Archive of Our Own

The carriage bumped along the road, jolting Dorothea awake for the fourth time already in the past half hour. The ride made her sleepy, but there was no way she could fall asleep properly in such an uncomfortable ride. Manuela gave her a sorry smile. Next to her, the baby in the arms of the woman traveling with them was sleeping soundly. At least one of them could get some shut eye during this never-ending ride to Firdhiad.

Manuela had deemed necessary that to become a renowned opera singer, Dorothea must witness and learn from other places and their takes on the stories they played. They had first gone to Derdriu; she had enjoyed the weather - drier than Adrestia - and the obvious open-mindedness of the people in the streets. She had crossed paths with many Dagdan merchants, Srengese apothecaries, and even met an Almyran woman selling the finest and most colorful silks she had ever seen. Manuela had bought Dorothea a square piece of red silk embroidered with golden roses, that she could wear either as a shawl or as a scarf.

The Opera of Derdriu was smaller than the Opera House of Enbarr, but far richer in decorations. Each wall had been covered in painting depicting the continent ’s history, but also from major scenes from the most popular plays and operas of the past four hundred years. The singing had been more daring, the costumes more colorful, and it had been obvious that the singers were allowed and encouraged to tweak the stories and the characters to fit their personalities. They had not watched all the shows available that week, but a quick look at the Derdriu Performance Company’s announced schedule for the next few months had showed Dorothea that performance arts were lighthearted - and besides a few exceptions -, comedy was the watchword and opéra-bouffe the most widespread genre in the Leicester Alliance.

From Derdriu, they had continued their journey towards Firdhiad, where they would stay for a few days before finally going back to Enbarr. It was the first time Dorothea left the Adrestian capital in her thirteen short years of life, and although the journey was exciting, she couldn ’t help but start feeling slightly homesick. She tried to put things into perspective by telling herself that she would be home in a week, tops. Thankfully for her, their ride ended after two more interminable hours, and they found an inn within their budget about fifteen minutes on foot from the Royal Theater. They managed to get tickets for the afternoon’s play, and for the same day’s evening’s opera.

Faerghus was a country that leaned more towards drama than opera, although some of Adrestia ’s most emblematic pieces were regularly performed. The singing could be improved - it was rather obvious that the performers were actors above all -, but Dorothea had to admit that Faerghan history was so rich, and its myths and legends so widespread, that the plots of their stories always had her hooked. Her favorite plays had been written by Faerghan authors, and the most tragic stories had been adapted for opera, for Adrestians were very fond of the tragic genre. Maybe it was for the catharsis, she couldn’t know. As for Faerghus, it seemed that it didn’t really matter that the story was funny or dramatic, as long as it came from the country’s oral tradition or glorious past. Bonus points if it involved Loog, the King who had so many legends told about him that it was hard to differentiate what was historically true and what was made up.

Regardless, Dorothea felt that she had learned a lot during that trip, about her art but also about F ódlan itself. Suddenly, her world felt bigger. She understood so much more about how and why these stories she loved to sing about came to be, and it increased her passion tenfold. The following day, she and Manuela went to a matinée together, then she asked for her afternoon off, which she spent at the Royal Library reading about Fódlanese myths and legends and comparing them to their theatrical and operatic adaptations. It was fascinating.

When she came back from the library, night had already fallen. Manuela was not in their shared room, but Dorothea did not worry. Over the course of their journey around the continent, her mentor had left her alone on some evenings to enjoy the company of some gentleman she had happened to meet that day. Dorothea was old enough to take care of herself. She went downstairs and ate a light meal in the company of the innkeeper ’s wife, who was a charming old lady. She even gave her a pastry for dessert for free.

When Manuela came back, Dorothea was about to go to bed. Her cheeks were red and she was smiling widely; she was drunk, but not wasted. She seemed in a state in which she would remember her evening. If she was lucky enough, she could even manage to get up the following morning without a hangover.

“I got us invitations!”

Dorothea finished fluffing her pillow and turned to her, not very impressed by whatever stunt she had managed to pull “Invitations to what?”

“To the coming out party of Margrave Gautier’s son tomorrow!”

She frowned, confused “What, the type of ball where teens are introduced to the rest of nobility?”

“Exactly!” Manuela squeaked as she waved two dark blue envelopes “The gentleman I saw this evening kindly invited me to the ball, and I said I also needed an invitation for my protégée!”

Dorothea sat on the edge of her bed “What am I supposed to do in a room full of nobles?”

Manuela looked at her like she had suddenly grown an extra head “To find a prospective husband, dear! It’s never too early to start checking out what the bachelor market has to offer. I’ve heard that Faerghan men are incredible lovers.”

The idea was, to say the least, utterly disgusting. She could already imagine men three times her age getting a little too friendly with her.

“Thank you, but no thank you.” She said while standing up to pull the covers.

“Don’t you want to know what it feels like to be a princess once in your life?”

She paused, her knee already on the mattress. She took a deep breath and sighed. She didn ’t like when Manuela was right.

“And pray tell, where are we supposed to find outfits for such an event? It’s not like a tailor can make us two dresses for a formal event in half a day.”

Manuela winked at her “Commoners gotta make do, sweetheart. We’ll borrow costumes from the Royal Drama Company. The seamstress owes me a favor.”

Dorothea smiled playfully “You better not make me regret doing this.”

—

The following day, Manuela sent her to the library again, saying she was taking care of their outfits. Now she had slept on it, Dorothea was actually a bit excited about it. She was going to attend a true ball! With music and food and dance! Those only happened in fairy tales, especially in the eyes of a street urchin like her. This was most likely a once in a lifetime experience, and that would probably be useful for the years to come. Manuela had big projects for her, and was already envisioning her as her successor as the jewel of the Mittelfrank Company. She would inexorably cross paths with noblemen again, so if she had the opportunity to observe how they behaved in society, she ought to take it. She knew the basics of etiquette, which had been taught to her by other members of the Company so she would behave properly in front of their patrons. Artists and performers always had their livelihood depending on the whims of their benefactors, so they had to remain in their good graces at all costs.

Dorothea came back to the inn just as the bells rang four o ’clock. She found Manuela in their room, two dresses spread on her bed, with ribbons of various colors and other accessories in a pile on the side. She turned to her and smiled, putting her hands on her hips.

“Mission accomplished, dear.”

“You managed to get your hands on formal dresses?” Dorothea asked as she closed the door.

“They’re actually costumes. But since they’re meant for plays, they’re pretty realistic. Only a professional like us would be able to spot the difference. Look!”

She grabbed a burgundy dress and held it in front of herself for Dorothea to watch. The color was stunning, with a discreet sweetheart neckline laced with golden thread. The skirt was made with damask, its shinier parts catching the light beautifully. It was a very pretty dress.

“Is it mine?”

“Yes! I’m a firm believer that red is the color that suits you best, so I was delighted when I saw that one.”

Dorothea grabbed one of the sleeves, enjoying the silky feeling under her fingertips. For a costume, its quality was impressive “What about the size?”

“I think it’s a tad too big, but I grabbed some ribbon and pins on the way back to make it fit. Now let’s get ready, a carriage is picking us up at half past six.”

Dorothea quickly washed up, then sat at their room ’s minuscule dressing table and got to work before the sunlight declined too much. Manuela helped her tie up her hair, and added a couple of ribbons to it. They did each other’s make up, paying extra attention on not overdoing it; when on stage, it was important that the make-up was visible from afar, but from up close it could easily look ridiculous. Dorothea was surprised when Manuela handed her a domino mask that matched her dress; she had forgotten to tell her it was a masquerade, thus she didn’t have to worry too much about being identifiable if she ever made a social blunder.

The dress was slightly too long for her. Fortunately, the matter was easily settled with the addition of a hoop skirt. The sleeves, whose edges were long enough to reach halfway across the palm of Dorothea's hands, were shortened by tying a ribbon on her upper arms and covering it with the extra fabric. Manuela was used to fixing costumes and making them fit their wearer long enough so they could finish their performance. The Mittelfrank Company obviously had their own seamstress, but outfit mishaps were not uncommon and resourcefulness was a valued skill when it came to put a costume back together between two arias. With the help of a few strategically placed pins, Dorothea did not have the impression that she was swimming in that dress anymore.

When she tried the shoes on, she noticed that they were, unsurprisingly, not to her size either. The were red and made of a velvety fabric, with black lace at the borders, and the heel was square and four centimeters high. They did not really match the dress, but nobody would see them anyway, so it wasn ’t much of a big deal. They filled the tips with leftover ribbons, hoping that it would be enough. However, Dorothea’s feet were narrow, to the point Manuela easily slipped a knuckle between the side of her foot and the edge of the shoe. For good measure, she wrapped a ribbon under the arches of her feet and tied them on the tops.

Once ready, she practiced walking, testing the strength of the ties; after a couple of minutes, she got the hang of it. She helped Manuela into her own dress, a cream colored one which, fortunately, did not need any adjustments. She had probably tried it on at the Royal Theater before picking it. For the remaining fifteen minutes, her mentor briefed her on how to curtsy, how to address her speakers, as well as the topics of conversation that worked and the ones to avoid.

The carriage arrived exactly on time in front of the inn. The man who came out of it kissed Manuela ’s hand, who played along and acted flattered. He did the same to Dorothea, although his lips never touched her fingers, which she was grateful for. She didn’t see much of his face because of his mask, but from the way his jaw looked, she assumed he was in his early to mid forties. He helped them settle in the carriage, and they left in direction of the palace or whatever mansion they were headed to for the evening. Manuela spent the entire ride linking arms with her date, striking up a conversation the exact way she had taught Dorothea twenty minutes prior. Her protégée simply listened, taking mental notes on the tone she used and the way she made herself sound interested in whatever he had to say.

After forty minutes, they passed a fancy gate and entered a private domain. They could hear the hooves of many horses on the cobblestone, indicating the presence of other carriages. Dorothea resisted the urge to lean out of the window to watch. That was probably not very proper. She settled for glancing out of the window whenever one came into view. It seemed that a lot of people were attending the party. She had already forgotten what it was about. Since it was a masquerade, she wouldn ’t have to bother remembering who was who. It was like a rehearsal for the day she became famous and would be invited left and right by nobles who were only interested in her looks - sometimes her voice, wow! - and who would be looking for a pretty thing to have at their arm for an evening. She shivered faintly. She only had background roles so far, but now Manuela had announced she would leave the Mittelfrank Company before the new season started, she was fairly aware that she was going to be the face of Enbarr’s Opera House for the years to come. And like her mentor, men without any interest in who she was would start throwing themselves at her feet. She doubted any of them would be teenagers like her.

Their carriage came to a stop and a page opened the door. Manuela ’s date came out first and helped them; Dorothea’s right shoe wobbled a bit as she climbed down the two steps, so she curled her toes to keep it in place. Thankfully, it did not slip. She took note to not lift her feet too much, or else the heels would slip.

She observed the manor while Manuela was getting out. The facade was covered in ivy, which was neatly trimmed so it wouldn ’t reach the balconies and windows. Many torches were on, casting strange shadows on the walls; two larger fires burned in bowls on each side of the massive double-wing door. A blue carpet had been rolled out, its end stopping right in front of the courtyard from which the guests arrived. There was a white symbol on it, which did not look like a traditional coat of arms. Ah, it seemed that the hosts were from a family with a Crest.

She gritted her teeth to stop her instinctive grimace of utter disgust.

Dorothea followed Manuela and her date in silence up the stairs that led to the entrance. At the door, a butler checked their invitations, and they were allowed in. They followed the crowd to the right, until they reached a vast ballroom. Three massive chandeliers hung from the ceiling; their sheer size made her wonder how they even fit through the entrance door in the first place. Paintings that were the size of Manuela ’s dressing room lined the walls. Most were hunting scenes, some of wild horses running, and a few were definitely historical feats from whatever crested hero founded that family. The tiles on the floor were made of marble, shining so brightly she could see her own reflection on them. The wall to the right had five glass doors that were closed at the moment, but that were probably going to be opened at some point so the guests could enjoy a breath of fresh early summer air in the garden. A buffet was lined up with the left wall, although nobody had touched the food yet. She couldn’t wait to try the food. There was a large dais on the opposite side of the room, on which an orchestra was getting ready to play. And it was no mere chamber orchestra, there were a lot of musicians up there. She smiled. At least the music would be good .

The room was already pretty crowded. Suits were colorful, dresses adorned in feathers, masks more extravagant than the other. She almost felt under-dressed. There was lively chatter, guests waiting impatiently for the hosts to officially announce the start of the party. Dorothea caught glimpses of conversation, and understood that despite wearing masks, people actually managed to recognize each other. She hoped she wouldn ’t stand out much.

Manuela ’s date started introducing her to people he knew, and Dorothea decided to stay as close as she could to her. She remained silent, and only laughed when her mentor did. No one tried to strike a conversation with her specifically, Manuela gathering their conversation partners’ attention to herself instead. The least she spoke, the least people would understand she did not belong to their social circle. She had been invited, yes, but that didn’t stop the feeling of imposture that grew inside her.

Suddenly, the crowd started to get more agitated. In the distance, she saw three people, two men and a woman, walk on the dais, in front of the orchestra. Most likely the hosts. The tallest of the two men lifted his arm up, and the room fell silent after a few seconds.

She tried her best to see and hear the speech, but even standing on her tiptoes, she could barely see them up on that dais. The man ’s voice was deep and carried well, but she was too far in the room to really make out what he was saying. At some point, he patted the shoulder of the other man, who bowed to the assembly. There was a thunder of applause, and she found herself applauding too, although she didn’t exactly understand why. Oh, right, it was for a coming out party. Next to her, she heard two women chatting gravely about a stolen lance, but she paid no mind to it.

The orchestra started playing, and pairs formed naturally at the center of the room for the first dance. Those who didn ’t want to participate moved towards the walls to resume their conversations. Dorothea, although very interested in what was happening on the dance floor, chose to discreetly slither her way to the buffet. She had to make the most of what it had to offer, or else her child self would never forgive her. She wanted to try all the foods, but she knew she physically wouldn’t be able to; there were so many different dishes, so much fruit and meats that her stomach would never manage even a small bite of everything . She settled for some petits-fours first, which she savored as much as she could. She couldn ’t even recognize the ingredients, for her palate was not used to such a variety of tastes. All she knew was that they tasted excellent, and it was all that mattered. Next was a piece of one of the three massive lobsters arranged in a circle around an elaborate pile of vegetables; that she knew she had never tasted before, and if there was a crustacean that screamed “I am rich” on a dinner table, it was that one. It tasted odd. She couldn’t even say if she liked it or not. However, the quail she managed to get her hands on was exquisite, especially with the mashed potatoes that definitely weren’t only made of potatoes. Spices truly did wonders.

As expected, the music was incredible. Dorothea nodded along the rhythm as she ate. Maybe she could find someone willing to dance with her. She supposed that making prolonged eye contact with someone would result in an invitation to dance. Manuela had insisted on that point: women didn ’t invite men to dance, they had to be asked first. She sighed. She really wanted to dance. When she went to grab the last piece of fancy looking fruit she couldn’t put a name on, her hand brushed a white glove. She gasped and instantly brought it back to her chest, terrified at the idea of having offended someone and somehow blown her cover.

“My apologies, I didn’t-“

“I’m really sorry, I-“

Their eyes met. He was dressed in a white and teal elaborate suit, his mask matching the colors perfectly and bringing out the warm brown of his eyes. He looked at her curiously.

“You’re… Not an adult, are you?” He inquired after a second or two.

She noticed the Crest embroidered symmetrically on each side of the collar of his shirt “You’re not either.”

He chuckled “Isn’t it the whole point of this party?”

Suddenly, it all clicked together in her head. She was talking to the boy this was all about! She tried to look for an excuse but she couldn ’t form a coherent thought. Thankfully for her, he smiled and kept going.

“I didn’t expect to find other teenagers tonight. All of my friends are not out in society yet, and the only one who could attend is bedridden all the way to Fraldarius at the moment.” He tilted his head to the side, looking at her curiously “I almost mistook you for my friend Ingrid, I think it’s the eyes. Have we met before?”

Better tell the truth rather than get bogged down in a lie “We haven’t. Congratulations on your coming out in society.”

He winced a bit “I hoped this day would never come, to be honest. Now I’ll be expected to do adult things.”

She giggled “I understand the feeling.”

He handed her the fruit without a second thought “How come we have never met before? I think I’ve met all the Faerghan nobles’ children.”

“I-uh,” she looked around in panic “I’m the only daughter of a baronet, near the Adrestian border. Our lands are not really big and we never travel to Fhirdiad, so no one has ever heard about us.” She fidgeted with the fruit, trying to regain composure “But isn’t the point of a masquerade to not know who’s who? I think you asking about who I might be makes little sense.”

He frowned faintly and stared in silence, as if he was looking for the truth in her eyes. Dorothea felt herself blush under her mask. Eventually, he smiled at her.

“You’re right. That would be counterintuitive.”

Dorothea almost sighed in relief. To ease the tension, she split the fruit in two and handed half to him. He accepted it, although with a bit of confusion in his eyes. She wondered if it was supposed to be a noble thing to let the lady have something and if she had made the dreaded social faux-pas by suggesting sharing . If so, he did not make any comment on it. They watched the people waltzing as they ate.

“Would you like to dance with me?” He eventually asked as he put his glove back on. He had removed it to not stain it with juice, just in case.

Dorothea beamed at the idea “It would be my pleasure.”

He offered her his hand and she took it. He led her to the edge of the dance floor, his glove warm and silky under her fingers. As they waited for the ongoing dance to end, Dorothea grew nervous the more seconds passed, to the point she started considering changing her mind. Dancing with the hosts ’ son would draw eyes on her.

“I’m glad I found a partner I really want to dance with,” he said, smiling at her.

“You’re flattering me,” she replied, immediately giving up on the idea of a change of heart. “At least you’re getting off to a flying start, openly playing suave on your first night among Faerghan nobility.”

He shrugged “I was recently appointed heir to my father’s title, all eyes will be on me from now on. I bet that my parents are already making a list of marriage prospects for me to check out. What I mean is… I’ll have very little control over my life starting from now, so I want to at least have the choice of who I’m going to spend my first waltz ever with.”

She leaned closer, speaking in a lower voice “I’m not out in society yet. I managed to attend only because it’s a masquerade and no one would pay attention to me.”

His smile grew larger “Except me.”

Her cheeks burned under her mask “Except you.”

“I’m honored to have your first waltz ever, too.” He added. Something caught his attention from the corner of the eye and he turned away “Oh, my mother is watching us. I’m sorry, but you’ll have to be in the spotlight for a while.”

Dorothea looked in direction of the dais, and noticed the woman staring at them, arms crossed and a closed fan in her hand. She suddenly felt like she was dressed in rags. This was the haughty look of nobles who used to walk past her without a word while she begged for a spare coin to survive the day. She saw herself back in the streets of Enbarr. The boy waved at his mother discreetly, his poise impeccable and his smile polite but lacking warmth. Then, he looked back at her, his thumb brushing her fingertips reassuringly.

“Rest assured, she won’t come talk to you,” he heartened her.

“But you will be interrogated about me,” she countered. She didn’t like it. She was going to be scrutinized by a hawk for the entire evening.

“And I will tell her what I know: nothing.” He gave her a lopsided grin “Keeps the mystery, I like it. I hope you’ll invite me to your coming out party when the time comes, though.”

Her stomach turned but she smiled nonetheless “I’ll keep it in mind.”

The dance ended and people bowed and curtsied to each other. He led her to the dance floor, took her right hand while putting the other on her waist, and smiled - genuinely this time - at her. Thankfully, she had learned to dance, and if he was a skilled dance partner, then she would only have to follow his lead without putting too much effort in.

The song started, gentle and soft. It gave her the time to take a deep breath.

They started dancing.

Dorothea was delighted to realize that he was, indeed, a skilled dancer. She knew enough about waltzing so she could follow along without making a fool of herself, or so she hoped. There was no doubt that his mother would have something to say.

He smiled at her, and in return her heart started to beat faster in her ribcage. She was glad he was wearing gloves; she didn ’t have to worry about him noticing how clammy her hands were.

She remembered his words from earlier. It was sad that this dance was the last thing he had a choice on. She hated nobles. She hated their little pretend problems and them acting like choosing between silk or velvet for their new outfit was a matter of life or death. She hated their shallowness, their lack of honesty and truthfulness. She should not have pitied him: if anything, she would normally have felt smug about his situation.

However, she couldn ’t help but understand how he felt.

Her life depended on these people, and the smallest error or incident would cost her her career, her reputation, and ruin all her chances of securing a future once she would be replaced by someone younger and prettier. The very thing that was currently happening to Manuela. She had talent, but talent was not enough to make a living, and people always wanted novelty.

“Is something the matter?” the boy asked, leaning closer.

Dorothea focused back on the dance “I was lost in my thoughts for a second, my apologies.”

He smiled playfully “That means I’m not doing my job well, then. You should be enjoying yourself so much that all you can think about is me.”

“A bit full of yourself, aren’t you?” she huffed, amused.

“Me? Absolutely not. I’m fairly sure I could sweep you off your feet.” He replied with an openly flirtatious tone.

“Then make me, Sir, this dance is boring.” She dared him.

He did not need to be asked twice. He picked up the pace but stayed in rhythm with the tune. Which she, admittedly, had a harder time to follow but was way more entertaining. She noticed that Manuela was also dancing, and when their gazes met, her mentor winked at her.

To be honest, she was having a lot of fun. He seemed to be enjoying himself too, given the large smile that stretched his lips. It became gradually more difficult for her to follow his lead, for the ribbon on her right shoe started to loosen up and slip towards the tip of her shoe. She curled her toes to keep her heel in place, causing her to slow down. He adjusted his pace to hers without any comment besides a slight nod of understanding. Yet, after a twirl that gave her too much momentum, the tip of her shoe caught on a tile and Dorothea tripped. He easily caught her, his laughter reverberating against her body.

“I told you I’d sweep you off your feet,” the boy jested.

“Maybe so,” she replied, hoping he would not get suspicious about the state of her shoes.

They stared at each other ’s eyes as he helped her find her balance again. Dorothea felt giddy. With emotion or from the dance, she couldn’t tell. The quick glance she darted as his lips made her wonder if it was the former. She looked back up, just in time to notice that he had been staring at her mouth too. Upon realizing he had been caught, the boy looked away and resumed their dance.

“Tell me if you feet hurt,” he said, purposefully looking away as he led their waltz. “I can’t help but notice that your steps are faltering.”

“I’m fine, thank you,” she replied, grateful for not having to look at him in the eyes “I’ll just have a little rest during the next dance.”

There was a short silence. He dared a look back at her. From the faint color she could see right below his mask, she guessed that he was blushing.

“Would you like to dance with me again afterwards?”

She smiled brightly at him “Of cou-“

A deafening crash had her immediately cover her ears. There was a half-second of wavering, the music having suddenly stopped and the entire crowd ’s eyes turned to the window that had just shattered, near the dais. Shards of glass were falling on a reptilian creature’s large head, its eyes shining red in a way that made her blood curdle. It was several meters high, and its black scales looked like stone.

Screams erupted everywhere in the room as the monster roared thunderingly. A panic reaction shook the guests, who started running towards the exit. Dorothea remained stunned in place, her trembling legs unable to move. The boy wrapped his arm around her and dragged her away from the middle of the room, elbowing his way towards the wall. He pushed her underneath the buffet and went after her, leaning above her to shelter her. Shadows moved about on the white tablecloth, shrieks of terror echoing on the walls as they trembled. The clinking of swords and shouted orders reached her ears. She looked up at the boy, who had lost his mask in the process. His red hair was falling in his eyes.

“What’s happening?” she said, her voice coming out in a small squeak.

He looked as terrified as she was “I don’t know.”

Fear got the best of her, and she started crying. He removed her mask and cupped her cheek.

“Hey, don’t cry. It’s going to be okay. I promise you you’re gonna be okay.”

“I-I-“ she hiccuped, unable to string words into a sentence.

He wiped the tears off her face, as if doing so would chase the ones forming in his eyes. His fingers were trembling against her skin “C-calm down, I promise. My father’s- the knights, they’ll protect us, I know it- I swear-“

“I don’t want to die,” she whined, her voice breaking.

There was a metallic bang, then another loud crash; the sound was so close that it made Dorothea ’s ears ring. The boy shielded her as splinters of glass and crystal slid under the tablecloth. The room became darker; one of the chandeliers had fallen.

“Are you hurt?” he asked. He seemed to be starting to get his fear under control.

She, on the other hand, wasn ’t.

“Y-yeah,” she replied.

“Most of the people have run out of the manor already,” he said, “I don’t hear screams anymore. We have to get out-“ the beast shrieked once more, making them wince. “We have to get out of here.”

Dorothea nodded. He grabbed her wrist, and they came out from under the table. Broken glass left cuts on her hands and legs as she crawled out. He helped her up, and they observed the scene.

As expected, everyone had left the ballroom, save for a few lifeless bodies and a dozen knights who were circling the monster. Its large horn was covered in blood. Strings of crystal - remnants of the fallen chandelier - were entangled on the horns on its back. She couldn ’t tell if it was bipedal or not, for it seemed to keep balance on its hind legs but leaned on its front ones as well to attack. Its jaw was big enough to bite a horse in two, its teeth almost as long as the lances the men were poking it with, in vain.

“What’s that thing?” Dorothea whispered, holding him closer.

“I have no idea,” the boy replied in dread. “Let’s go.”

He pulled her along, but her dress and her shoes were hindering her. They ran as fast as they could, and when Dorothea looked back, she screamed.

The beast had noticed them getting away, and was now charging at them, each steps making the ground tremble under their feet. In a surge of adrenaline, she whirled around and channeled all the meager magic she knew to cast the meager spell she had learned so far. Yellow sigils surrounded her and Thunder spewed out of her hands, hitting the beast right in the head. It reared, thin black smoke coming out of its scales; unlike the knights ’ lances, it looked like the hit had been somewhat effective.

The other thing it had been effective at, was making the monster even more enraged.

It roared, its hot and putrid breath catching her off guard. She saw the claws shine under the candle lights, in slow motion. The paw reaching out to her, ready to tear her to shreds. She was going to die.

She was brutally jostled aside. She fell on the ground, disoriented, someone ’s shrill scream hurting her ears. The boy fell next to her, three massive claw gashes on the back of his left arm. She crawled to him and shook his shoulder so he wouldn’t lose consciousness.

“Wake up! We have to leave!” She yelled.

His eyes rolled back and his eyelids closed. The beast raised its claw again, ready to strike once and for all. Dorothea leaned over the boy in a desperate but pointless attempt to protect him.

Electricity rose in the air, making her hair stand on end. A thunderous cracking sound came from behind her, and the monster was suddenly hit in the face by a deluge of thunderbolts. It lost balance and collapsed, stunned by the strength of the spell. Dorothea whirled around and saw Manuela, breathless and disheveled, Thoron ’s sigils fading around her.

“Thank the Goddess you’re safe!” she cried, relief shining in her eyes “Come on, let’s get out of this hell!”

“Wait!” Dorothea pleaded as she grabbed her by the arm and pulled her to her feet “We have to help him!”

Manuela looked at the boy, groaning in pain on the floor. The white sleeve of his suit had turned red. She hesitated, torn between her need to flee and her moral duty. In the distance, the knights were fighting the monster again; this time, their weapons could pierce through the thick dark scales. The young woman swore under her breath, and knelt next to him. Blueish light shone from her hands. The wounds did not close, but at least the blood started to clot.

“We don’t have time,” Manuela said as she stood back up “I hope he lives.”

She did not leave Dorothea the time to protest, and grabbed her wrist to pull her towards the exit. She tripped on her right foot, the ribbon coming undone at the worst moment, and the shoe slipped out. She gasped and turned around, only to see the boy weakly stretching his arm in her direction, his eyes pleading her to come back, before he collapsed on the ground.

They ran to the carriage, and Manuela slammed the door shut as soon as they were inside. The coachman whipped the horses, and they disappeared into the night.

—

Five years later

—

Garreg Mach looked even bigger from up close. Knowing that the monastery was massive was one thing, seeing it with her own two eyes was another. When the cart stopped at the market near the entrance gates, Dorothea jumped down and dusted the hay out of her traveling clothes. The farmer who had charitably let her sit along his goods on the last stretch through the Oghma mountains came to her, and she thanked him profusely for his help. She grabbed her worn-out suitcase, which contained the entirety of their life, and made her way through the market, looking around expectantly.

Manuela was already running towards her when she spotted her. They fell in each other ’s arms, delighted to finally meet again. Since she had retired form the Mittelfrank Company and got a job as a teacher at the Officer’s Academy a few years prior, they had not managed to see each other; their correspondence had been active, but it wasn’t the same as being hugged tight.

“Did you travel well?” she asked, cupping her cheek and eyeing her up and down “Dear goodness, you’ve become so beautiful!”

“Well, thank you,” Dorothea said with a little chuckle “You’re just as astonishing as I remember.”

She rolled her eyes “If only the men here thought like you.” She let go of her and gestured towards the stairs “Let me show you the dormitory.”

She guided her past a large pond and a greenhouse, along what Manuela introduced as the mess hall, to the dormitory. The bedroom that had been assigned to her was on the ground floor. It was quite large, decorated in red hues - the color of the Black Eagle House, the Adrestian house she would belong to for the upcoming year - with a bed big enough for two and a very large desk. It looked comfortable enough. Dorothea smiled. Her new life was beginning.

—

Weeks passed, and she got used to her new routine fairly easily. Between classes and training, she felt that she was finally learning new skills and improving the ones she already had. The Professor, although being a complete newbie when it came to her job, seemed to be good at discovering one ’s hidden talents.

Dorothea got along with her fellow classmates rather well. She had a deep admiration for Edelgard and her ideals, and seriously wished for her to succeed in implementing a system based on competence and skill rather than inescapable birthright. Hubert ’s devotion to her was commendable as well. Caspar had this lovely brother-like vibe that she found refreshing. Linhardt never bothered with pride and status, which was making her reconsider tarring nobles with the same brush. Ferdinand, on the other hand, was too prim-and-proper and was annoying her; his father had attended her performances too many times for her to ignore. Bernadetta was sweet, although hard to get a hold of, she reminded her of a little mouse. The one she got along with the most was Petra, whom she had a deep respect for. Her social life was also full of young men who gravitated around her, lured in by her beauty and - if they were cultured enough - her talent as a songstress. It was way better than when she was still in Enbarr; at least in Garreg Mach men who flirted with her were more or less her age, save for a couple of older Knights of Seiros who tried their luck with her. Lorenz Gloucester, upon discovering that she was a commoner, quickly lost interest, which was a shame, since he seemed to be willing to find himself a wife both smart and ambitious and not just a womb to carry his children.

Then, there was Sylvain Gautier. From what she had heard and seen, the guy would walk around the Monastery with a different girl at his arm every couple of weeks. He had quite the reputation as a skirt chaser. The other reputation he had, which was whispered among the women of Garreg Mach, was that he was a very good lover . A fact that she found intriguing. He would one day become the third most important man of the Kingdom of Faerghus after Prince Dimitri and Felix Fraldarius, women from all over F ódlan would keep throwing themselves at his feet. Why would he bother with one’s pleasure when another was waiting for her turn? Well, she couldn’t complain about that. That made at least a good quality that didn’t rely on his status and bloodline.

At first, she had assumed he was like Ferdinand: good-looking, smart, Crested - she couldn ’t care less, but it was commonly considered as a valuable asset -, rich, and from the highest ranks of nobility. Too good to be true, and consequently shallow. Like Lorenz, he ought to have found a wife who would match his status and shouldn’t even be bothered with commoners. So, obviously, she had turned him down the first time he had suggested they shared a meal together. If he bothered considering her as a potential date, that meant that, like all the others, he was there just for her beauty and not for a potential long-term relationship.

Then, she got to see parts of him that made her wonder if he was as shallow and bloodline-oriented as she initially thought. He dated commoners and treated them the same way he would treat noble-born girls. She had also walked upon him in the library, taking notes very seriously as Annette Dominic explained Reason spells to him, ones that were far too advanced for what was required by the curriculum. Dorothea had joined them, hoping that Annette would help clarify how Thoron worked, since Professor Byleth couldn ’t really help with the matter. He hadn’t flirted with any of them. On another note, Sylvain seemed genuinely hurt whenever his girlfriend-of-the-fortnight broke up with him. She couldn’t confirm it, but she was certain she had seen him crying, once.

Also, he deeply cared about his horse. Animals saw right through people ’s hearts, and seeing how he spoiled his mane and how gladly he would play with the monastery’s dogs, maybe he wasn’t fundamentally a bad person.

Dorothea came to enjoy watching the facets of Sylvain that weren ’t his flirtatious personality (which he had on 89 percent of the time, to be fairly honest). He was smart, but also a hard worker. Not as much as Annette - the poor girl often pulled all-nighters studying - but he seemed to still be taking his studies seriously, and actually enjoying learning. Whenever he was on cleaning duty, everything was spotless afterwards. It was easy to spot what belonged to him in the training grounds just by looking at how things were ordered and their state of cleanliness.

What made her change her mind once and for all was when she saw him in the courtyard with Claude Von Riegan, a chess board with only a few pieces remaining set between them. A couple of students were observing them in silence. Intrigued, Dorothea came closer and took a look at the game. They had both the same amount of pieces left, and they seemed to be at a critical point in which any move meant victory or defeat.

Seeing his incredibly focused face made her feel strange. He looked handsome, with that little frown and the way he chewed on his lip. At last, he moved his rook.

Claude looked at the board for a couple of seconds, then sighed and slouched in his chair “Pat.”

Sylvain chuckled “It was the best I could do. Otherwise we would have been stuck here until dinner.”

They laughed together, and Dorothea slipped away.

—

The mess hall was particularly crowded that day. Prince Dimitri ’s retainer, Dedue, was on cooking duty, and it was a truth universally acknowledged that his cooking skills were beyond excellent; which was the very reason why she had so much trouble finding a seat. She miraculously found a spot at the end of a table and sat with a sigh of relief.

“May I?”

She turned around and saw Sylvain, tray in hand and making a sorry face at her.

“Sure, go ahead,” she said with a little smile “It’s not like you made the mess crowded all by yourself.”

“You underestimate my charms,” he joked as he sat opposite of her “Many people are drawn to me like bees to a flower.”

“Or like flies to food,” she deadpanned.

He laughed “Hey, that was mean! Joke aside, I like when Dedue cooks. Even if it means I’ll have to fight tooth and nail to get my plate, the way he uses spices is unparalleled.”

Dorothea nodded in agreement and kept eating. They ate in silence for some time, until Sylvain spoke again.

“So, what’s your favorite opera?”

A piece of meat fell from her fork as she looked at him, flabbergasted “Excuse me?”

He looked confused as well “Well, you’re an opera singer, right? Surely you must have a favorite among the ones you’ve sang or read.”

A guy asking her what she thought about opera? That was a first. Usually, they had an opinion on it to share, often unprompted.

She poked her food absentmindedly, pondering his question “Mmh… One I liked was The Barber of Derdriu, because I really enjoyed playing Rosalind. Story-wise, I like The King’s Lancer. I think that Laeticia a very inspiring character.”

Sylvain lifted an eyebrow, amused “The story of my family’s foundation? How flattering.”

She rolled her eyes “It’s hard to find an opera where the main character is a woman. Usually they’re the love interest and they have a secondary role.”

“Do you like Faerghan History?”

She gave him a suspicious look “Are you genuinely interested in what I have to say?”

He stared at her like she had just grown an extra head “Obviously? I’m getting to know you and I’m trying to strike conversation on subjects that seem to interest you. Isn’t that how it works?”

She made sure her meat stayed on her fork this time before eating it. She took a couple of seconds to chew, before pointing her fork at him “I don’t really pin you as the type of person who enjoys opera.”

His lips stretched into a slightly crooked grin “Actually, I do.”

Dorothea blinked in surprise “Really, which one?”

“Romuald and Julie,” he replied as he cut his food. “I’m a simple man, I love tragic love stories. Adrestian compositors make the best tragedies, in my opinion. Oh, and you haven’t answered my question. Do you like Faerghan History or is The King’s Lancer an outlier?”

“Most of the stories I like are taken from Faerghan founding myths, indeed. I think they handle chivalry simply but efficiently, they’re more fairy tales than historical fiction to me.”

He nodded in agreement “It’s true that Adrestian performance arts focus more on the internal struggle of the main characters rather than a plot driven by external factors.”

Dorothea smiled. Genuinely. Brightly. He was not only trying to make her talk, he knew what he was talking about and explicitly showed her a middle ground from which they could actually get to know each other.

She couldn ’t believe she was now thinking of him as worthy of not only a first, but a second date.

“A few years ago, I spent some time in Fhirdiad,” she said nonchalantly as she ate some more. “I think I drove the librarians crazy, I was asking for all the books they had on Loog and the founding stories of the Kingdom. I tried to read as much as I could during the limited time I had.”

He leaned on his hand, smiling at her “Do you prefer their plays or their opera versions?”

“The plays, they’re closer to the original stories. Operas have that Adrestian touch that overcomplicates things, in my opinion. It works well with stories with internal strife, as you said, but not so much when the characters have to face external forces.”

Sylvain not only smiled. He beamed at her. She felt her cheeks get warmer at the sight.

“Finally someone who understands my opinion!” he chirped. “You can imagine that it’s hard to have that conversation with Ingrid or Dimitri. They’re not really fond of theater arts in general. And Felix only swears by Adrestian opera. The more tragic the story, the more he’ll enjoy it. But it’s mostly because he’s a big fan of music in general.”

To be fairly honest, it was very hard for Dorothea to imagine Felix Fraldarius , who lacked the necessary muscles to smile and had the amiability of a whetstone, actively enjoying watching an aria.

“That explains why the only times he’s in a good mood is when he hears Annette singing,” she commented, amused.

Sylvain winked at her “Don’t mention it to anyone, she still hasn’t realized that there’s a lot of echo in the greenhouse and that she can be heard from the outside.”

Dorothea laughed. He didn ’t say anything else, and observed her as she hid the remnants of her laughter behind the back of her hand.

“Are you free this Friday evening?” He asked, his tone a bit more serious than the lighthearted conversation they just had.

She already knew where this was going and, for once, was willing to take the bait “I am.”

“There’s this tavern downtown that has a small band playing every week. Would you care to join me?”

“The promise of food and good music? You know how to charm a lady,” she purred jokingly. “Alright, but only if you treat me to dinner.”

He nodded in fake solemnity “Obviously, Ma’am. I’m not a boor who makes his date pay for anything.”

—

This was, in all honesty, the best date she had since she had started attending the Officer ’s Academy. They spent the evening talking about arts and literature, a subject that was cruelly lacking in the curriculum, and he had good critical thinking skills. Never once did he cut her off or talk over her, nor did he dismiss any of her comments on the subjects they were discussing. Despite all the preconceived ideas she used to have about nobility and about him specifically, Sylvain proved himself to be not only academically smart but also wise. There was some sweet talk, as expected of him, but it didn’t feel as overwhelming and fake as it could have been. They were there mainly to talk, and not to woo each other.

Although, when the band started playing a livelier tune and tables were pushed aside, she also added dancing to the list of many things he could do well. And there was nothing more charming than a man who danced well and who openly enjoyed it.

“Aren’t you tired of having only me as your partner?” she asked, sweaty and breathless, when they both sat side by side to catch their breath after a few dances “There are many girls here who would sell their souls for a dance with you.”

He giggled and leaned closer “You flatter me, Dorothea. But I’ll have you know that I only pick the partners I really want to dance with. Being forced to attend social events among the “elite”” he quoted with his hands “made me very picky. Ballroom dancing is like making a statement to the other guests and mine is, to put it simple: I get to choose who I want to dance with in my over-controlled life, thank you.”

A wave of uneasiness rushed over her at those words. She had seen a boy with that same ideal die, long ago. Maybe they would have gotten along. She hadn ’t been able to sleep properly for months after that day.

“And right now,” he continued as he looked at the people merrily dancing arm in arm, smiling tenderly “There’s no one else in this room I’d rather dance with.”

—

Maybe Dorothea should have played harder to get. She could have lead him on through a couple more dates, to test if he was really, genuinely interested in her. But hadn ’t she played hard to get for long enough already?

Sylvain hushed her, smiling, as they made their way through the corridor of the first floor of the dormitory. She giggled, her slight tipsiness making her feel lighthearted.

“Don’t be too loud, you’re gonna wake someone up” he whispered, pulling her along “My room is the last one, but Dimitri’s right next to me. So we have to keep it down.”

“And you’re also just above Professor Byleth’s bedroom,” she added.

The grimace he made was hilarious “Shit, so that’s how she always seems to know when I have someone over? Should we go to your room instead?”

She shook her head and kept walking “Hell no. I don’t want to disturb Petra’s beauty sleep or traumatize Bernie. Besides, don’t you like to take some risks?”

He didn ’t reply, but the way he walked showed that he had been more than convinced by her argument. As soon as they were in his room, he pushed her against the wall, his lips hovering over hers. The light of the fireplace was giving his pristine - as expected - room a warm glow. Yeah, this evening could really have been worse.

“I haven’t had fun like that in a long while,” he said in a low voice.

“Me neither,” she whispered back. “Help me make it more fun?”

Sylvain didn ’t need to be asked twice, and kissed her deeply. Damn, she had to add “good kisser” to her list too. Did that guy even have flaws?

“I want you,” he growled, nipping her lower lip.

She kissed him harder, wrapping her arms around his broad shoulders. He gently pressed her into the wall, his hands slowly slipping under her skirt to squeeze her ass. She was looking forward to put that rumor to the test and check if indeed, he was as good in bed as people claimed him to be. One of her hands traveled to the collar of his shirt and she started undoing the buttons one by one, revealing a muscular chest underneath. His mouth left hers, and he chose to kiss her neck instead, making her shiver. Dorothea titled her head to the side to give him better access.

Her mind hazy with lust and a tinge of liquor, she absentmindedly glanced around the room. The bedsheets looked of way better quality than hers, and so did the blue carpet on the ground. His desk was devoid of any clutter besides a couple of neatly stacked books and a writing set. And on the windowsill …

Dorothea squinted her eyes, focusing on that object rather than on the way Sylvain ’s mouth moved along her throat, towards her clavicle. Placed on a small cushion, was a strange shape, red and velvety, with black lace and a ribbon neatly tied to-

She gasped so loud that Sylvain nearly jumped out of his skin against her.

“Hey, what’s up?” he asked, visibly confused “Did you see something? A spider? I ventilate the room often, so they sometimes get in.”

She looked at him, then back at the shoe, sitting on the windowsill like one would have put a vase of flowers instead, then back at him.

His eyes were brown, warm, puzzled and anxious.

Glass shattered.

A bestial roar.

Blood and screams.

She was going to throw up.

She pushed Sylvain away, and bolted out of his room. She ran down the stairs and sought refuge in hers, slamming the door shut and letting herself slide down to the cold stone. She started sobbing, long suppressed emotions suddenly overflowing her mind, a chilling and uncontrollable fear shaking her body.

No way. No way! She had seen him die. Manuela couldn ’t heal him enough. That beast had been so tall, so enraged, there was no way any of the knights had survived, let alone an unarmed teenager. She couldn’t even remember his face. She had been so young, the memories of that night were blurry besides all the emotions she had felt.

She never knew his name. Never bothered to ask Manuela, who also quickly swept the matter under the carpet. None of them had ever dared to speak of that day again. They hadn ’t been supposed to be there in the first place. What had happened in Firdhiad stayed in Firdhiad.

Dorothea started hyperventilating, and she lied down to feel the fresh stone against her face. She had to calm down. She couldn ’t wake Petra up. She couldn’t bother Bernadetta. She had to handle this alone.

She did not sleep that night, tormented by her memories.

—

Two weeks passed. Two weeks during which she went out of her way to avoid Sylvain. Whenever he walked in somewhere, she would leave without further ado. The training grounds, the library, even the mess; she couldn ’t stand being in the same room as him.

Was he the charming young boy she had met five years before? Sylvain, the skirt-chaser, the one who switched girlfriends every week, the one who made her question her own prejudice about nobles, was he also the one who claimed he would never control anything in his life ever again, who in a vain rebellious attempt picked his own partner for his first waltz ever, the one who had pushed a girl he did not know the name of so he could take the hit for her?

Was Sylvain, the guy she loved to hate, the same person as the boy she hated to love from her memories?

“It is the third time this week,” Petra commented, looking behind her from her seat.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen that dude so desperate,” Linhardt added with a yawn.

Dorothea looked in direction of the door of the Black Eagles classroom and saw Sylvain, waiting patiently. Morning classes were over, and there was no other way out of the room. Professor Byleth was busy chatting with Edelgard.

“I do not think he understood your unwillingness to talk to him,” Petra concluded with a little frown.

“Do you want me to go kick his ass?” Caspar suggested, already rolling up his sleeves.

“He’s like, a head and a half taller than you, I doubt you could reach his ass,” Linhardt commented, seemingly amused at the idea of his friend picking a fight with a guy twice his weight.

He huffed indignantly, crossing his arms “I can headbutt him in the stomach.”

“Head…what?” Petra chimed in, visibly confused. She pointed at her head then her butt, trying to make sense of that sentence.

“To headbutt someone means to hit someone with your head.” Caspar explained, leaning down to illustrate his example.

She tilted her head to the side “But not like the cats of the Monastery, I suppose?”

“Not really,” Linhardt clarified, “in that specific case it’s done with the intent to hurt.”

“I have a pretty solid skull!” Caspar added proudly.

While they were chatting, Dorothea looked in direction of the open door again. Her eyes met Sylvain ’s, and when he waved at her weakly she turned away.

“I will take the care of this,” Petra said while standing up.

Dorothea did not have the time to hold her back. Her friend walked out and started explaining to him that she didn ’t want to talk. She was roughly the same height as Caspar, but the way she kept her poise in front of him made her seem bigger. Sylvain looked impressed by her intervention.

“Let’s go,” Linhardt said, starting to discreetly make his way out.

“I’ll go help Petra”, Caspar added.

The boy went to assist his friend, standing tall with his hands on his hips. Dorothea slipped away, forever grateful for the unwavering support they gave her.

—

Dorothea woke up to the sound of the cathedral bells sounding the end of Sunday mass. She had originally planned to attend the choir, but she hadn ’t been able to sleep for most of the night, her eyes finally closing when the sky had started becoming lighter. Still groggy with sleep, she sat in her bed and stretched with a yawn. She would get something to eat from the mess hall, then try to nap for a while. At a snail’s pace, she washed her face and put clothes on. She checked herself out in the mirror, ignored the bags under her eyes since she couldn’t do anything about them anyway, and arranged her curls. Once somewhat satisfied with her appearance, she went to the door and opened it.

Something warm fell at her feet and she stepped back in surprise. Sylvain was looking at her upside down, sprawled on his back, visibly shaken from his thoughts. Had he been waiting against her door the entire morning?

Just as she was about to slam the door shut on him, he sprang up to his knees, pushing back on the cold wood.

“Please!” He said, “I just want to talk!”

“Go away!” she shouted. Was he really trying to cause a scene first thing in the morning?

“Dorothea,” he begged as he made eye contact with her “Please, listen to what I have to say. I beg you, I just want to explain myself, then I’ll leave you alone. If you don’t want to have anything to do with me from now on, fine, but let me try to make amends first. Please.”

Dorothea hesitated, frowning at him.

“Please,” he whispered one last time. He looked genuinely heartbroken.

“Fine,” she conceded as she opened the door wide. “Come in.”

Sylvain sighed in relief, his pleas finally heard. Dorothea checked outside if someone had heard their exchange and closed the door once she made sure that the coast was clear. He stood in her room, looking down at his feet. She leaned against her desk, facing him, arms crossed.

How should she explain her reaction? She had left without a word and had avoided him since. He was most likely waiting for an apology from her; and as much as she loathed nobles, he indeed deserved excuses for her behavior.

“I’m sorry.”

Dorothea blinked, astonished.

“What?” she said.

“I’m sorry,’” Sylvain repeated “For the way I behaved. I didn’t mean to scare you. We were having an amazing evening and I ruined everything.”

Why on earth was he apologizing?

He took a deep breath “I was so ecstatic to spend the evening with you, I hadn’t had fun like that with a girl in so long, I got carried away and overstepped your boundaries. I should have made sure first that you were willing to do this and-“

“Hold on,” Dorothea interrupted him, holding a hand up for emphasis “What the hell are you apologizing for?”

Sylvain blinked, confused “What do you mean?”

“What do you mean?”

He gestured at himself, at her, and between them all at once “I- we- didn’t you freak out because I was taking things too far?”

Oh .

Right.

“I-“ Dorothea groaned as she pinched the bridge of her nose “Shit. I’m sorry, Sylvain, it’s not what you think.”

“What do you mean it’s not what I think?”

“I mean it’s a misunderstanding, I’m sorry. You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s my fault” she explained, unable to look at him in the eyes. She chose to stare at the embroidered eagle on her carpet instead.

“Well, please understand my point of view then,” he said, crossing his arms “I was kissing you, I had my hands under your skirt, and you suddenly pushed me away and left. How else was I supposed to understand it?”

She made a face “Right. I’m sorry.”

There was a silence. It felt so heavy she thought it was going to crush her. At last, she looked up at him. He was on the verge of crying, hurt and relieved at the same time. He deserved the truth.

“Take your shirt off,” she said.

He shook his head “I’m not in the mood to resume where we left off. I want to understand why you left.”

She took a step closer “I know. I promise this will make sense. Do you trust me?”

He looked at her eyes, searching for something in them. At last, he sighed and removed his tunic, then let it fall at his feet. Dorothea took a deep breath and walked closer.

This was her moment of truth.

She stood next to him, her fingertips tracing the curve of his left shoulder then along the line of his bicep. He shivered under her touch. She walked behind him, her hand brushing the back of his arm.

Three cheloid scars lined it, the skin pink and warm. It was him. There was no doubt anymore.

“It’s an old scar, nothing interesting,” Sylvain commented. It certainly wasn’t true.

Dorothea did not answer and walked to the trunk next to the desk. She went through its contents, until she found what she was looking for, wrapped in a piece of Almyran red silk with golden roses embroidered on it. She removed the bloodstained shoe from the scarf, taking the time to observe it. She had lost the ribbon along the way, but she had kept it as a reminder of that night. She breathed deeply, steeling herself, then stood up. Her legs were trembling. Still, she found the courage to turn around and walk to him, holding the shoe in her hands as if it were made of glass.

It took him a second to understand what was in her hands, and he frowned in anger “Hey! That’s mine, and it’s important to me! Why did you take it!?” He grabbed her wrist, making her wince “And why the hell is there blood on-“

Sylvain went silent. He let go of her wrist, his anger disappearing as fast as it had come. He looked at her.

“This is mine,” she whispered, on the verge of crying. “This is the left shoe.”

His eyes widened. She put the heel in his hands, and he took the time to observe it. Then, after what felt like an infinity, he looked back at her. Her heart was beating so fast she could feel it in her ears. He set the shoe on the desk and put the palm of his hands on her temples, his fingers covering the top of her face safe for her eyes, like a mask. He stared at her for a couple of seconds, then let go of her.

“It’s… really you? The girl from the ball?” He eventually mumbled, his voice barely above a whisper.

Dorothea sniffled, and nodded. He immediately pulled her in his arms, and both burst into tears. Years of regret, of pain, of mourning unleashed at once and they sobbed like children; their legs gave out and they found themselves kneeling, unable to let go of each other.

He was alive, and safe, and he remembered her.

“I thought you had died,” she managed between two breaths. “There was so much blood, and Manuela couldn't heal you properly, and I-“

“I thought you weren’t real,” he whined in return. “I thought I had made you up, that all of my memories of that day were built up, but I had the shoe as proof and-“ he cried in her neck for a few more seconds “I asked all the nobles near the Adrestian border, but no one had heard about you.”

She let go of him and cupped his face gently “We snuck in, we weren’t supposed to be there in the first place.”

He combed his hands in her hair “Did he hurt you?”

“Who?”

“Miklan, my brother.”

She frowned, confused. Her vision was blurry “Your brother?”

Sylvain sighed, then breathed in deeply. His voice seemed to settle “The beast, that was my older brother. I was appointed the heir of Gautier a few weeks prior to the ball, and he stole our family’s Relic in retaliation. He didn’t have a Crest, but he thought he could wield it anyway. And it turned him into that… thing.”

“What happened after I left?” Dorothea asked, wiping the remaining tears off his face.

“Was it Manuela who cast a Reason spell on him?”

She nodded “She did, right after you were hurt.”

He looked down “Well, she saved our lives. Miklan was stunned enough so my father’s knights could- they- they finished him off. There was no going back from his state.”

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered. She wasn’t even sure he heard her.

He pulled her back into his arms and held her tight. His body was warm against hers, despite the fact he was bare chested.

“He didn’t hurt me,” she said after a while “Because you protected me.”

He giggled, the sound resonating against her “That’s Faerghan chivalry for you.”

She laughed in return “I’ll make sure to make it the new best-selling opera of the next season.”

They looked at each other. Dorothea leaned closer, so did Sylvain. His lips tasted salty, but she didn ’t care. Their kiss was slow, gentle, as if one of them would vanish into thin air again.

“So?” He said once they caught their breath “Are you willing to let me back into your life, or are you going to kick me out once and for all now we’ve got closure?”

She smiled brightly at him “Idiot, who are you going to pick as your dance partner if I’m not there?”

He beamed at her in return “You’re making a compelling point here, Miss Arnault.”

“Good,” she said “Now I want breakfast before the mess closes.”

He gave her one last kiss on the corner of her lips.

“Anything for my favorite dance partner.”