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Lambert had paid visit to the Empire a handful of times in official capacities as the crown prince, and then as the king of Faerghus. Despite his efforts, Adrestian court traditions alluded him at the best of times in his princely studies. It was an elaborate and intricate web, laden with unspoken rules and hidden meanings in every greeting and glance, and easily disturbed by any blundering hand; this was one of the few topics he would be happy to concede to his advisors from the Kingdom's border territories.
Even if he did have Patricia now.
Yet despite her best attempts at coaching him in the ways of the Masquerade, he feared her efforts would be futile as this one was largely attended by Faerghus nobles who believed in "might makes right" and other such paltry aphorisms.
They started the night with their traditional court dances. Not even the masks and costumes could push them out from their militaristic habits. When the nobles lined up in their normal pecking order, Lambert looked upon them with thinly veiled bemusement. Was there a need for disguises in his court?
The answer was yes, perhaps, because there was something wrong during the opening. It might've been the way the tables were arranged in a circle to accommodate the waltz, but a number of women were bunched together, shoulder to shoulder, until one was ejected unceremoniously out of the ring. She was likely a daughter of Dominic or a Gautier cadet branch, if her bright red hair and position at the end of the procession were any indicator.
A disquieted murmur passed through the room.
The court dance began. On top of his throne, Lambert could see the girl, flushed with embarrassment, scurrying to the back of the room in an attempt to blend in with the minor lords and merchants idling near the refreshments.
These dancers' positions were assigned based on rank, prestige, and recent accomplishments. Of course, the latter two were nebulous concepts, but it was a sign of royal family's favor and a demonstration of their attentiveness to their countrymen. Every noble had to be accounted for. There could be not one more nor one less, lest it shamed the queen for it was her duty to arrange the dancers.
What was stranger still was that they all proceeded as normal, as if one of their own hadn't been expelled from her rightful post. Even the discerning Duke Fraldarius had only vaguely inclined his head towards the disruption before returning to his lady wife across from him.
Lambert's only conclusion: someone had infiltrated the ball. His pulse quickened as his eyes swiveled to the door that led to the noble children, then to his queen. From there, he followed Patricia's entranced gaze to a figure dressed in a most elaborate gown of fauna and flora, so vibrant that he thought them freshly plucked from some garden this morning.
Except they couldn't be. They were more than a week out from Harpstring Moon and even the hardiest of flowers shriveled in the frigid climes of Fhirdiad. Surely they must've been preserved in some way...
"Her hair puts to mind the Brigid balm," his queen whispered, eyes fluttering in reminiscence. She touched her hand to her lips, her hips lifting off her throne as if she wanted to join the woman on the dance floor. Only his hand over her arm coaxed her down. He might've been jealous had he been able to pull his eyes off of the unknown woman. "She's enchanting."
Lambert couldn't begin to picture what flower she referred to but indeed, like his queen had said, this mysterious woman's tresses were a light green that seemed to glow unnaturally in the candlelight, and her graceful poise placed her at the center of their attention.
What was more curious were the delicate butterfly wings on her back, likely a construction of wires and dyed silk, detailed with fine embroidery that must've taken a team of overworked seamstresses months of labor. The construction spoke of the employment of a fine blacksmith or an academic too. It must have been a complex mechanism that was tied to her posture and shoulders, allowing the wings to open and close with each and every movement, all while deftly avoiding the other dancers even as they switched partners.
The lady's ensemble suggested she spared no expense for what was meant to be a fanciful evening to indulge his queen's nostalgia. It was little wonder that Patricia became enamored so quickly—this must be the closest thing to what one might spy at an imperial masquerade.
Observing her features yielded Lambert nothing of her identity. Nobody had hair like hers among the Kingdom nobility. Lambert entertained the idea of hair dye, suggesting Charon, Rowe, or Galatea for their fairer hairs were easier to color, but none of them would stand for a spendthrift like her attire suggested.
Maybe someone's partner from the Empire? But they wouldn't be so familiar with the Kingdom's courtly dances. One could be an excellent dancer, but without instruction they could not be a knowledgeable dancer. He did not see her steps falter once with each new partner, be they duke or baron.
The one thing the royal couple could conclude was that this woman loved dancing, for a ghost of a smile flashed across her lips as she was passed from one noble's hand to another.
Lambert's eyes lingered on her, as did Patricia's, until the court dances came to an end. While country dances would usually commence to allow minor lords and ladies to mingle, Patricia insisted on following it up with the imperial tradition instead, where the hosts of social events had long held the honor of the first dance of the evening. Well, it wouldn't be the first dance, to her chagrin, but it'd be their first dance nonetheless.
After some direction from the attendants, the nobles scattered to the sides and gave a wide breadth to the royal couple.
It was with much regret that Lambert and Patricia tore their eyes away from the woman, now retreating to the background, to step onto the dance floor. Though for some reason, they didn't think much of her at all now. Their enchantment with her died as they placed their hands on each other, eyes meeting.
Patricia was as beautiful as the day he had met her, and her easy smile told him she was just as smitten with him as he was with her.
Perhaps they should let this woman remain a mystery. Wouldn't that make this masquerade all the more exciting?
They began with a waltz, like in the Empire.
Patricia relaxed in his arms, and all thoughts of this mysterious woman were tossed out of their minds as he and his queen spun across the stone hall.
"Your Majesty." Despite the mask, Lambert knew it was Glenn who approached him. "Have you seen His Highness?"
Suddenly alert, Lambert pulled away from Count Charon and Count Galatea with nary an excuse. "No, where has he gone?"
Glenn chewed his bottom lip, hesitating for the briefest of moments. "The kids were getting hungry so we called for an attendant, but the kitchens are terribly busy and no servant had came around after half a bell. His Highness and Sylvain volunteered to retrieve some snacks, but it's been well over a bell now and I haven't seen him in the kitchens nor with the refreshments."
"The other children must have been attended to by now, right?" Glenn nodded.
"And Sylvain?"
The knight suppressed a wince. "Found him surrounded by a few merchants' daughters. All four of them were breaking up with him, though they also claimed to have just met him this evening."
...And this was why, despite being of an age to socialize on his own, Sylvain's friends insisted on confining him to the "children's room".
"The guards confirmed no little blond princes or princesses crossing anywhere cordoned off, so he must be somewhere in court."
A peel of raucous laughter came from the dance floor, and Lambert's thoughts were immediately pulled to that mysterious woman.
It was strange. He had seen her from the corner of his eyes every now and then throughout the night, but as soon as he turned his head, her presence slid from his attention like water to oil.
An idea came to mind.
No, Dimitri wouldn't.
Due to a certain imperial princess's efforts, his son could waltz passably but he wasn't good enough of a dancer to be navigating crowds or striding across roughly cut limestone floors—tonight was a painful reminder of why the Blaiddyd court preferred its slow traditional dances to the brisk tempo of the Adrestian waltz.
Still, dozens of bachelors and maidens accepted the challenge, and despite the numerous stumbles and bruised toes and egos, the masks assured the youths that they wouldn't leave this evening too humiliated.
Lambert concentrated on the dance floor. Naturally, Glenn followed his gaze.
"You don't think...?"
Lambert's lips twisted in consternation. He thought it would be easier to find towering butterfly wings and a shock of "Brigid balm" green than a blond child three seasons into his growth spurt, but as he edged closer to the dance floor, it was Dimitri whom he had spotted first.
The first thing Lambert noted was the utterly besotted look on his son's ruddy face that his flimsy leather mask could not hide. Then he followed those bright eyes to—
Ah, there she was, in his son's arms, waltzing with the biggest smile he had seen on her lips yet.
The mysterious woman was shorter than he had expected, barely a head taller than his son of a dozen winters. Actually, what had he expected? A personage of intimidating stature and atmosphere like the chivalrous Cassandra? No, Lambert hadn't thought much of anything of this woman. Nothing at all.
Glenn stepped forward, but Lambert's raised arm stopped him from approaching the prince. The song would end in a short order. Far be it from him to deny Dimitri this little happiness.
The performers let the last note ring for one long moment before they shuffled off for intermission.
Dimitri held the woman in his arms still, and he opened his mouth to begin talking. Quite quickly, Lambert observed as he strode closer, but it wasn't a nervous sort of rambling. His son looked comfortable even. When she answered, he laughed.
"—If you are as good of a fighter as you are a dancer, then you must stay the night. I would love to see you on the training grounds. Ah, my friends would like that too, of course—"
Lambert resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. Two days with the Gautier heir and this was what was coming out of his son's mouth?
"Dimitri."
At his name, Dimitri perked up and turned towards him. Lambert noted that while he separated from the woman, he took great care not to let go of her hand.
"Father!" His eyes shone with delight and palpable excitement. "Have you met Lady Byleth? She's a most exquisite dancer. She claims to be quite the duelist as well, though there's not a single doubt in my mind. Her footwork spoke to me like Glenn's—Oh, Glenn! You're here too."
The aforementioned knight seemed to have finally noticed the woman accompanying the prince, judging by his subdued startle. "And this Lady Byleth is of the House...?" There was an edge to his words.
Dimitri blinked at Glenn's hostility, unearned as it must have been from his perspective. "Um..." He didn't know but he glanced back at the lady like he wanted to know.
"Please, children. May I remind you that this is a masquerade?" Lambert cut in with a groan, though he would love nothing more than to prod after her background as well. "We must let some mystique endure this evening or our host will be very, very cross. Do you want Her Majesty to be cross with me?"
Glenn shook his head, all of a sudden sheepish.
"Good."
At this moment, he realized the Lady Byleth hadn't sought to utter a single word. With those blank eyes and that stoic composure, he would've she was void of any desire to do so. It was easy to see how her presence faded when he wasn't focusing all of his attention on her.
"Ah, now where are my manners?"
As awkward as it was, he took her free hand with his left and brushed his lips over her knuckles. Her fingers and palms were surprisingly calloused, and his action left a strange but not unpleasant taste of berries and wildflowers in his mouth.
"It is a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance, Lady Byleth. My wife and I have been catching glimpses of you all night but we never had the chance to approach you. To think my son would have the honor of dancing with you first among our little family..." Lambert chuckled. He let go of her hand when he realized Dimitri was shooting him an annoyed glance.
Now that he was up close, Lambert could tell that she was young, eyes wide with a strange youthfulness and skin free of any aging creases. Her mask was of a strange wooden make. In fact, it seemed to be some kind of bark that was perfectly cast over her features, but it was no less elaborate than some of the other masks featured this evening. The decorative moss and lichen formed intricate, intentional patterns over its surface.
"Thank you for keeping him company for so long, but I fear his unexplained absence has left both my knight here and his friends quite worried."
"And hungry, but that's taken care of," Glenn quickly added.
A protest began on Dimitri's tongue but it withered and died a horrible death when confronted with the fact that he had abandoned Ingrid and Felix to their growling stomachs. He kept his hand over Byleth's even as he looked down at his feet in shame. Then, he snuck a look at the lady, evaluating her reaction to his callous treatment of his friends.
Her expression was inscrutable.
"The fault is all mine, milord." She pressed a hand to her chest and bowed, her wings fluttering. Her attire remaining soundless with that movement was a feat unto itself. "I had wondered why he was balancing two plates in each arm, piled to the neck with food...I thought I was rescuing a lordling from his own greed by distracting him with a dance."
Glenn coughed twice into his fist to disguise his snort. Lambert managed to hold back his laugh but not his grin. Dimitri gawped. "You said it impressed you!"
"It did impress me," she parroted matter-of-factly. "Your core is good and your stance is solid, albeit rigid. You've trained hard for someone so young. Keep this up and you'll be formidable on both the dance floor and the battlefield."
His son recognized he was being teased with a huff, but couldn't stop himself from beaming at the acknowledgement of his efforts. Gustave did push him quite hard.
"Who's your combat instructor? I might find my next dance partner in them."
Any sense of satisfaction from her praise was dashed to pieces because the idea of Gustave waltzing with Byleth was such a horrid image that Dimitri paled and immediately snatched her other hand. He held both to his chest and silently pled no, no, no with a most pathetic expression. Please do not dance with Gustave. He may respect the man deeply, but his strict and brutish instructor would be the most inadequate and humorless dance partner.
"Gustave, unfortunately, cannot be pried from his duties," Lambert informed them.
Dimitri let out a sigh of relief.
A mischievous smile flashed across the king's lips. "But if you seek a new partner, I would be happy to offer myself."
"Father!"
"Or if you're looking for someone a step more spry, I'm sure Glenn here wouldn't mind a break."
"Your—my liege!"
Dimitri threw Glenn a most vicious stink eye, as if the knight had volunteered himself. How cute. He was so meek as a child but he had gotten more willful ever since separating from the imperial princess, and now clung to his friends more than ever. Or maybe puberty was hitting him hard. Who could say?
And although Glenn was betrothed to dear Ingrid, Lambert thought he had been acting too high strung ever since taking up his post. Glenn wasn't much of a dancer but someone like Byleth could surely stoke that old flame of competition and take his mind off of his duties for the night.
Between the two youths, Lambert wasn't sure who was more scandalized. Thought it mattered not what they thought because it was ultimately Lady Byleth's decision.
"You mustn't tease Sir Glenn. The way he carries himself speaks to his poise and agility, but I would never force a dance on someone unwilling." Said knight's shoulders went slack, tension leaving his spine.
"Then...?" Lambert offered his hand, but Byleth couldn't move to take it because Dimitri clung to her still.
"But you said you'd teach me more waltzing and other dances. Because El hadn't taught me the steps to turn and travel or any of those fancier spins—" Noticing he was agitating himself, Dimitri tried to put a plug on his whining and sulked instead. "Am I that unsatisfactory of a dance partner?"
"Not at all. You've been a lovely student." And she meant it.
"Then why won't you dance with me some more? Why do you look for other partners?"
"Dimitri..." Lambert began. Where was this petulant act coming from? He knew his son took Edelgard's sudden departure hard, but not to the extent that he'd latch onto the next person who'd treat him like a normal kid.
But there was a certain distance between him and his friends, Lambert supposed, not to mention everyone else in his life. Even Felix, who had toddled after Dimitri so earnestly when they were younger, realized that Dimitri was "His Highness" a few years back.
It was lonely at the top.
"If a dance with my father is your sincerest desire, then I insist you stay for a few days. I know you'll get swept up with some other noble and we will not dance again for the rest of the night." A paranoid assumption, but not a wrong one.
"There are plenty of guest rooms in the castle and if that isn't to your liking then I'm sure we can arrange some kind of compensation for your accommodations to extend your stay. Father likes you—" now, Lambert wouldn't go that far, "—and he said Stepmother likes you too. I want to introduce you to my friends and tutors. I know Gustave and Felix would love to face you on the training grounds. Ah, but we would have to keep Sylvain away..."
If Byleth hadn't known Dimitri was royalty, she must have by now.
"I cannot." Her tone was firm and her words surprisingly final to someone above her station. Lambert had never put much stock into hierarchies, so it surprised him when he couldn't tell if he approved or not. "I shall leave when the performances stop."
"That'd be in...three bells or so," Lambert added.
He shouldn't have said that, because the subsequent heartbroken, kicked puppy look on Dimitri devastated his parental heart. If he were a more indulgent father, he would've rushed to pay the troupe to perform the entire night.
As if on cue, the musicians shuffled their sheet music, and the more attentive nobles floated from the refreshments back to the dance floor.
"Lady Byleth, Father, forgive my selfish outburst. I just thought..." I had made another friend tonight.
Before silence could hang over them, Byleth straightened up, wings opening so violently that Lambert swore he felt a breeze on his cheeks, and drew all three men's attention.
"Despair not, Lord Dimitri, for the Masquerade is a time of merriment. Let us make a wager instead."
Dimitri perked up. Perhaps the stoic, dance-obsessed lady was more lenient than she first appeared?
"If you wish to dance, then let us dance. I will grant you one boon of my choosing for each bell you stay standing."
Hope bloomed on his face. "And if I am unable?"
"You shall be my vassal 'til the end of your days."
Glenn's fingers twitched over his blade even if Dimitri didn't look like he minded that idea too much.
"A jest." The lady didn't miss a beat. "You will lose nothing save my company."
"...Only three bells, you say?" Dimitri huffed. His training was worse than a few hours of fancy footwork. "I accept. In fact, let's drill those turns between sets. I will pick you bare of techniques before the night's done."
"You aim for the stars." Byleth nodded in approval before throwing Lambert a rueful look. "And Lord Father, I do apologize for monopolizing Dimitri..."
Lambert hummed. "Who raised such a bull-headed son, I wonder? No, Lady Byleth, there's no need for apologies. The fault lies entirely with me. I am never one to deny my adorable son his joys, and it so happens you've become his best friend this evening. It is I who should be offering you my most sincere condolences."
"Father!" Dimitri's face was bright red.
"And you will be punished enough come breakfast," Lambert said to him. He couldn't help but to find amusement at the horror dawning on his son's little face. "I'm sure your friends would love to know why you've abandoned them."
His son sputtered even as he took up the proper position.
"Eyes on me, little lord." Dimitri snapped to attention. There was an unpracticed, upward twitch of Byleth's lips. One could call it a smile. "You won't be learning any spins if I have to spend the evening minding your frame."
Dimitri had definitely overestimated his endurance, Lambert noted. He had chosen to sit on his throne again, alongside Patricia, rather than mingle. It deterred all but the bravest guests from approaching, and it was easier to find their resident mystery woman now that he could simply look for his son and follow his eyes.
The Adrestian waltz was a sprint, not a marathon.
Two bells have passed and then some. The evening's end drew near now, so the dance floor was now littered with meandering guests. It was easier to pivot around a stationary couple than a moving one, but the passages were much narrower now that a number of people decided the area was free space to socialize. It was not helped by Dimitri's height, or lack thereof, nor Byleth's strange presence.
Dimitri had started flagging half a bell ago, face still pink, but now with exertion than anything else. The earlier adoration he held for the lady was replaced with a stubborn determination to see this challenge through.
Pity, because Lambert was curious as to what boons Lady Byleth might have to offer to a prince.
"Honestly, you spoil him," Patricia pouted besides him. "If you had talked him down from that wager, I could've been waltzing with the best dancer in this room."
Lambert gasped in faux pain. "My queen, I've spent many hours alongside you with the castle's dance instructor! Do my efforts mean nothing?"
"You're decent but you're no Lady Byleth," Patricia said flippantly. They let a moment of silence hang over them before she continued. "I've had my scribe check over the requests for plus ones. There's no one named Byleth on the guest list. It could be a pseudonym."
Patricia was responsible for much of the guest list. A foreigner to the Kingdom she may be, but she had acclimated herself well enough to her role as queen consort.
"And I've had Glenn talk to the guards at the entrance. They said no woman with green hair or winged attire had entered through the main gates."
"You don't think..."
"If she had meant any ill-will, I doubt she'd be waltzing throughout the night. Though I suppose she might actually kill Dimitri's legs if she keep this up."
"For the love of dance..." She sighed, wistful. "Imagine: a humble commoner blessed by fairies for her kindness and benevolence to the poor and the downtrodden. They allow her this one chance to sneak into a royal ball and dance with the prince before disappearing into the night, back to her old life. How romantic."
"Shall I fetch you your scribes if you wish to indulge such dalliances about the lady? It could be a popular storybook. With the children."
It was Patricia's turn to be scandalized. "Why you—"
Sometime during their talk, the last set of songs began, and Lambert reminded himself to check on his poor son's progress.
His heart dropped when he did not see Dimitri on the dance floor.
"My lord, my lady."
Their guards startled first, but relaxed when they saw the lack of surprise from their royal charges.
The Lady Byleth had a casual arm around his son's waist, helping him limp up to his parents' thrones. She knew of their positions in the court, or maybe she had always known, but Lambert could not help but to appreciate her unyielding dedication to the Masquerade.
"I see he's lost the wager."
Dimitri couldn't meet any of their eyes, looking down at the ground, shamefaced. "I'm sorry. I failed."
"Yes, so I shall take my leave."
Patricia frowned. "Would a dance with the queen change your mind?"
"I'm afraid not. A wager is a wager."
Dimitri's shoulders shook. He was close to tears.
Byleth did not have to get on her knees to meet Dimitri's eyes but she knelt regardless, her gown splaying around her like a carpet of flowers. "And so, I'd like to grant Lord Dimitri two boons with his parents' permission. A boon for every bell of dancing, as I've promised."
Lambert and Patricia exchanged wordless looks, then turned back to the ethereal woman.
With a nod, Lambert said, "You may."
"Little prince, look at me." Dimitri raised his sullen gaze. He sniffled.
"My first boon is that of knowledge." Byleth's hands moved to his face—one to hold his chin up, the other to untie his mask. No one protested as it fell from his face. She pressed three kisses over each of his eyelids, light and barely perceptible. Dimitri blushed. "May it help you understand that things are not always what they appear, and that you can find succor from where your enemies least expect.
"My second boon is that of protection." She plucked a ring of forget-me-nots from her finger, too finely braided to be have been made by human hands. She held it out to the prince, who received it gingerly in his palms. When he hesitated to put it on, she slid it over his thumb with a small, bell-like laugh. If Dimitri could have flushed any deeper, Lambert thought he might have a tomato for a son. "It shall pry you from death's embrace just once. Wear it always, and tread carefully.
"And although I cannot offer you the third boon, I shall make you a promise." She cupped his hands, pressing her head to his fingers. "Let us meet again in five years."
"Five years?! That's too long. I'll be old! And decrepit!" At his son's sheer audacity, Lambert coughed into his hand and turned away to wheeze silently. Patricia was in a similar state, and had covered her mouth, but there was mirth in her watery eyes. Thankfully, Byleth seemed rather charmed. "Mother, surely you could host another masquerade next year? And Lady Byleth, you could come back then, couldn't you?"
"I believe there may be too many twisted ankles for another masquerade so soon. Maybe in two or three years. Or if we renovate the flooring to be entirely marble..." No, the nobles would riot if Castle Fhirdiad took to imitating the Imperial Palace.
"Five years," she repeated with a soft smile. Dimitri looked properly enchanted by her expression. "Not a day earlier. Not a day later."
"I'll petition the Church and the Emperor to make the year shorter," Dimitri announced.
Byleth let out a clear, breathless laugh, and Dimitri appeared to stop breathing too. "Oh, little prince..."
"In five years, let our paths cross once more."
Despite the fact that each door and window have been shut tight to preserve heat, a warm gust carrying the beginnings of spring swept through the halls.
For one moment, there was Lady Byleth and her ephemeral smile.
And in the next, from where she had knelt before the crown prince of Faerghus, lay a single green flower.
Greedily, Dimitri picked that up too.