Archive of Our Own

Despite what his friends would like to think—“friends” referring almost exclusively to Sylvain—Dimitri was not all that eager to develop a crush on somebody, and, at the risk of disappointing these friends, had never developed one on anybody.

Alas, there was always a first time for everything.

If you asked the nobility back in Blaiddyd territory, his pursual of a wife was long overdue, and being at the Academy would be the perfect time to bring that search to a matrimonial close. Dimitri, not in the habit of paying heed to a snake whenever it chose to hiss, largely ignored it, but it lingered in the back of his mind: the duties of a prince went beyond the training grounds and tutor’s rooms. He simply chose to put this aspect of it as far into the future as he could get away with.

But it seemed the future was now.

“Good morning, Your Princeliness.”

Interlocking his fingers and squeezing till each knuckle ached, Dimitri nodded at Claude, who slid into the seat across from his. “Good morning, Claude.”

“Woke up hungry?” Claude asked, pointing his chin at Dimitri’s empty plate. “I don’t know how you do it. Every time I’ve had to eat porridge something inside me dies.”

It was far from Dimitri’s favourite food; each spoonful sat on his tongue like freshly wet soil, and very rarely did it smell good enough to offset the texture. But food it was, and Dimitri had only been looking to fill his stomach this morning before he went off to train.

“It’s served with breakfast fairly regularly,” Dimitri said.

“I have my solutions. Why do you think I’m only up at lunch on the weekends?” Claude leaned his elbows on the table—and where he got an apple from, Dimitri didn’t know, but he wiped it on his shirt. His eyes met Dimitri’s, curiosity brimming, and he took a bite. Only when he swallowed did he say, “You never answered my question.”

Dimitri looked back at his plate. He’d been enthralled by the weight of Claude’s gaze when he’d bit down, watching a rivulet of juice run amok on his chin, and passed it off as contemplation. “I wasn’t particularly hungry, no.” At least not for food, by the warmth in his chest.

“Could’ve fooled me,” Claude said. “Cleared that thing in, what, five minutes?”

His cheeks were certainly red. “You were watching me?”

“I was fascinated. It’s like you weren’t even tasting the stuff, you were that hungry. Or maybe that it was the best thing you’ve ever tasted? But if that’s your face of joy, I’d hate to see what your disappointment looks like.”

Dimitri gathered his dinnerware and cutlery, hoping the delicacy of the plates would force him to control his shaking hands. “Maybe I was . . . more famished than I realized.”

“Maybe,” Claude agreed with a tilt of his head.

Someone took a seat nearby—Raphael Kirsten, from the south of Gloucester. Dimitri hadn’t had the chance to speak with him in depth yet, but he seemed a kind enough boy.

Dimitri cleared his throat. “Claude?”

Green eyes shimmered; Claude blinked. “Yes?”

“Professor Eisner tasked me with purchasing more leather conditioner and whetstones from the market,” Dimitri said. “I won’t be able to carry everything back with me. Would you be willing to accompany me?”

Claude was a little surprised, but not disagreeable. “Too much to carry for even those Blaiddyd arms? I don’t know what you think I’ll be able to help with, but sure.”

“You guys are going to the market?”

Dimitri sat up straighter, and looked at Raphael. “We are.” He hoped it didn’t sound too much like a question.

“I’d be more than happy to join you! I have to pick up something to send back home, and if it’s weight you’re worried about, I’m your guy!”

“That’s . . . incredibly thoughtful of you, Raphael.” Dimitri was distinctly not disappointed. It was a very nice offer. If he were upset, he would be no more mature than a toddler.

“Well,” Claude began. “The more the merrier.”

“Indeed.” Dimitri stood up, plates in hand. “We leave in fifteen?”

Claude saluted with two fingers. “Aye aye, Captain. We’ll be there.”

Maybe this was all for the best. There wasn’t time for distractions, and this—this was definitely a distraction.

He spent the next fifteen minutes putting the disappointment out of his mind.

o.O.o

Claude looked particularly attractive when he was hunting down a certain title on the shelves. Dimitri watched from afar for a moment or two, before sidling up to Claude and trying to deduce what exactly he was looking for.

Claude noticed him immediately. “You don’t happen to know where all the sordid historic tales are, do you?”

“Sordid historic tales?”

“Oh, you know, all the juicy ones that people wish would die out. The drama, the betrayal, the secrets.”

A very Claude request. “You’re more likely to find those in journals, if not only through word of mouth, depending on who you ask.”

“Oh?”

“Well, if you ask ten Adrestians what kind of person Loog was, you’d get ten different defamations of his character. The same would likely happen if you asked around in Faerghus about Klaus I’s sons.”

“Makes sense,” Claude said. “So?”

“So?” Dimitri repeated.

“Well now you have me all curious! What does this Faerghan think of the three sons?”

Claude was leaning against the bookshelf, peering up at him with a smug but overall harmless look. Dimitri didn’t know his heart could beat so fast outside of battle.

“Claude! There you are. I’ve been meaning to talk to you about this . . .”

Dimitri didn’t look at Ignatz, because he was sweet, and didn’t deserve the bitterness that was undoubtedly saturating Dimitri’s eyes right then.

“Is this a bad time?”

Claude’s eyes flicked quickly to Dimitri before settling on Ignatz. “Uh . . . What did you want to ask about, Ignatz.”

Goddess damn him for even trying.

o.O.o

“Dimitri! Thank goodness you’re here.”

Dimitri paused on his way to the gardens, glancing down the length of the stables to see who’d called for him. From the last stall popped Claude’s head, hair looking more mussed than usual. “Do you have a minute for lil’ old me?”

“Of course,” came the response, before Dimitri knew he was thinking the words. He made his way over to the stall, where Claude looked to have fought a glorious battle and lost with just as much flourish.

“Horses are— They’re not really my thing. Riding them is fine, and I dare say I’m one of the best riders in my house.” Claude glared sidelong at the horse. “This young lady, however, has a bit of a temper. She’s decided I’m not worthy of brushing her.”

The horse flicked its tail. Just a centimetre more, and she would have nicked Claude squarely in the face.

Then Dimitri dropped his gaze to the brush in Claude’s hand, and had to physically stop himself from laughing.

“Claude. Have you ever brushed a horse before?”

Claude’s glare intensified. “Have you?”

“Not that often, but I at least know my brushes from my combs.” He took the brush from Claude’s hand, thankful and mournful that he couldn’t feel any warmth through his gloves, and went looking for a comb.

“Okay, see, in my defence, that looks like a hairbrush. A mane is just hair.”

Dimitri looked at the tightly packed bristles of the hairbrush, wondering who exactly could use such a thing on their head, and silently kept on his journey for the comb.

“You’re judging me.”

“No,” Dimitri said honestly. “It’s a mistake, and a completely understandable one if you’ve never done this before. Ah. There we go.”

Now armed with the right tools, Dimitri dredged up every modicum of knowledge he’d ever accidentally absorbed in Castle Fhirdiad. He hadn’t been humble, before; his horses had always been cared for by the stablehands.

“They’re so temperamental,” Claude complained. “A wyvern, you could chuck rocks at them and the most you’d get is a look. But horses—you pull at their hair wrong and suddenly hell’s come knocking.”

Dimitri stilled his hands. “Claude. Did you get much sleep last night?”

“Not relevant,” Claude said.

“Of course not.” He handed Claude the comb and stepped aside. “Come. Why don’t you try?”

“Princely hands not made for labour?”

“Only one of us has sent the horse into a panic.”

“Oh, he’s cheeky.” But Claude refocused with a sigh, his touch not timid but certainly cautious. He started from the bottom and worked his way up, slowly detangling the small knots that had cropped up over time. “Good girl,” he murmured. This part, the act of maintenance, seemed to be familiar.

“What’s your mount’s name?”

“Tumah,” Claude answered softly. “Haven’t seen her in a while.”

Dimitri hummed. “‘No personal mounts allowed.’ I remember reacting fairly poorly to that rule. I’m sure she’ll stick to your side when you return to Leicester, if you’re half as kind with her as you are with this mare.”

Claude’s lips parted, a response waiting between them—

“Oh!”

Dimitri glanced backward at—Marianne, who wasn’t an odd sight at the stables by any means, but who was certainly unexpected.

“I’m so sorry! No one else was supposed to be here. I’ll just—”

“Actually, Marianne, don’t worry about it.” Claude gave one final swipe and patted the mare’s back, before setting down the comb. “This was the last thing I had to do, and Dimitri’s not scheduled for stable duty anyway. We’ll get out of your hair.”

Marianne gave them a wide berth as they exited the stall, letting her bangs hide her face. Dimitri apologized on his own as he passed her, but couldn’t hear much of a response.

“Glad neither of us died,” Claude quipped, stretching his arms above his head. “Thanks, though, for helping me out.”

“Of course.”

Dimitri had come so close to gleaning a little-known truth about Claude. It’d been obvious by his lack of guardedness, how his voice had gone low and honest in a way Dimitri so seldom heard it. The thing inside Dimitri that hunted and lusted wanted to return to that, to learn even the most inconsequential fact about this unknowable person.

“I think you’re right,” Claude said. “Not nearly enough sleep. I’m gonna turn in early.”

He was already walking away. “Have you eaten yet?”

“Before I went to the stables! Don’t you worry about me, Your Highness.” Claude glanced back. “Unless you want my company?”

And all of a sudden that thing died. No bloodlust, no curiosity, just a veil of chainmail and bones that lay unwavering between him and the rest of the world.

“Get some rest, Claude. There will be other occasions.”

Probably not.

o.O.o

“Walk me to class, oh chivalrous prince?”

Dimitri shut his dorm-room door behind him, indulging Claude with a skeptical look. “You, needing me to walk you to class? Why do I sense some ulterior motive.”

“No such thing with me!”

“Right.” But he started escorting Claude anyway.

“I just wanted to pick your brain—”

“So I was right—”

“But mainly I want your company! You’re a very calming person, Your Highness. All honour and sweetness where most in your position would be pains in my ass. Honestly, you’re kind of a blessing dropped right into my lap, and I refuse to let you slip away.”

“Is that some sort of proposal I should be considering?”

Claude snorted. “Not unless you want to break the brains of everyone the continent over. But if we’re strictly talking my personal preference . . .” He smiled, long and slow. “Maybe consider it a little?”

Before Dimitri could do anything stupid in response to that sentence—each of his options seemed to involve lips, an embarrassing degree of honesty, or both—there came a shout from the other end of the courtyard. “Claude von Riegan!”

Why did Dimitri even bother.

“Did you tell Professor Manuela that she should consider lightening my extracurricular work!?”

Claude turned to Dimitri. “She makes this sound worse than it is.”

“I think I’ll leave you two to figure this out.”

“You’re leaving me?”

“I know a losing battle when I see one, Claude.” Dimitri made for the Blue Lions classroom. “Lysithea is a girl I’d rather walk over hot coals than cross.”

“Coward!”

Maybe if Dimitri walked away calmly from these situations enough, whatever celestial being was toying with him would grow bored and give him the easy way out.

The chances were slim.

o.O.o

He was this close to sticking his blade between his eyes. Anything to make it stop.

“What’s wrong, Dimitri?”

In the face of every stone in the training grounds, he saw his father. Lips of lime and marble demanding he work harder, chase after the blood he always smelled on the air. Too much, too much. He longed for the coward’s way out.

A lion wasn’t entitled to anything of the sort.

“Just a little distracted,” he told Claude, who had wandered in from the entryway.

“Doesn’t sound like you.”

A nice sentiment, but you could throw a stone and hit someone who’d say Dimitri had a tendency to stare off into space.

His father’s face was still draped along the walls. And because he wanted a reprieve, just a small one, he said, “Why don’t you help me focus?”

Claude startled. “I, uh.” Was he going pink?

“You’re wise with a sword, aren’t you?”

“Right. Yeah. Sure, I am.”

Dimitri gestured to the weapons rack. “Get one.”

Claude glanced in its direction, and said, “Okay.”

The thin skin of Claude’s neck thrummed with blood. Dimitri could carve his way to it, watch it run along the length of his blade. But Claude was no fawn freshly born, meandering through the forest on weak limbs. The only reason Dimitri had yet to strike was he knew his own neck would become equally vulnerable the moment he did.

This was the distraction Dimitri needed.

Claude wasn’t going to make the first move. That was a truth Dimitri felt in his bones.

So he gladly took it upon himself.

Claude absorbed the force of his strikes with ease, allowing himself to be pushed back and back. Then he flitted to the left, aiming a blow to the hollow between Dimitri’s shoulder blades. A strike like that was more pain than it was worth, so he hit the floor and rolled out of the way—

But when he stood up, Claude shoved him against the pillar.

Never drop your weapon, but—damn, lances were never made for close combat, and at most he could painfully angle his wrist and cut an inch off the back of Claude’s hair.

Hair that was . . . much glossier up close than Dimitri had thought. Hair that smelled of pine, different from the ones Dimitri grew up around, and something gently herbal. Or maybe it clung to the collar of his uniform; there was so little distance between them that the nuances of where his scent came from hardly mattered when it was all Dimitri could focus on.

“If I didn’t know any better,” Claude said, “I’d say you let me win.”

No words, but Dimitri could shake his head.

“I know. But that just means you’re more out of it than I thought.”

Claude tried to pull away—

And all of a sudden, Dimitri couldn’t care about keeping his weapon in hand. His lance clattered to the floor, and his now free hand dedicated itself to pinning Claude close.

He was so much more vivid than the face of stone and memories of fire. He thrummed and he laughed and he fought.

His neck was closer than ever. Could he bite?

Claude bumped their noses together and leaned away. “Nuh-uh. Not quite yet, Your Highness.”

Ready to ask what he had to do to turn not quite yet into right now, Dimitri steadied his breathing, tried to calm himself.

Which meant that precise moment was when the doors to the training grounds had to open.

Claude pried himself away immediately, but they were in the sightline of the door no matter how far apart they were.

Lorenz was the last person Dimitri wanted to see.

His eyes flicked between the two of them, and quickly came to a conclusion he didn’t like.

“Prince Dimitri,” he said as he walked over. “It has come to my attention that you and Claude were caught in the stables together.”

“Oh, joy.” Claude put away his sword. “Lorenz, can I do you a favour and stop this tirade before it really kicks off? I don’t think your heart can take it.”

Lorenz summarily ignored him. “I do not need to remind someone of your station what it means for rumours of this nature to circulate.”

“No,” Dimitri said, “you do not.”

Lorenz reminded him of the lords and viscounts who’d flocked him on his first birthday after the Tragedy. Though he seemed to have a fair degree more heart, there was a rigidity and propriety to him that made Dimitri ill-at-ease. For these people, everything was about the title, the house, what it meant to be noble.

“What you do in your personal time is not my business,” Lorenz continued, “but understand that unless you are certain of your privacy, anyone can come upon you in a moment.” Finally, he glared at Claude. “And to be caught with the heir of Riegan’s head house, of all people, is sure to do you more harm than good.”

“Lorenz,” Claude said, “please stop trying to explain reputation to the Crown Prince of Faerghus.”

“There’s some truth to what he said.” Dimitri turned and bowed to Claude. “I will see you some other time, Claude.”

“If . . . you’re sure.”

The only thing Dimitri was sure of was that, despite that brief reprieve, his nightmares tonight would feature the faces of ghosts and snakes.

o.O.o

Dimitri sipped his drink to distract himself from the restrictiveness of his uniform.

The hall teemed with laughter and low murmuring, the tapping of shoes against polished floors as students and teachers alike danced from wall to wall. While it was too busy for Dimitri’s taste, the people and activity meant that he went unnoticed as he tried to slip into the courtyard.

About two metres from the door, he met Claude’s eye. He glanced at the door.

Claude pushed off from the wall and headed out first.

Once they were both out in the open air—so much cooler, so much nicer—Claude asked, “Not a fan of parties?”

“Not for hours on end,” Dimitri said. “You?”

“Same. Some fun’s good—great, even—but too much can turn me sour.”

His face lit up. “Have you ever been to the Goddess Tower?”

“I— No. There’s never been anyone I . . .”

Claude hummed. “So if I asked you to come up with me, what would you say?”

Was the answer as obvious as it felt? “People will have opinions, should they ever learn.”

“People are all in there,” Claude said, pointing to the doors. “We, my friend, are out here.”

He started toward the Goddess Tower, glancing back only once, but Dimitri could see the smile he wore even from here. He didn’t want it to disappear, but he wondered if it would stay in place even as he—

“Dimitri.”

Unbelievable.

Dimitri watched as Leonie approached, hoping that the quiet he heard behind him was Claude pausing, and not him having already left.

“Did you need something?”

He didn’t mean to sound so cross, but this was the one night in a while where he felt it may be possible to enjoy life as a boy his age—not a prince, not an avenger, not an animal.

“Saw you and Claude left. I just wondered what might require the attention of two heirs when there’s a decent party going on. I figured this would be your bread and butter.”

“I just needed some fresh air.”

Leonie looked around. “Plenty here. Or is the air better where Claude is?”

Footsteps behind him. Claude had rejoined them.

“Leonie. All those nobles get too much for you?”

“If that were true, I wouldn’t have sought you out.”

Claude laughed. “So, what brings you here?”

Leonie focused on Dimitri, and—

Oh. So that’s what this was.

This look, he knew. She had a wariness about her that Dimitri had only ever seen in one other person. He half-expected her to call him a boar.

“As far as I remember,” Dimitri said, “the myth only pertains to chance meetings.”

“You don’t wanna test it out?”

Goddess above, he’d like nothing more. But to Leonie he was a danger, whether in general or to Claude specifically it didn’t matter.

“Ah. Never mind.” Claude’s smile didn’t shine as bright, this time. “I’ll be right inside, Leonie.”

That wary look still on her face, Leonie returned to the party.

“I’m sorry this keeps happening,” Claude said. “We could always try and go anyway.”

“And risk having all seven of them coming through the door? Even I have pride I want to protect.”

Claude sighed, heavy and frustrated. “You’re right. I wish you weren’t.” He came closer. Dimitri started counting his lashes. “We’ll get our chance one of these days, though. Right?”

Dimitri didn’t believe a word he said next:

“Of course we will.”

o.O.o

They weren’t going to get their chance. Certainly not while one turned from their banner raised in war, and another did everything he could to keep it up with his bare hands.

o.O.o

Dimitri watched as the corpse of his uncle shifted into something awful, inky. Wretched. Who knew when the man himself had died—how many years his loved ones hadn’t known to mourn him, if there were many loved ones at all.

He looked west. Had she known, when her uncle had passed and been replaced? Did she seethe, did she care?

“I hope you’ll take a break before you march your way over there.”

He hadn’t known how much he’d missed that voice. Lilting and sure, but now it was a little more ragged. Who knew if it was just this battle, or the war in general.

When Dimitri finally turned around and saw the man that matched the voice, he lost his breath.

This was the Duke Riegan he’d heard whispers about. Silver-tongued and sharp in his gaze, as terrifying on the battlefield as he was at the Roundtable for those stupid enough to try his patience. But all of that seemed a little softer right now, made dull by the dark circles under his eyes and the . . . the fondness, in his expression?

“I’m glad you’re here, Dimitri.”

“Thank you for entrusting us with the safety of your city.”

“You know what they say,” Claude began. “When in need of a battering ram, call a Faerghan or thirty.”

What . . . ? “Interesting.”

“Come on, big guy, not laugh? Not even for me?”

When was the last time he’d laughed? Honestly, from the bottom of his gut—when was the last time?

“Think I can get one out of you before I leave?”

“Leave?” Dimitri asked immediately. “Derdriu survived today, but that doesn’t mean you can leave her to her own devices—”

“I’m not leaving Derdriu on its own. I’m leaving it to you.”

Dimitri’s stomach opened up into a yawning pit. “You’re . . . what?”

“You’re going to march your banner all over this continent, and you’re going to give people something they’re sorely lacking. And when they get it, they’re going to want the man who saved them to be the man who leads them into tomorrow.”

“The people of Leicester respect you,” Dimitri said. “Remain their leader, and that won’t change.”

“Ah, but see, Dimitri—you can do just as good a job here as I can. But, between us two, only I can do the job over there.”

“What job over there?” he snapped. “Why will you not speak plainly with me?”

“For now, I can’t.” Claude rolled his shoulders, eyes pinned somewhere on the floor. “Will you trust me? Until I come back?”

“It’s not a matter of—”

“Here.”

Dimitri stared at what was being handed to him: a bow of bone-coloured knots and fangs.

“No.”

Claude jerked. “No?”

“It is one matter to abandon your post for reasons you refuse to divulge—”

“Hey—”

“—and it is another entirely to forfeit any claim you have to a Fódlani seat at all.”

“There is no more seat, Dimitri. The Alliance has been dissolved. Everyone agreed—every single lord and lady.” He shoved Failnaught into Dimitri’s chest; even through his armour, it was as though he could feel the gnarls and claws. “Take this, so I have something to come back for, okay? Does that appease your chivalry, or do I have to try something else?”

What could he say? Finally, after years and years, he saw the path he could use to climb out of his self-dug grave, and one of the people he’d wished to see at the top—wouldn’t be there.

So he clung to the bow, let it dig into the leather of his gloves, and said nothing.

“Keep it safe for me, ’kay?”

Dimitri dipped his chin. Claude, ever the more tenacious between them, turned away first, heading for the pier onto which he’d been backed for the entirety of their fight. There was a faint whistle, and moments after the same gorgeous white wyvern from before came flying down.

A memory from years ago resurfaced. Dimitri wanted to go to the pier and ask him if this was Tumah, how long they had been fighting together again, what it looked like to groom a wyvern. And there was nothing stopping him from walking over and asking, so—

“Dimitri? They need you.”

Of all the— “In a moment.” Only, what, thirty metres between them? Hilda could wait.

A hand closed around his wrist. “No, I mean, it looks like Byleth really needs your help.”

But Byleth always came back when they disappeared. Claude—Dimitri had a sinking feeling that if he left now, they would never see each other again.

Tumah’s wings thundered against the ground, and Claude was back in the sky, heading east.

The hand on his wrist fell away. Dimitri tightened his grip on Failnaught.

“I do not appreciate being lied to, Hilda.” He whirled on her, doing his utmost to keep himself in check. “Do it again—about Byleth, nonetheless—and I will not be so level-headed.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “Honestly, I am. But, Dimitri, for every day you spent in the slums of Faerghus, it was one Claude spent giving his blood, sweat, and tears to Fódlan’s peace. This is his home.”

“Then why has he decided to leave?” And so abruptly, so quietly.

“I don’t know,” Hilda said. “We just have to trust that he’ll come back one day.”

He couldn’t stomach much more of this conversation. He headed back to his mount and tied Failnaught to the saddlebag. Brushing a hand along the horse’s flank, Dimitri was reminded of something.

“Sylvain.”

Sylvain, leaning against his own horse Dalibor, cracked open one tired eye. “Hm?”

“Do you think Talios is still alive?”

Both eyes open now, and blatant curiosity across his face. “Huh. Haven’t heard that name in a while.” He twisted to face Dimitri, keeping his voice low. “I don’t think Loog himself could have killed that horse, Your Highness. And Cornelia likely didn’t care enough to do away with him. We can check, next time we’re in Fhirdiad, okay? Which, if everything goes the way it’s been going, should be soon.”

Sylvain clapped him on the back of his neck, hard enough that he felt it even through the plates of armour.

“We’ll be home soon, Dimitri. For good this time.”

He had to have faith in that, at least. That after they marched on Enbarr, they could march east back home.

But he knew even when they got back to Fhirdiad that his eyes would remain pinned to that eastern horizon.

o.O.o

The stars above Garreg Mach twinkled through the thread-thin clouds of night. It wasn’t nearly as cold here as it was in Fhirdiad, but the breeze from this balcony was a welcome one.

He was so ridiculous, waiting up here. But even if nothing came of it, it was a moment of peace among what had been another five years of chaos. A belated Millenium Festival, Byleth had said. A remembrance to all the sacrifice that allowed them to stand here, and a celebration to those who remained to sculpt the future. Cheers and dancing and drinking to punctuate half a decade of deliberation, treatises, land ownership. Being up here was the first time since . . . probably the Tragedy that his head didn’t pound with all the responsibilities he bore. That peace would end, likely before the night was out, and he would allow himself to be swept up in the merriment of his friends, but for now—he would indulge in the quietude.

What if he was up here for nothing? What if he was the only one who remembered? It had been the compounded, haphazard desire of boys, after all, and it had been ten years ago. There were far more significant events much fuzzier in his recollection than the one that brought him here.

His worries were swept away with a glance at the sky. Light swept along the moon’s curve, as if it were submerged in water.

Then the light outgrew the moon, and Dimitri felt a grin nearly split his face in two.

Tumah swept by the window of the Goddess Tower, slowing and circling until she could perch on the roof. Dimitri turned to face her, and to watch her rider climb off the saddle.

Claude walked to the edge of the roof and knelt on it.

“Hi, Your Kingliness.”

Dimitri shuffled forward and held out his hand. This was the first time they were without gloves since he met Claude, so when Claude’s fingers slid along his palm to grasp his forearm, Dimitri couldn’t supress a shiver.

Claude landed on the balcony soundlessly. Riding for however many hours clearly hadn’t taken a toll on his legs.

He was studying Dimitri, so Dimitri took the time to do the same. What had been a thin beard along the line of his jaw had grown into a fuller, now connecting up over his cupid’s bow. His one braid from the Academy had multiplied on his right side, some knotted close to his skull and others left to hang loose. His hair overall had grown longer, close to the nape of his neck and downright tempting to Dimitri’s fingers.

And his neck still thrummed—just as quickly as it had when they sparred. But before he could focus too much on that, he took in the draping green and golds of the silk, linen, and fur Claude wore. How it kept his shoulders mobile but tucked in close around his waist and knees to retain warmth.

“Glad you recognize me,” Claude whispered.

“How could I not? Only one man would forfeit the stairs of the goddess tower when he could simply drop onto its highest point.”

“I said I’d meet you here, not that I’d work up a sweat to do it.”

Dimitri hummed. “Am I not worth the effort?”

“Didn’t say that. I just hoped that you could make me sweat in other ways.”

He angled his face away, pretending he was trying to catch the breeze, but more than likely he just looked as sheepish as he felt.

“Sorry,” Claude laughed. “Too forward?”

“It is not a sentiment I mind when it comes from you,” Dimitri said, “but I was hoping to . . . reacquaint myself with you.”

Claude just raised a brow.

“As a friend!” Dimitri clarified, and really there was no chance he could hide his redness now. “I mean— Of course, if you would like us to finally go in the direction of—of partners, or something of the like, I would be happy, but I haven’t seen you in . . .”

Dimitri held Claude’s jaw, running his finger along the new facial hair and allowing his pinky to lay against that quickening pulse.

“I want to ensure I’m with you. Not the ghost or idea of you. That is the least of what you deserve.”

Claude’s eyes began to shine, little skies of jade and crystal. “Oh.”

“Can you tell me, Claude, where you’ve been all this time? How you’ve been?”

Claude held his wrist, and lowered his lashes, staring into the gold ornamentation of Dimitri’s tunic. “I owe you that much.” He pulled away, allowing his touch to linger before he shed his outermost layers to use as blankets on the floor. “You have enough time to hear it all?”

The war was over. What had once been ghosts were now nothing more than blights of his vision and mind. Peace was the battle most arduously fought, but there was time. Finally, they had time.

“Even if I didn’t,” Dimitri said, joining Claude on the makeshift blankets and near-vibrating at their proximity, “for you, I would make the moments I want to spend with you.”

Claude angled himself toward Dimitri, tangling their fingers together as he took a deep breath. “I think I’ll start with the story of the not-so-missing daughter of Duke Riegan . . .”

And if this is what took over a decade of waiting to finally have, just this one moment with the promise of more, Dimitri knew he would wait a lifetime.

Luckily Claude, with his open stare and warm touch, wouldn’t make him wait a minute more.