught unaware warming his cheeks. If it had been his father who’d found him at ease, he would’ve been boxed about the ears. But it was just Horace, the soldier who was to relieve his watch.
“No report,” Sylvain said, stepping down from his place before the parapet.
“Glad to hear it, sir. And thank you for taking the first shift, sir.”
Sylvain chuckled and stomped his boots, trying to return feeling to his feet. Perhaps it was chillier than he had admitted to himself.
“No need to thank me,” he said.
“Of course I should, sir. None of the other generals take a watch.”
“Well, they have important things to do.”
“I’m sure you do as well, sir.”
“Not as important as theirs. Have a good night, soldier.”
It wasn’t long until midnight. Sylvain had been awake since dawn, and had another early start awaiting him. The wise thing to do would be to head straight to bed. But the direction of his thoughts throughout his watch had left something of a disquiet in his chest, a tightness he knew would chase away rest. There was something that could fix it, but that was something he couldn’t have.
So instead, he walked.
There weren’t many places left in Garreg Mach where one could seek solitude. The army’s numbers grew by the day, especially now that Fhirdiad was freed from Cornelia’s clutches. Every day more Faerghan loyalists trudged through the monastery’s gate, offering their services to the king. All the rooms were taken, and the tables in the halls had been cleared away to make room for bed rolls. Outside, tents dotted the grounds, providing shelter for those who didn’t fit.
But people seemed wary of disturbing the cathedral at night, even though the monks left the lanterns lit to allow devotees to pray. Perhaps it was the caved-in roof, threatening to crumble further at any moment. Perhaps it was the defaced statues of the saints, or the door to the catacombs, hanging open on a single hinge.
Most likely it was the shadow of the crown prince, who until recently had made this haunted place his sanctuary. Like a normal person.
Sylvain snorted, amused at the ramblings of his own mind as he wandered up the nave. Had things been different, he would have attended Dimitri’s coronation here. Perhaps he would have worn a dashing, wine red jacket and white tailored trousers. He would have spent ages doing his hair beforehand, making sure that it looked dashing, but not like he was trying. Hoping he would catch the prince’s eye.
“Are you looking for someone?”
Sylvain stopped, hardly daring to believe it.
“No,” he answered, staying still. He sensed Dimitri behind him, to his left. It was astonishing how quietly he could move for such a large man.
But then, he must have survived somehow.
“I couldn’t sleep,” Sylvain said. His own book of feeble and fake excuses.
“I doubt you had time to try. I know you took the first watch.”
Sylvain faced Dimitri. In the flickering light, his face was shaped by shadows, harsh and angular, and partially veiled by his hair. Wrapped in his cloak with his arms crossed, he could almost be mistaken for one of the cathedral’s statues. A hero. Or, maybe more appropriately, a fallen saint.
He took Sylvain’s breath away.
“That’s rather forward,” Sylvain joked, covering his instinctive reaction.
Dimitri didn’t flinch at the flirtatious tone. Sylvain remembered a time when he did.
“What is?” he asked instead.
Sylvain crossed his arms and smirked. “Admitting that you’re keeping an eye on me. The Dimitri I know is nowhere near that bold.”
“The Dimitri you knew was unfamiliar with the world. Perhaps, one could even say, scared of it.”
“Knew?” Sylvain questioned.
Dimitri sighed. “He—the one you loved—no longer exists.”
Hearing Dimitri admit to their past affection was a punch to the gut for Sylvain. It drove home the truth of the statement. The younger crown prince might have permitted Sylvain to hold and even kiss him, but he had never been brave enough, intrepid enough, to confess that there was more lurking underneath. He’d always denied himself, always fled.
That had made Sylvain behave badly. Sometimes he’d thought that if he flirted enough with other people, Dimitri would grow jealous. Take action. Stake his claim. It had never worked, and in the end only hurt them both.
Dimitri turned away and wandered further towards the place where the altar had once stood. Now, it was nothing more than a pile of brick and stone.
“Did you come to pray, since you couldn’t sleep?” he asked.
Sylvain smiled and shook his head. Dimitri had never been a good actor, and his attempt to change the topic was half-hearted and transparent. Nonetheless, Sylvain was grateful.
“I’m still not sure how much I believe in the goddess and all that,” he said, following. “But it’s so deeply ingrained in us, the habits are comforting now, you know?”
Dimitri looked up at the stained-glass window beyond the altar. “I understand what you mean.”
Sylvain stopped beside him. They stood separate, but close enough that if Sylvain reached out, he would be able to touch Dimitri. His palm itched, and he sighed.
“Actually…”
Dimitri turned his head and peered at Sylvain. His study had always been nerve-racking, but now it was terrifying. People had always underestimated Dimitri’s intelligence. Despite appearances, his odd habits and foolish moments, he possessed a quick mind and keen observation. He would know if Sylvain tried to back down. And he would probably allow it. He wouldn’t press.
“It seems a bit sacrilegious to pray to a pile of dirt, doesn’t it?” Sylvain said, chickening out.
Dimitri breathed in deeply, as though he’d been expecting something else, and was relieved. “To be honest, this isn’t the worst place where I’ve prayed in recent years.”
Internally, Sylvain cursed himself. What a way to dose the winter beacon. He’d entered the war from the, albeit questionable, comfort of his family home, with its warm fires, soft beds, regular meals, and chapels. Dimitri had come from the streets and goddess knew what other unspeakable places.
It shouldn’t have been that way. Everything had gone so horribly wrong, and Sylvain couldn’t help but wonder if somewhere, at some time, there was something he could have done to change things.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“Don’t apologise. Truth be told, it is no more than I deserve.”
“You didn’t do anything to deserve what happened.”
Dimitri smiled. “I don’t know,” he said. “There’s guilt in not recognising and treasuring what you have.”
Sylvain’s heart jumped. He shouldn’t allow himself to hope, but it was hard not to. Maybe the goddess did hear his feeble requests.
“Is that why you’ve been avoiding me?” he asked, barely believing his gall.
Dimitri’s eye slipped closed. He dropped his arms to his side, his cloak falling open to reveal his armour. He never went anywhere in plain clothes anymore. Another mark of what he’d been through.
“Perhaps,” he said finally. “But believe me, Sylvain, everything I do now, I do to avoid making things worse. I have hurt so many people.”
“No one wants you to keep your distance,” Sylvain said, casting his own feelings onto the Kingdom. It was easier to admit to them if he wasn’t the only one. “You’re our king. You’re leading us in the fight of our lives, for our nation, for our freedom. We admire you. We chose you.”
Dimitri scuffed the toe of his boot against the floor. “I can’t help but think that the Kingdom would be better off with someone else.”
“Who?” Sylvain snorted. “Edelgard?”
Dimitri flinched, and said, “You know what I mean.”
“Then you plan to run away again,” Sylvain said. He turned away and strode to the front pew. “After what happened in Fhirdiad, at Gronder, hell, what happened five years ago when Dedue risked his life to break you out of that prison cell. You’re going to run away again.”
He dropped heavily onto the seat and ran his hands over his face, trying to brush away his exhaustion. His disappointment.
“No.”
Sylvain dropped his hands and looked up at Dimitri.
Dimitri sighed, then traversed the space between them to take the seat beside Sylvain. He folded his hands together in his lap and stared down at them.
“I understand my place in everything now,” he said. “My role. I don’t have a choice anymore; maybe I never did. Maybe everything I tried to do, back then, was a desperate but ultimately useless ploy to escape what I knew was coming for me. Maybe I never truly wanted to be king. Maybe I wanted something simpler, less…important.”
“You’ll be a wonderful king. You are a wonderful king.”
Dimitri shook his head. “A middling one, at best.”
Sylvain leaned against the pew’s back rest and stared up at the stained-glass window.
“Well, I don’t think the Kingdom would be better off with someone else,” he said. “I mean, look what happened with Cornelia.”
“Cornelia is not the person I meant. Maybe someone else, who truly cares about the people and Faerghus, who would protect and care for them.”
“Hard to imagine someone doing that better than you.”
“I’m not the only candidate.”
“Maybe not.”
“I don’t believe there never was someone else who could take my place—before you say it, aside from Cornelia. They announced my execution. I was, to all knowledge and for all purposes, dead. People cannot…people don’t stay loyal to a corpse.”
Sylvain took a deep breath. “What if they do?”
Grief overtook Dimitri’s features. He stared at Sylvain, his mouth slightly open, as though he wanted to speak but had forgotten how. Sylvain sat forward again, clasping his hands together and resting his elbows on his knees, staring at the floor. He hated seeing that look on his prince’s face.
“What if, even though they thought you were dead, they never considered anyone else?” he mumbled. “What if they spurned everyone else, even when they had the chance for something? And trust me, there were a lot of chances. But they never accepted another touch, or word of kindness. They pushed everyone away, unwilling to accept an alternative.”
“Sylvain,” Dimitri breathed.
“And I hope,” Sylvain pressed on, louder than before, “I hope you appreciate and acknowledge how difficult that was for me, because I—”
Sylvain gasped as a gloved hand covered his. It was so close, yet so far from what he truly needed. Nonetheless, the leather burned.
Another hand caressed his cheek, and that was closer to what he craved. It turned his head, and he didn’t resist, allowing his gaze to be guided towards Dimitri’s. Sylvain’s breath came shallow when he saw the tear creeping down his love’s face.
“I wasn’t there when you needed me,” Dimitri whispered.
“You’re here now,” Sylvain said. “I still need you. But you keep turning away.”
“I’m not turning away anymore.”
Sylvain snorted and pushed Dimitri’s hand away from his face. “Why is that?” he demanded. “You don’t have a choice?”
Dimitri shook his head. “You looked so beautiful in the light of the lanterns,” he said. “Like you’d stepped into the world straight from the goddess’ presence. An answer to my prayers. How could I resist?”
Sylvain opened his mouth, but no words came out. He tried again, and then scoffed, and finally said, “You can’t say stuff like that.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m a wreck. I’ve been up since dawn, and haven’t bathed for two days. My face is probably red with the cold and my nose is running.”
“Vanity, your name is Sylvain,” Dimitri chuckled.
“Shut up.”
“Do you think your looks are all you are to me?”
“I don’t know. You’ve never said.”
The corner of Dimitri’s mouth turned upwards, and he stood, tugging Sylvain up too by the hand he still held. Then, he gathered Sylvain to him, enveloping him in his arms, in the warmth of his cloak. Sylvain’s heart pounded as one hand cradled the back of his head, holding him as though he was made of porcelain. As though he was something worthwhile.
“That last night in Fhirdiad, I wished the world would stop,” Dimitri said softly. “The way you held me as though I was important and valuable, in and of myself, and not as the heir to the throne or a tool of revenge. Every kiss conveyed a depth of love I’d not dared hope for since the Tragedy.
“Countless nights since, no matter where I took shelter, I dreamed of that kindness. Of that touch. Of your touch. There is no soul in the world more loving or generous than you, or—”
“Stop it,” Sylvain commanded, wrapping his arms tight around Dimitri’s waist and hiding his face in the fur of his cloak.
“You no longer wish to hear it?” Dimitri asked, amusement lacing his voice.
“You broke my heart today, you know,” Sylvain spat.
“In the dining hall. I know. I’m sorry.”
Sylvain nodded, accepting the apology. It would be petty to hold a grudge now.
“I need you,” he said. “Without this armour between us. I’ve…missed you.”
“And I’ve yearned for you.”
Sylvain laughed. “How can you suddenly be so honest?”
Dimitri tilted Sylvain’s chin up so he could look him in the eye. “It has taken me eight days to summon up the courage to face you. I have been bearing this weight in my chest for longer. I thought you must have moved on, since you only ever called me ‘Your Highness.’ Learning that you have not, you must allow me to speak what is in my heart.”
Sylvain lifted his hand to cup Dimitri’s cheek. “There you are,” he said.
“Hmm?” Dimitri questioned.
Sylvain grinned. “The one I love.”
Even in the poor light, Sylvain saw how Dimitri’s cheeks reddened. It returned him straight to that night in Fhirdiad, when he had held Dimitri with all his might.
Maybe he had wished hard enough.
“Let’s get some rest,” he suggested.