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The fourth time he watched Corrin’s head droop and snap back upright in quick succession, Jakob made an executive decision. For three nights now, she’d strung together less than a full night’s sleep in total and he’d stood at her side, watching the shadows beneath her eyes grow dark against her paling complexion. He admired her dedication, but could not allow his lady to neglect her health any longer. Studying tactics was a noble endeavor, but if she stayed this course, she’d soon find herself struggling to lead from a sickbed.
“My lady, it is late, I think it best you retire for the night,” he said at last.
She looked up at him with bleary eyes and Jakob had a dozen arguments ready on his tongue, should she protest. To his surprise and mild horror, she gave only a jerky nod and pressed a hand to her temple in numb capitulation.
“I can’t recall the contents of this page, no matter how many times I read it,” she murmured.
Jakob frowned. His mistress was a stubborn woman and as such her easy compliance was a cause for concern on its own. “Try it again in the morning. I am certain a good night’s rest will aid your comprehension.”
He moved to close her book, careful to tuck a short length of plum-colored silk between the pages. It had been a gift from Prince Xander, intended as a hair ribbon, but his mistress had long since favored it as a placeholder. In the aftermath of their fallout, Jakob half-expected her to stow the old memento. When she hadn’t, he’d been tempted to dispose of it himself, livid when he recalled how the sibling she held dearest to her heart denounced her. Still, she cherished the slip of fabric and Jakob knew he could not wrench it from her grasp.
She stood on shaky legs, leaning heavily on the arm he offered her. Fearing a seemingly imminent fall, he dropped his arm to her waist. The gesture was too intimate for one of his station, but it allowed him to hold her more securely and she sagged against him gratefully. He maneuvered them to the small restroom attached to her quarters and earned a tired smile for his effort.
He bowed in return and excused himself, granting her privacy for her nightly rituals. There was a time when he would have insisted on staying in order to ensure she brushed her teeth and washed her face properly, but such behavior was no longer appropriate. Instead, he elected to tidy her work space—replacing quills, corking her ink bottle, and straightening her elegantly penned notes.
A sharp knock at the door interrupted his chore. It was far too late for friendly visits and he knew better than to fear an attack of any kind while in the astral plane. With more disdain than curiosity, Jakob opened the door.
His disdain grew as he recognized the sour-faced Hoshidan prince glaring first at him and then beyond him. Jakob shifted to obscure his view of the room, prompting a scowl from the ill-tempered lord.
“Where’s Corrin?” Takumi barked.
“My lady does not host guests at this hour nor are her whereabouts your concern,” Jakob sneered back. Jakob was a tall man—even among Nohrians—and it was often necessary for him to look down upon those around him, but he rarely derived such spiteful pleasure from it.
“I’m not some guest,” Takumi retorted, frown deepening with each passing second that Jakob stood in his way.
“You—
“Jakob,” Corrin cut him off sharply as she emerged from the bathroom. She fixed him with a look of quiet censure, but he could not find it within himself to be truly apologetic for his behavior towards the bad-mannered prince.
Corrin had changed into her night shift and though it was a modest gown, Jakob still thought it improper for a strange man to see her in such clothing—especially at this hour. Judging by the Hoshidan’s sudden coughing fit, the man shared his thoughts.
Gods, but he was an awkward creature.
“Please come in, brother,” Corrin beckoned with a polite smile.
Jakob obediently opened the door wide and stepped aside for the prince. Loathsome as his presence might be, Jakob was not eager to be scolded for a second time.
“I told you not to call me that,” Takumi snapped, stomping past the butler.
Jakob watched his lady’s face fall and rapidly smooth over. “Ah…my apologies,” she said lightly, “what brings you here, Takumi? Is something the matter?”
“Yes,” he snarled, launching into the same tirade Jakob suffered through each day without further preamble, “your sister is a threat to my people. You cannot allow her to stay here.”
It had been scarcely two weeks since Corrin’s small army encountered her elder sister at sea. Accompanied by her retainers and even sweet Flora, Princess Camilla was under orders from King Garon to murder her own kin.
The ensuing skirmish had been brief but emotionally draining as Camilla, unable to take the life of her beloved sister, begged for Corrin to take hers instead. Both knew too well that returning as a failure before the king was a death sentence of its own making.
Still, the eldest princess was nothing if not loyal to her family. Corrin’s attempts to reason with her fell on deaf ears as both women worked themselves into a state of hysteria.
Eventually, Corrin was able to convince Camilla to remain with their makeshift army, promising she would never have to raise her axe against their now estranged siblings.
Up until Camilla’s recruitment, their party—barring Jakob and Corrin—was populated largely by Hoshidans. With the addition of another Nohrian, and a formerly murderous member of the royal family at that, tensions in the small encampment had risen to a fever pitch. Corrin alone played mediator to the innumerable squabbles that broke out between the two factions.
“Camilla means you no harm,” Corrin replied.
“She means you no harm,” Takumi corrected, “she admitted that if the urge struck her, she’d kill every Hoshidan in this camp.”
Jakob held back a sigh. Camilla had a penchant for dark humor that manifested itself in unseemly quips aimed at the Hoshidans. Under other circumstances, Jakob might have balked at the elder princess’ immature behavior, but he knew enough from her two retainers to react otherwise. Camilla was fraying at the edges, one foot hovering over her grave. She was in no state to bear the Hoshidans’ snide comments with the same composure as his lady.
Corrin frowned. “I will talk to—
“No! I’m sick of talking,” Takumi shouted. He took a menacing step forward and Jakob’s hand dropped reflexively to the dagger strapped to his thigh. Ally or no, he would not let the prince lay hands on his lady.
Takumi caught Jakob’s subtle movement out of the corner of his eye and stopped abruptly. His face flushed a dark, angry red.
“Either send her away or we’re leaving!” he growled.
“Takumi—
The prince did not so much as pause. Rebuffing the hand Corrin extended in entreaty, he left as rudely as he arrived. The door slammed behind him with such force that a small vase of wildflowers tumbled from its shelf above the doorframe and shattered against the floor.
Mouth pressed into a thin line, Jakob quietly excused himself to fetch a dust pan from the bathroom.
The ruined bouquet had been given in thanks by a young boy from a town set upon by Faceless. Corrin, with her endless compassion, leapt to the villagers aid immediately, even as Azura cautioned against the fight, coolly explaining that their dwindling resources left them in no position to fend off an attack. Privately, Jakob found himself agreeing with the songstress, but Corrin was resolute.
The villagers’ immense gratitude and generosity caught them all off-guard. They showered the army in praise and gifts, replenishing their food and medicine stores despite Corrin’s good-natured reluctance to accept so much.
It was a small victory, but for the first time in weeks, Jakob beheld his lady’s earnest smiles as she let herself be drawn into one of the children’s celebratory games.
The woman before him now was a pale imitation of the one who careened through fields of wildflowers with ruddy cheeks, laughter trailing after her as she fled from the young girl deemed ‘it.’
That was the Corrin that people fell for—the dragon princess that drew people to her side against their better judgement. The woman that charmed and captivated those around her as easily as she breathed. Even after so much time spent basking in her glow, Jakob was hardly immune to her effect.
However, on occasion, her charisma and optimism failed her and she seemed to fold into herself, into this small creature, bent over the remains of an old vase.
This was the Corrin that Jakob fell for—the result of too many years of loneliness in an unfriendly castle. The selfish butler had seen this girl and marveled at the tightness in his chest. He hurt for her as he never had for anyone else and though he hated to see her like this, he rejoiced in equal measure.
Some deep, ugly part of him whispered that perhaps the reason he was so conscious of his love for her in these moments was because she was closer to him like this. Not only did she rely on him more, but she was just…less—a shade darker than her brilliant self. Jakob was always less and his miserable self longed for her company, longed for her to become part of a world where he could reach her.
Guilt consumed him at the thought and he strove to focus on the task at hand.
Kneeling next to her, he took the shards of glass she’d collected and dumped them into the dust pan. They worked in silence. Corrin was slower than Jakob and truthfully, more hindrance than help but he wouldn’t dare say as much.
“I don’t know what to do,” she said softly, voice cracking. “I thought I could choose differently—I wanted this to work so badly but nothing has changed since that day with Xander and Ryoma. Everyone wants me to choose and I can’t.”
She wiped furiously at her eyes and Jakob offered his handkerchief in lieu of advice. His cynicism was marrow-deep and held none of the answers she sought. Corrin followed a moral compass all her own and it was as admirable as it was incomprehensible to Jakob.
“Thank you,” she mumbled, taking the small cotton square and dabbing away at her tear-spiked lashes.
“You’re welcome. I only wish I could do more,” Jakob replied, setting aside the broken glass.
Corrin shook her head and brought the handkerchief to her eyes once more. “You do so much for me already Jakob—I couldn’t ask for a better butler.”
In the past, such praise had filled him with pride, but now it fell on his ears like lead. His affection for Corrin had grown so far beyond what was appropriate for a butler and his lady. She was his dearest friend and the only person worth considering family. It stung to know he could clean a mess, but was powerless to provide her the comfort she needed.
He swallowed thickly. “Thank you, milady.”
As he tucked her into bed with still-wet eyes, Jakob thought of the ex-Nohrian princess and the fast camaraderie that had blossomed between her and his lady.
Perhaps she would have found the right words, he thought with no small amount of bitterness.
Azura distanced herself from the daily squabbles and grievances that weighed so heavily on his lady, but Corrin still hung on her every word, ready to catch the occasional bits of wisdom that would fall from her tiny mouth.
Jakob did not hold the songstress in the same high regard as his lady did. He thought her cold and impersonal—much like himself if he were in any mood to be honest. Tonight, he was not and so he shoved such thoughts back into the recesses of his mind and bid Corrin good night.
Corrin’s muffled sobs picked up once more, pricking at his ears as he lingered on her doorstep. He fought the urge to return to her, knowing there was nothing more he could offer.
The night’s chill settled into his skin as he walked the short distance to his own lodgings. The lump in his throat and the ache in his chest ensured he would not find sleep.