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It had started off as a casual suggestion, uttered on an afternoon when Chrom had found Camilla leafing through a cookbook in one of the palace's countless studies.
She had spent the afternoon parsing the handbound tome from front to back covers from where she sat beneath a window, curled up in one of the room’s upholstered chairs. Picked from the shelf on a whim, she had grown rather fascinated by the book as each meticulously handwritten page recounted to her the preparation instructions for cuisines she was still unfamiliar with, despite having already lived in Ylisse for a number of years. Allowing her free time to run away from her, Camilla had not realized how late in the day it was when Chrom knocked upon the wood of the open door to inform her it was nearly time for dinner.
"Wouldn't it be fun to try making one of these recipes for ourselves?" She smiled at her husband, gesturing to the little bookmarks of scrap paper she had delicately left between the worn pages.
Just from her first read-through alone, there was an endless variety of traditional Ylissian recipes which caught her eye: soups and stews, wild game and local vegetables dishes, and a mouthwatering selection of baked goods. If there was any hope in trying to cook them all in the free time that was allotted to them as royals, they would have to start sooner, rather than later.
And so the pair found themselves in the kitchen not but a week later, having granted the servants of one of the kitchens leave for the afternoon and evening so they could try their hands at cooking. For their first attempt, they had decided on a simple stew made with local vegetables and boar meat. It was a dish, Chrom had remarked, that he had eaten countless times growing up.
A staple served for dinner across Ylisse, he had called it, recollecting how it was best often enjoyed with warm bread on the side. Discerning that the warm baked good would take the longest to cook, they had prepared it first, laughing at every step as they became covered in flour.
Now, with the dinner rolls in the oven, Camilla occupies herself with chopping the remainder of the ingredients. The starchy vegetables she was presently cutting would be the last to join the pot, along with the fragrant herbs she had plucked from the terracotta pots sitting along the windowsills. Chrom stands before the pot on the stove, stirring it from time to time with a large wooden spoon. Occasionally, he adds more spices to ensure the flavour profile strikes a pleasant balance between the recipe book’s instructions and the taste he recalls from his childhood memories.
It smells delicious, Camilla thinks to herself, the scent of the stew wafting through the air. Some of the spices she recognizes from the various Nohrian dishes she is accustomed to, while others smell unfamiliar yet no less mouthwatering.
Though they had taken on this challenge with tempered expectations for success, Camilla now has no doubt their dinner will turn out better than they had anticipated, all thanks to the care her husband was diligently dedicating to the meal. Her heart overflowing with the boundless love she holds for Chrom, she wishes to wrap her arms around him from behind to tell him so, coupled with an embrace which conveys her most appreciative of affections. Such actions seem a tad reckless, however, given the hot hearth Chrom stands before.
Instead, she opts to shower her husband in verbal praise as she brings the cutting board of chopped vegetables and herbs to him.
"I just knew you were a good cook. It seems to me like you could have made this with your eyes closed," Camilla tells him, setting the remaining ingredients down next to the spices. She giggles as a dusty shade of pink washes over his cheeks.
"You give me too much credit. Here, would you like to try a taste?" Chrom suggests, gesturing to the pot. Camilla glees at the prospect. Carefully, he brings a spoonful of the stew to his own lips first, blowing on it lightly to cool it down before offering it to her. She hums in satisfaction as the rich flavour hits her taste buds.
"I take that to mean you like it?" he asks, laughing under his breath. Setting the spoon down, he retrieves the board with the remaining ingredients and slides them into the pot, mindful not to splash the hot stew upon his wife or himself.
"It tastes like home," Camilla declares, resoundingly. She loves how she can tell from her husband's surprised expression that his heart skipped an excited beat. "How much longer until it's ready? I can't possibly wait another moment to taste your cooking again!"
Nestled in the heart of Ylisstol's royal palace, the eldest princess of the Nohrian Kingdom slumbers, buried beneath the warm fabrics while her lilac-hued hair pools around her. Ever so faintly, the now-loose waves twinkle in the moonlight which filters in through the window that faces east.
This is how the Exalt of Ylisse finds his wife when he finally retires for the night, having lost track of time while in the midst of reading the pile of diplomatic correspondences that had arrived at his desk earlier that morning. He had only noticed how late it had become when at last the lantern he had been using to illuminate his office had run out of oil, casting his world in total darkness. In that split second as his eyes adjusted to the room's new dimness, Chrom had almost been surprised that Camilla had not come to fetch him before the lantern had burnt out.
Almost—until he remembered how exhausted she had seemed earlier that day, despite the pleasant appearances she routinely kept up.
Easing himself out of his chair with a yawn and locking the door to his office behind him, Chrom treads along the carpeted floors of the torch lit corridors as he makes his way back to his and his wife's bedchambers. When he does not hear a response from his beloved upon knocking on the door to the room, he opens it as quietly as he is able, reluctant to wake his sleeping beauty from her much needed rest. Thankfully, she does not stir at the noise, remaining fast asleep under her pile of blankets. Wishing to keep it that way, the Exalt tiptoes around the room as he readies himself for bed, ensuring the last of the candles are extinguished before climbing beneath the covers with Camilla.
Wordlessly, Chrom drapes his arm around her swollen middle, hoping that maybe he might be lucky to feel a small kick against his palm.
Admittedly, showing love through physical touch had never been Chrom’s strong suit. It was not that he did not know how, but rather that expressing his admiration through words of affirmation came as easy to him as breathing. When Camilla often reached across the breakfast table to grasp his hand in hers, he felt more inclined to tell her how radiant she looked in the soft beams of the morning sunrise. In the quiet moments between royal ceremony, it was not unusual for Camilla to rest her head up her husband's shoulder as he reassured her they would soon be able to retire for the day and enjoy a hot bath; in the same breath, he would tell her how grateful he was to have her by his side. What Chrom had loved most was extolling the many things he loved about his wife in a voice no louder than a whisper as they cuddled together in bed, with Camilla's strong arms wrapped around him, her bubbly laughter echoing in his ear as she held from behind.
Their routine had changed upon learning they were expecting a little one. Less breakfasts taken together and fewer nights spent idly chatting on account of Camilla needing more rest to ensure that both she and the baby were in the best of healths. Chrom welcomed it—encouraged it even—though he could not deny that he missed the quiet time that afforded him the opportunities to dole out so many compliments to his wife.
As frightening as it was to try something new, he accepted this challenge placed before him with unwavering resolve. After all, as much as Camilla needed her beauty sleep at this vital time, so too, Chrom knows, that she needed to know that he loved her more than anything else in the kingdom.
Before he allows himself to succumb to exhaustion, Chrom reaches around the still form of his wife to place a kiss upon the apple of her cheek. Contently, she hums, relaxing into his arms. Smiling into the silky-soft strands of her hair, he finally falls asleep too.
Although there was no flutter against his palm tonight, Chrom hopes, as he begins to dream, that their little one would make themself known to them soon.