Archive of Our Own

Byleth took dinner in her office, as usual. Although she missed the bustle and noise of the dining hall, she couldn’t do her work there, particularly not when it involved confidential documents. She’d thought that formally taking on the mantle of archbishop would be more symbolic than anything else — after all, that’s how it had been during the war — but it turned out that the role required a good amount of work on top of the appearances and busywork of leading a nation. Not for the first time, she contemplated handing her archbishop title to another. But no, Rhea had given her this duty. Not Seteth, not Flayn, her. Rhea had believed in her, for better or for worse…even if that belief likely had something to do with her hair and eye color.

She tried to focus on the paper in front of her as she idly picked at her plate of grilled trout. The paper contained an evaluation of the state of the Western Church, penned by a spy she had sent to investigate. As part of repairing the Church of Seiros and building it into the Church of Sothis, the broken relationship with the Western Church needed to be healed. They had hoped that the faction would calm down after their trip to the Rhodos Coast, but it seemed that five years of war had been enough for them to regain strength.

Naively, Byleth had hoped that the Western Church would welcome her, as they had been highly critical of the main Church under Rhea's leadership. However, it seemed that they continued to be skeptical, as the bishop of the Western Church continued to rebuff her invitations for discussion of reconciliation. And according to this latest report, the Western Church’s bigoted behavior showed no signs of stopping. Something would need to be done there. Rhea would probably have eventually sent the Knights of Seiros to destroy the Western Church and rebuild it from the ground up. But the Church no longer had the Knights of Seiros, nor did it have the power to perform executions. And who was she to punish them for not aligning with the Central Church? Now, if they did something illegal… Seteth would know…

Her eyes flicked to the empty space across the room, and she frowned. She had invited Seteth to merge his office with hers — they had been working so closely for so long, and now that she had her own office, it seemed only natural to invite her prime minister to share — but he had declined, saying that it would not be proper. And furthermore, he “worked more efficiently” when he was not “distracted by the presence of his intended.” He did have a point there. He really did. But why did he have to be so right all the time? She could use some distraction right now — they’d barely had more than a few words and a few moments of eye contact in the last few days. …She should talk to Seteth about the potentially illegal actions of the Western Church. She could visit him in his office and—

“Byleth dear, how are you?”

She raised her head to see a familiar woman sauntering into her office. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust from staring at paperwork for so long, but she gave her friend a smile. “Manuela.”

Manuela eyed the stack of paperwork on Byleth’s desk apprehensively. “Have you been sitting here all day?”

“I didn’t have any meetings for once, so yeah, more or less.”

“You must have been terribly productive.”

“I like to think so,” she responded with a small degree of pride. She didn’t read as fast as Seteth, but she thought he’d be pleased with her for what she’d been able to accomplish today.

Seeing that Byleth had no intention to move from her desk, Manuela rushed forward and seized Byleth by the arm. “You’ve done plenty for today. Time to have some fun!”

Byleth’s head spun from being forced to her feet so quickly, and she immediately became aware of several aches from sitting still for so long. She really needed to stretch more often during the day. And when was the last time she had visited the training grounds?

“Wait, Manuela, I can’t—”

What if Seteth came by and saw that she had abandoned her post? It was still early evening. She could do more…

“Yes you can. You can’t possibly expect me, Garreg Mach’s resident physician, to allow our new queen and archbishop to neglect her health by running herself into the ground.”

Byleth’s shoulders drooped. Clearly, this was a losing battle. “Where are we going, then?”

Manuela brightened, changing her hold on Byleth from gripping her wrist to snaking an arm around her waist. “That’s the spirit! We’re going to a celebration.”

Byleth expected Manuela to lead her into town to go drinking. She did not expect to be taken to the old Blue Lions classroom, nor did she expect to see it…decorated for a party?

“Oh, you made it!” exclaimed Mercedes.

Annette clapped her hands together. “We knew you could do it, Professor Casagranda!”

“Annette, for the last time, please drop the title. It’s been six years since I was your professor and we’re going to be colleagues soon!”

“Sorry Prof— I mean Manuela. It just feels so weird!”

“What’s the occasion?” Byleth asked, guarded.

“It’s an engagement party!” burst Flayn from a desk, where she was serving Bernie a slice of cake.

“Engagement…party…?” Not for Byleth, she hoped. How could they have found out? Was this Flayn’s doing?

Annette thrust her left hand forward, an emerald ring sparkling around her fourth finger. Byleth’s eyes caught a similar ring on Mercedes’ hand. “Felix proposed!”

Byleth raised her eyebrows. No surprises there. “And…Sylvain?” she guessed, cocking her head in Mercedes’ direction.

Mercedes smiled, cheeks rosy. “That’s right!”

“Congratulations.”

“It would have been nice to have everyone here, but we’ll have to make do with who we have. And it’s the perfect excuse for a girl’s night!” said Mercedes.

Byleth gauged the room. It was rather empty. Although it had been a month since her coronation, she was still used to always having all of her former students around. Now, Dorothea was in Enbarr, rebuilding the Mittelfrank Opera Company. Petra had gone back to Brigid. Ingrid was restoring Galatea. Marianne was training to take over as Margrave Edmund’s successor. Lysithea had returned to her parents in Ordelia Territory. And Leonie was off goddess-knew-where, putting Jeralt’s mercenaries back together. Byleth supposed she should be glad that as many of them had stayed as there were.

“Okay, now that Byleth’s here, please tell us how they proposed!” Flayn begged. “I am so very eager to know. Were they romantic? They are friends — did they propose to you together?”

“Now, now, let’s get Byleth some cake and wine, and then yes, we will tell all,” Mercedes giggled. “I hope you will not be disappointed.”

“Never!”

Manuela thrust a glass of wine into Byleth’s hand, and Flayn provided the cake.

“You go first, Mercie,” prompted Annette.

“Well…” A delicate blush heated Mercedes’ fair cheeks. “It was actually something of a joke… I mentioned it offhand once when we were just chatting, sometime during the war. But I guess he took it seriously, because he brought it up as soon as the war was over, ring and everything. I believe the exact words he used were, ‘Let's get married and have Crest babies!’”

And here Byleth had hoped that being around Mercedes would have made him less flippant.

“He really said that?” said Bernie, expression aghast.

“He did.”

Flayn groaned. “One would think a man with so much practice flirting with women would propose in a more romantic fashion.”

“I thought it was sweet that he remembered,” defended Mercedes. “It was something of an inside joke from before the war. And he really isn’t so bad. Being raised in a Faerghus noble family isn’t easy, and he had quite the terrible childhood. But there’s a very sweet, sincere person in there — don’t tell him I told you that.”

“You’re not marrying him in some kind of effort to ‘redeem’ him, are you?” said Manuela, squinting.

“Not at all. All of the progress he’s made has nothing to do with me and everything to do with him, and I’m holding him to that.”

Manuela’s mouth twisted, but she restrained herself with a big gulp of wine.

“What about you, Professor?” asked Mercedes, a tremble in her voice. Suddenly she seemed anxious for Byleth’s opinion.

Byleth spoke carefully. “I think you two make a very balanced couple.” She had been the one who kept throwing them together, after all. “I’ve never seen Sylvain as serious about anything as when he talks about you.”

“Really?”

Byleth noticed with some alarm that there were tears sparkling in Mercedes’ eyes.

She blinked rapidly, looking up at the ceiling. “No, I’m being silly. I knew that. I have every confidence in him. I suppose what was most surprising about the proposal was that he was proposing to me. I always assumed that he was going to end up with Ingrid...”

“I think it’s terribly romantic,” sighed Flayn. “The womanizer falling for a nun…”

“I never pictured myself getting married at all,” said Mercedes, seeming to have recovered. “I fully planned on becoming a nun and spending the rest of my life in the Church, especially after hearing about the changes you were implementing, Archbishop,” she nodded toward Byleth, and Byleth growled at the use of her title. Mercedes tittered merrily. “But enough about me! Annie, it’s your turn.”

Flayn, now on her second slice of cake, turned eagerly to Annette. “How did Felix make his proposal? He is so stubborn I never expected him to confess his feelings for you.”

Annette put her head in her hands. “It was so unromantic…”

Mercedes put a hand consolingly on Annette’s back, her eyes crinkled.

“He asked me to marry him during the war, too. But it was less of a proposal and more of him just shoving a box at me! I had to ask him what he meant by it before he explained anything. And even then, he just said, ‘If we live through this, let’s…you know…’” She said the line in her best impression of Felix’s voice. “And then he gestured at the ring, like that was supposed to be good enough!”

“That’s a terrible proposal!” exclaimed Manuela. “Why ever did you accept?”

“Because I’m hopelessly in love with that villain,” Annette moaned.

“Has he actually ever told you he loves you?” Manuela pressed.

For some reason, this caused Annette’s face to blush redder than her hair. “…once…”

“Really?” said Bernie.

“Once??” shrieked Manuela.

“He’s more of an actions-speak-louder-than-words kind of guy,” Annette explained, squirming in her seat. She drained her cup and hastily refilled it.

Byleth nodded agreement.

“I’m so happy for you two. Jealous, too, I’ll admit, but happy for you,” said Manuela. “Now that we’re all together as girls, how are things going for the rest of you?” Her eyes glinted dangerously as they swept the room. Apparently two engagements weren’t enough for her — no surprise there, especially now that there was alcohol in her system.

But Byleth needed to deflect before a certain inebriated songstress-physician pounced on her with questions about Seteth. Her own engagement ring seemed to burn against her chest. But the options were poor — Flayn was still very shy about her relationship with Ferdinand, and Bernie even more so about Ignatz…

There was only one thing to do.

“Yes, Manuela, how are things going between you and Hanneman?” She delivered the line in as casual a way as possible, keeping her expression even as she sipped her wine, but the expression on Manuela’s face was very satisfying.

“There’s nothing between us,” she pronounced, posture stiffening. “At least there never will be. We might be getting along better than before, and he may have said something the other day about our differences complementing each other, and I swear he proposed marriage, but then he categorically denied it.” Then she slumped, voice echoing somewhat as she spoke into her glass. “Does he really find the idea of living with me as more than colleagues that bad? Ugh, I don’t know why I even try with that man. Or any man, for that matter…”

“So you do like him?” Mercedes said conspiratorially, leaning forward. “I do believe I just won our bet, Annie. You’ll have to pay up!”

“She hasn’t confirmed it yet—” retorted Annette.

Manuela looked between the two with wide eyes. “Did you— Did you girls have a bet about me and Hanneman?”

“No.”

“Yes.”

Manuela flopped back into her seat. “Byleth, you’re the queen, do something!”

Byleth sipped her wine and pretended to study the walls. The Officers Academy wouldn’t return to function for another year at least, but that really wasn’t a reason to let the classrooms fall into neglect. Maybe she could find a way to put them to use meanwhile…

“Well then, if that’s how we’re going to play… Bernie dear, what was that I saw going on between you and Ignatz just before he left?”

So much for that attempt. Byleth could practically see the steam coming out of the girl’s ears. For all she knew she should rescue her — she did have Divine Pulse, after all — she couldn’t deny her curiosity. “What was what?” Bernie squeaked. “There was nothing going on. Bernie was just saying goodbye, that’s all.”

“Don’t be shy, you’re in good company,” Manuela continued to croon, leaning closer. “You two do have an awful lot in common.”

Bernadetta shrank into her seat. “He was just going home to his family. Now— Now that the war’s over, he’s decided to become a painter.”

“Oh that’s wonderful!” said Mercedes. “He does so love to paint, and he did a wonderful job for the coronation. I wonder if Sylvain would agree to commission him for our wedding portrait…”

“That’s a great idea!” piped Annette. “I wonder if he’s talented enough to paint a smile over Felix’s usual scowl. Although I wonder how much he charges…”

Byleth smiled softly to herself as the girls began talking about wedding plans. It was a topic tempting enough to distract even Manuela, and the energy in the room multiplied with additions from Manuela and Flayn. Even Bernadetta, for all her blushing, seemed to be listening intently.

She absently stroked the ring under her blouse. It was something of a relief that her engagement to Seteth was a secret. Not because she wanted to exclude her former students, but she didn’t want to be at the center of such a fuss, nor risk stealing the spotlight from Annette and Mercedes.

The wine was beginning to make her feel a bit foggy. She hadn’t really eaten dinner, had she? Best to give the wine a rest and dilute it with another slice of cake before the alcohol could make a fool out of her. Already the giggling and general volume of the conversation had amplified considerably since the start of the party. What would Seteth think if he walked by and found them all like this?

“Gosh, can you imagine me? A wife?” Annette laughed nervously as Byleth returned with her cake. “I can barely take care of myself… I know I’m adult now and a war veteran and a member of the Cabinet and all, but…like…a wife? I can’t cook! And neither can Felix! We’re going to die from food poisoning…”

“It’s a good thing you’ll be working here, then,” said Manuela, putting an arm around Annette. “But if you want a few tips, I am quite the master cook. My cooking is so good, it's been called seductive.”

“I think it will be fun,” said Mercedes. “Being married, only having to worry about babies and cooking and taking care of the house. After all these years of war, it’ll be a nice break.”

“Domesticity does sound nice, though,” Annette sighed. “Full of little things like darning his socks or massaging his shoulders after a long day…”

“And that’s why no man wants me,” mused Manuela. “I can cook like a saint, but other domestic affairs simply elude me. They always have. Oh, sure, they’ll bed me, but at the first hint of any kind of commitment they take off running.”

Byleth narrowed her eyes. Men wanted wives with domestic skills? This was news. Then again, it sounded like Sitri, her mother, had been proficient in those kinds of things.

Byleth…was not. She’d been raised a mercenary, with no opportunity to learn feminine arts. She was a fighter. She liked to be on the move, always challenged. She could survive off the land just about anywhere in Fódlan. She had learned many new skills from living at Garreg Mach, but managing a house and being a wife? The way her girls were talking made it sound…dull.

Are normal women happy with the prospect of that kind of life? Byleth surveyed the gossiping, laughing women around her. These were women she’d seen dominate a battlefield and endure war with incredible physical strength and mental resilience. War was far from something to glorify or romanticize, but after all of that, was this really the kind of future they fantasized about? She’d thought that marriage was about taking a lifelong partner. Apparently, it was more like servitude.

The thought made her stomach turn.

Was that kind of wife what Seteth expected of a woman — of her? Even in her position as a ruler, would he expect these things of her? And could she meet his expectations? Seteth could be very critical of a person’s shortcomings, and he had something to compare Byleth to: his wife.

Byleth finished her cake. Aoife had probably been the picture of domestic perfection, she thought, not without resentment. Is that what he’s expecting from me? That she would “settle down” into domesticity? Even though she was an ex-general and now a world leader?

She shook her head. These thoughts were probably the wine and her fatigue talking. She should get some sleep.

She slept on it. And the next morning, she was still bothered. The girls’ words from last night picked at her insides like a piece of grit in her boot. She had a lot of meetings today, which meant that Seteth was often in the same room. Ordinarily, this would ease the tightness in her chest, but today it only did the opposite. Even when she had the discipline to keep her eyes on the speaker, her thoughts wandered in Seteth’s direction. If that was what he expected from her in getting married, then she would hand his silly ring right back.

If that’s what marriage was supposed to be like, then she would never get married.

It wasn’t until that night that Byleth had the free time and privacy to approach him. She’d taken her evening meal privately again to collect her thoughts. His door was partway open as she approached, and she pushed it open further with one hand to reveal a view of him working at his desk, the candles casting shadows on his face as his pen scribbled across the page. His true age was a little more believable in this light, which emphasized the angularity of his features and deepened its creases.

He looked up at the sound of her entry, the corners of his lips turning up upon recognizing her. “What a day; I feared that it would never end. How are you doing, my queen?”

She closed the door behind her — a habit now whenever they were alone — and ignored the way her stomach wanted to flutter at the use of his secret pet name. Get straight to the point.

And yet, she couldn’t force the words out of her mouth. Instead, she found herself asking: “What’s a Nabatean wedding like?”

Seteth’s eyebrows rose. He studied her for a moment, then his hand came up to trace over the space on his coat where a ring hid beneath the fabric. “It was a quiet type of affair compared to modern tradition, although not dissimilar. A couple would agree to marry, vows would be exchanged before a witness, and the union would be consummated afterward.

“If you are asking pertaining to our own ceremony, I was planning to find someone we could trust to officiate something private, although still following the Fódlanese tradition.”

“Why don’t you want a Nabatean ceremony?” Byleth asked, drawing up a chair and sitting in it backwards, legs straddling the seat and arms folded across the top.

Seteth’s lips pressed together as his gaze darted away. “It is not…something I would ask of you.”

Byleth’s gut wrenched. “Why not?” It must have something to do with Aoife.

He sighed, setting aside his pen, then lacing his fingers together. “The vows exchanged are…not ordinary words. They are an ancient Nabatean spell, given by the goddess herself, designed to bind a couple together. In brief, it makes them all but one being, allowing each to feel the other’s every emotion even across distance. It is almost like being able to read their mind.”

“…and?” Byleth prompted.

“Such a powerful spell exacts a heavy price. If one partner is unfaithful, they die on the spot.”

Byleth raised her eyebrows. Unexpected. “Effective.”

“That knowledge does not deter you?” Seteth asked.

“Why would it?” Byleth returned evenly. “What’s the point of getting married if you’re just planning on cheating on your partner?”

“Well, people make mistakes…” Seteth dipped his mouth behind his hands. “…What if you regretted marrying me?”

Byleth remained silent. Never. Then: “Could you regret marrying me?”

Seteth’s eyes opened wide. “Absolutely not. I pledged to you, I will always remain by your side, for however many centuries the goddess grants to us. The only thing that could drive me away would be your wish for me to do so.”

Byleth snorted softly. His words made her chest ache. “…I would never ask you to do that.” We’re partners. “There’s a reason I asked you to marry me, too.”

His expression softened. “My apologies. Those were my insecurities speaking, I am afraid. Flayn has censured me for it before, and yet I still struggle with them from time to time.” He looked at her fondly. “Every time I have doubted you, you have done nothing but exceed my expectations.”

What expectations do you have now? The words were on the tip of her tongue.

“I suppose that brings up the other part of the ritual which concerned me.” Surprisingly, his face had suddenly taken on an intense shade of scarlet.

“Oh?”

“While it is simply a tradition in Fódlan, in Nabatea, consummation was a very essential component of the ceremony. So important that, if a couple does not…follow through, the spell does not take effect and they are not considered married.”

“Interesting.” Byleth had always wondered where that little tradition had started. Initially she’d blamed it on the incomprehensible nature of noble sensibilities. But this made sense, considering that Seteth had explained that modern Fódlan was influenced by the Agarthans, who had once been close with Nabatea. And considering that Fódlan’s major religion had been led for the last thousand years by a Nabatean.

“That…does not bother you?” Seteth asked, brows furrowed.

Byleth shrugged. “Why would it?”

“Oh, I just gathered the impression that you weren’t interested in—” He coughed. “—with me…”

Byleth cocked her head, confused. She wasn’t naïve, but what was he going on about?

His next words came in a rush. “When we shared a bed you never tried to seduce me.”

Realization.

“Ah…Sorry, did you want me to seduce you?” He had never given her that impression.

“No! I mean yes… I mean…” He made a frustrated noise, burying his face in his hands. “That is a pretty integral part of the Nabatean wedding ceremony. So Nabateans don’t really…before marriage.”

Byleth sat back. “Huh. Fine by me.”

Seteth peeked at her from behind his hands, eyes narrowed. “You’re being…strange about this.”

“Am I?” Byleth looked up at the ceiling. She understood that sex was a big deal for most people. It had been a pretty integral part of the merc’s lives. Jeralt’s life, too. And she’d caught more than one disheveled student sneaking out of another’s room in the middle of the night or wee hours of the morning.

She’d just never felt the need like they did. Out of curiosity she’d given it a go once, then again to see if the first time had just been a bad experience, but at the end of the day, she didn’t see what the big fuss was about. She hadn’t bothered with it since. And, despite their relationship, Seteth had never mentioned it, so she’d never brought it up either.

Ah. That must be what’s on his mind.

“So it bothers you that I never tried to seduce you, even when we were sharing a bed,” she stated, “despite the fact that you didn’t want me to?”

“Well…when you put it that way…yes.”

“It’s not really something that comes naturally to me,” she continued. “But it’s not something that bothers me, either.”

“Byleth…are you…attracted to me?” Seteth asked slowly.

Her eyebrows rose. “Of course.”

“I mean, have you ever wanted to have sex…with me?”

Something about his words and the tone of his voice made her stomach clench. She frowned, combing through her memory. She found nothing. And she knew that he, a man, would not like her answer.

“…no.”

He deflated. “I see…” He brought a hand to his chin, the way he always did when he was troubled.

So he was disappointed. Apparently he had even more expectations than she’d thought. And it made the fish and bean soup she’d had for dinner rise in her throat. She reached behind her neck and unclasped the chain holding her ring. Then, removing herself from the chair, she offered it to him. “I don’t think I can meet your expectations as a wife.”

She held herself steady, forcing herself to look him in the eye. Seteth looked as if he’d been slapped, not moving to take the ring.

“It’s okay. Take it. I know it must have been expensive. We can continue to work together, and spend time together if you’re okay with that, but I don’t think I can be a wife.”

She felt like there was something stuck in her throat. Steady, now…

Seteth finally burst. “Where is this coming from?” His voice wavered. “If this is what you want, of course I will respect that, but I must understand.”

Byleth hesitated. “I…  I learned what it means to be a wife. It has been a long time since I’ve thought of myself as naïve, but apparently I never learned about what is expected of a woman after she gets married. Mercedes and Annette are engaged — to Sylvain and Felix — and last night we had a party for them. The girls started talking about what it would be like to be married. To cook and to clean and to run a household and care for children and care for her husband and impress his friends…and to me, it sounded miserable. And I realized that, if that’s what would be expected of me…I could never be happy as a wife.”

She forced herself to show him a smile. “I’ve never been normal, and I don’t think I ever will be. So if you want a normal woman by your side, with normal feelings and hobbies and—apparently—sex drive, then…I’m sorry I misled you.”

Seteth was silent for a few painful seconds. Then he put a hand to his head with a long sigh. “Fódlanese culture never ceases to confound me…” he muttered. “I suppose that is the price of centuries of seclusion. Where to begin…” He rubbed his face.

Byleth cocked her head, confused.

He got up from his desk, walking around it until he reached her chair, then closed her hand around the ring. His hand remained on hers, emanating warmth. “First, I do not want you to think that I think less of you for your sexual preferences. I was only surprised. There were Nabateans I knew who felt the same way. I did not think it was a possibility for humans, and I only have myself to blame for my ignorance. If anything…knowing this about you, it is gratifying to know that you are attracted to me for reasons that are well beyond the physical. And I love you for who you are, in your entirety.

“Which brings me to my next point: It is true that you will not be my first wife, which means that I have prior experience with marriage. However, I want you to know that I love you for who you are as an individual, not as a means of filling the hole that she left when she died. I have absolutely no intention of comparing you to her, nor do I have any of these silly expectations pertaining to gender roles that Fódlan has developed. I want to marry you because I want to spend the rest of my existence with you, exactly as you are and whoever you may become.”

Wait…what?

He wasn’t rejecting her?

He didn’t have those expectations?

“Have I really spoken so little of Aoife to you?” he continued.

Byleth shook her head, a little dazed.

He put his arms around her. “Hm, I must rectify that, then. You two would have gotten along, I think. What are some things I can tell you…” He titled his head thoughtfully.

“She was significantly older than me, although wide age gaps were common then. She favored the sword. She was terribly fierce in battle, but often reckless and sometimes accident-prone. She was also quite emotional, fiery and passionate, but for all she loved to fight physically, she couldn’t handle any kind of emotional confrontation. And she loved fishing. Goddess, I used to jest that she loved fishing more than she loved me. She would often go out with her fishing pole whenever she needed to clear her head. But, as a water dragon, she was most at home in the sea. I think she spent more time in her True Form than her ‘human’ form. She could cook fish like the finest chef in the world, but for all her love of sweets, she couldn’t bake anything remotely edible.”

“She sounds like quite the character,” Byleth noted, picturing a green-haired, female version of Caspar.

“Oh, she was.” His expression turned fond. But then he returned to Byleth. “Please think of her as a friend, not as a rival, and particularly not for my affection.”

Byleth nuzzled his neck. “Thank you.”

He nuzzled her back, the regrowth of his beard scraping lightly against her cheek. “Thank you for your honesty. I am sure that was difficult for you. But allow me to assure you: I love you. Of that, I will strive to never give you reason to doubt.”

They stood like that for a minute.

Byleth was the first to break the silence. “Let’s do the Nabatean ceremony.”

She felt his body stiffen. “I thought we established that wouldn’t be appropriate?”

“I believe that’s your insecurities talking again.” Byleth teased, smiling into his coat. “I like the idea of being magically bound together. It seems more…meaningful than just doing some silly ceremony in front of a bunch of people. And it would be nice to get a hint about what’s going through your head all the time.”

“But what of the other part?”

Byleth detached herself from him just enough to look him in the eye. “I think that could be nice, too, as long as it’s with you.”

He searched her face, evidently not entirely convinced, so she smiled to reassure him.

“Very well. If you truly desire a Nabatean ceremony, then a Nabatean ceremony we shall have.”

“Soon?”

He chuckled, the rumble rolling through his chest. “Yes, soon.”

“Teach me the vows?”

“I would be happy to. The first part is…” He frowned. “Give me a moment to translate in my head.”

“You have them memorized?”

“They are not words that are easily forgotten.”

I should have known. Even though it’s been a thousand years, he still remembers. You really are incredible, Seteth.

“Don’t worry about translating. I would like to say them in the Nabatean language, if that’s alright.”

He looked at her as if struck by a Thunder spell.

“Are — are you sure? It is not a tongue that is easy to pronounce.”

“If we’re having a Nabatean ceremony, we may as well go whole hog, right? Besides, if this was Sothis’ and your culture, then it seems only right.”

He cleared his throat, looking away for a moment. “Has anyone told you that you are the most wonderful, wonderful person?” He caressed her face, drawing a finger over her jaw with a tingle, and then brushed his lips against hers. His voice softened. “Very well, I will teach you the vows in their original tongue. It is safe to do so when the magic circle has not yet been drawn. Repeat after me…”

Byleth and Seteth were to be married in the audience chamber, which was better than Seteth’s office as their alternative. They could not go anywhere outside of Garreg Mach, as it would be difficult to explain why both the queen and prime minister, who were already enshrouded in so much rumor, had suddenly gone missing at the same time. However, it was perfectly within the norm for them to be together in the audience chamber, and if Seteth’s “younger sister” were to be there with them as well, it would be nothing to think twice about.

They met late, after the monks and nuns had completed their duties and there was no danger of being interrupted by the staff. Byleth and Seteth agreed to remain in their dailywear, not wanting to get caught dressed unusually by anyone on their way. And yet when she arrived, it was obvious that Seteth had still taken some time to tidy his appearance. His hair was freshly brushed, and his cologne smelled freshly applied.

Flayn ran up to Byleth, her gait more of a bounce than a jog. “I am so very excited to be part of this occasion!”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” said Byleth.

Flayn giggled and hugged her, then held up a small box. “I know we must remain casual for secrecy’s sake, but may I style your hair for the occasion?”

Byleth glanced over to Seteth, who wore a fond smile. “I think we can make some time for that.”

Time passed all too quickly as Flayn worked — she had become much better at styling hair, thanks to many hours of practice on the other girls, Byleth, and even Seteth — and yet Byleth was relieved by the time Flayn inserted a final pin and declared herself done.

“May we commence, Saint Cethleann?” asked Seteth, bowing exaggeratedly.

“Oh, are we using our formal titles today?” Byleth teased. She was going to use Seteth’s birth name, but it felt too intimate to use casually, so she skipped over it. “Which one should I use? Ashen Demon? Enlightened One? Archbishop? First Queen of the United Kingdom of Fódlan?”

“Your given names will suffice,” Flayn replied archly. “For an occasion such as this, I will be acting in my official capacity as Saint Cethleann. Of course, I have never done this before, as I was formerly considered too young for this honor, but now I finally have the opportunity. You will be the first couple whose marriage was witnessed by Saint Cethleann,” she finished with a wink.

Seteth turned his attention to Byleth, and the look he gave her sent butterflies fluttering in her stomach. “Are you ready, my love?”

Nothing to be nervous about. It was the natural next step for her life. And compared to the stress of being ordained archbishop, then being crowned queen, this was nothing. It was just her, Seteth, and Flayn. Her new family. And yet… I wish you could be here, Dad.

“Yes.”

“Then let us begin,” said Flayn, taking her place on the steps at the front of the room. “Now, please step into the circle.”

Seteth took her hand in his and gently led her forward, stepping among the arrangement of runes and symbols. They turned to each other, and Byleth gave Seteth her other hand. Their eyes met, and his eyes were shining, full of emotion beyond expression. Being the object of such a gaze made her want to blush and look away. It was overpowering. But she disciplined herself to stay firm, to maintain eye contact. That gaze which had tried to bore into her soul all those years ago she now welcomed with open doors.

Seteth began to speak, the lilting sounds of his native tongue sounding at once foreign and enchanting:

“Mise, Cichol, mac an bandia, in ainm spiorad an bandia a chónaíonn ionainn uile, tríd an saol a dhéanann cúrsaí laistigh de mo chuid fola agus an grá a chónaíonn i mo chroí, tabhair leat Byleth Eisner chun mo láimhe, mo croí, agus mo spiorad, a bheith ar mo cheann roghnaithe. Le mian a bheith agat agus le bheith uait, tú a bheith agat, agus seilbh a bheith agat ort, gan pheaca ná náire, óir is féidir le neamhní a bheith ann in íonacht mo ghrá duit. Geallaim go dtabharfaidh mé grá duit go hiomlán agus go hiomlán gan srian, i mbreoiteacht agus i sláinte, i neart agus i mbochtaineacht, sa saol agus níos faide i gcéin, áit a mbuailfimid, a chuimhnímid agus a ghrá arís. Ní dhéanfaidh mé iarracht tú a athrú ar bhealach ar bith. Beidh meas agam ort, ar do chreidimh, ar do mhuintir agus ar do bhealaí mar tá meas agam orm féin.”

(“I, Cichol, son of the Goddess, in the name of the spirit of the goddess that resides within us all, by the life that courses within my blood and the love that resides within my heart, take thee Byleth Eisner to my hand, my heart, and my spirit, to be my chosen one. To desire thee and be desired by thee, to possess thee, and be possessed by thee, without sin or shame, for naught can exist in the purity of my love for thee. I promise to love thee wholly and completely without restraint, in sickness and in health, in plenty and in poverty, in life and beyond, where we shall meet, remember, and love again. I shall not seek to change thee in any way. I shall respect thee, thy beliefs, thy people, and thy ways as I respect myself.”)

Byleth sat spellbound, even as Seteth spoke the last words and fell silent. It took a soft, “Byleth?” from Flayn before she startled and came back to reality. She felt herself turn red. But Seteth gave her an encouraging smile, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles.

Oh. Right. My turn. She scrambled in her mind for the words that she had privately rehearsed over and over again.

She stumbled through the ancient tongue. Would it have the same effect on him as it just did on her?

“Mise, Byleth Eisner, in ainm spiorad an bandia a chónaíonn ionainn uile, tríd an saol a dhéanann cúrsaí laistigh de mo chuid fola agus an grá atá ina chónaí i mo chroí, tabhair leat Cichol, mac an bandia, chun mo láimhe, mo chroí, agus mo spiorad, le bheith mar an duine roghnaithe agam. Le mian a bheith agat agus le bheith uait, tú a bheith agat, agus seilbh a bheith agat ort, gan pheaca ná náire, óir is féidir le neamhní a bheith ann in íonacht mo ghrá duit. Geallaim go dtabharfaidh mé grá duit go hiomlán agus go hiomlán gan srian, i mbreoiteacht agus i sláinte, i neart agus i mbochtaineacht, sa saol agus níos faide i gcéin, áit a mbuailfimid, a chuimhnímid agus a ghrá arís. Ní dhéanfaidh mé iarracht tú a athrú ar bhealach ar bith. Beidh meas agam ort, ar do chreidimh, ar do mhuintir agus ar do bhealaí mar tá meas agam orm féin.”

(“I Byleth Eisner, in the name of the spirit of the goddess that resides within us all, by the life that courses within my blood, and the love that resides within my heart, take thee, Cichol, son of the Goddess, to my hand, my heart, and my spirit to be my chosen one. To desire and be desired by thee, to possess thee, and be possessed by thee, without sin or shame, for naught can exist in the purity of my love for thee. I promise to love thee wholly and completely without restraint, in sickness and in health, in plenty and in poverty, in life and beyond, where we shall meet, remember, and love again. I shall not seek to change thee in any way. I shall respect thee, thy beliefs, thy people, and thy ways as I respect myself.”)

As soon as the last word left her tongue, the magic circle activated, engulfing them both in a pillar of white-gold light that should have been blinding, and yet it was not. Her eyes widened in surprise, but Seteth met them with a reassuring smile. A rush of warmth, like a pleasant summer breeze, raced across her skin, wrapped around her. It felt like glowing. And strangely reminiscent of the moment she had fused with Sothis.

And then it was over. The light faded from around them, and she became aware of something…else in her mind. It felt warm, overflowing with emotion that she could not name. But it matched the look in Seteth’s eyes, now wide.

“Is that…?” she asked.

“You did perfectly.”

She explored the new sensation. She was aware of Seteth in a way she could barely comprehend. He was like an extension of her consciousness, almost of her body. She could feel him like she could feel her right hand. Although she could barely unravel all of the new sensations flooding into her, she recognized wonder. And a depth of affection for her so deep that it immediately washed away all of the doubts she may have felt previously.

It was all so surreal. Even her knees felt weak.

“You may kiss,” came Flayn’s voice, and Byleth chuckled at the immediate wave of embarrassment that she felt from Seteth.

“I would not want to make you uncomfortable,” he said quickly, eye contact with Byleth broken.

“For heaven’s sake, just kiss her!” Flayn urged.

Sensing that Seteth was still paralyzed with mortification, Byleth took the initiative, taking his head in his hands so he wouldn’t move, and kissed him.

Admittedly, part of her motive was that she was very curious to know what it would feel like to kiss him with this spell in place. And, goddess, it was better than she imagined. She knew that her own emotions would likely be dull and muted compared to his, but she didn’t expect this…this explosion that she felt from him. It was too much. She broke away with a gasp.

“Is…it…normally like this?” she asked, embarrassed by her own question, as if she was Cyril when he had asked her how to ask a girl on a date.

Seteth looked like he was in a trance. Did she look like that, too?

Flayn cleared her throat. When Byleth managed to tear her attention away from Seteth, she noted that the girl’s cheeks were now flushed, and her eyes were averted, evidently abashed.

Byleth wrestled with her self-control. Keep it together. But that was much more difficult now.

“Byleth… I have a request,” Flayn said. “Well, two requests, if I am to be truthful. First, you know my true identity as ‘Saint’ Cethleann. I would like it very much if you were to use that name whenever it is safe to do so.”

Byleth smiled at her formality. They had been friends long before it had become apparent that they would become family. “Of course…Cethleann.” That would take some getting used to, but the way that the girl beamed at the sound of her birth name confirmed that making the effort would be worthwhile. “What is your second request?”

“Now that you and Father are married…” she wrung her hands. “May I— Would you find it acceptable if I…called you ‘Mother?’”

Byleth felt a jolt of surprise from Seteth. It was distracting — his emotions were so strong! — but this was important to Cethleann…her new daughter.

“I won’t try to replace your birth mother,” Byleth responded carefully. “And you can continue to call me ‘Byleth’ if you are more comfortable with that. But if you really want to call me your mother, then…it would be my honor.”

More emotion from Seteth, this time a cascade of warmth that all but knocked her over.

She really did almost fall over a second later, not from the effects of the Soulbinding, but from Flayn bowling into her, arms wrapped tightly around her middle. Byleth stumbled, but managed to recover herself and return the embrace.

“I am so happy…Mother.”

May I be as good a mother to her as you were a father to me, Jeralt, Byleth prayed.

After they broke apart, a new surge of emotion came from Seteth. It felt like…embarrassment? “To be fair, she is not quite your mother yet, Cethleann. The ceremony is not quite…complete.”

As Byleth looked at Seteth, his complexion deepened from pink from red. His embarrassment was making her own chest tight.

“Oh.” Right. There was more.

“Ah!” Flayn squeaked, bouncing back. Her own cheeks had turned pink.

“Shall we…?” asked Byleth, gesturing to the doors.

Seteth shook his head quickly. “What if someone should see us?”

Byleth raised an eyebrow. “Then you’re walking the queen back to her rooms. It’s nothing you haven’t done before.”

“But what of tomorrow morning?”

He doesn’t have a plan?

Seteth’s embarrassment intensified, along with a sense of…frustration?

Flayn — Cethleann — interjected. “Fortunately, I take my role as officiator very seriously. Therefore I devised a solution: I shall use a Warp spell to take both of you to Byleth’s apartment, and then tomorrow I shall use Warp again to bring Father back to our apartment. What time should I pick you up, Father?”

Byleth could feel his shock. She was surprised as well. When did she learn such a complicated spell? Last she knew, only Lysithea and Linhardt had mastered that one.

“…I have a meeting at the tenth bell,” Seteth eventually responded.

“Shall I fetch you at the ninth bell, then?”

“…Yes, that should be sufficient.”

“Very well. Please be ready then.”

Byleth was engulfed in pale violet light, and with a distinct tingling sensation, she suddenly found herself in her new apartment. She blinked away the disorientation. She’d been Warped before, during the war, often after a Divine Pulse required her to get to a particularly dangerous part of the battlefield quickly. She’d done it often enough to be more or less accustomed to its effects, but she suspected it was impossible to fully overcome the discomfort.

Seteth flashed into being beside her.

He’d never allowed himself into her rooms before — not since she had moved into the archbishop’s apartment, anyway. Seeing him here sent a strange hum of tension through her. She recalled their conversation about the Nabatean marriage ceremony, and now it was all she could think about.

The prospect of having sex hadn’t made her nervous before. Then again, it had been a while, and she hadn’t really had emotions in general back then.

Maybe she was picking it up off Seteth, who radiated it in waves. Nervousness and…anticipation, although suppressed. She could feel his emotions like her own, rolling through her, overwhelming compared to her own muted feelings. She was still coping with the intensity of her own emotions sometimes. How long would it take to accustom herself to his?

“I have not been here since the night of the attack, before your coronation,” Seteth remarked, looking around with arms crossed. “How are you liking it?”

“It’s big,” Byleth responded, not sure what else to say. “How long has Fla— Cethleann been able to perform Warp?”

“She learned it during the war against Nemesis. It allowed us to save many lives…or rather, prolong them.”

“I’m surprised she didn’t mention that ability to me during the last war.”

“That was my suggestion. I was concerned that, given her alleged age, being able to perform such advanced magic would have been suspicious. And with Linhardt and Lysithea having the ability, and your ability to turn back time…”

“I see.”

Silence. Awkward silence. They looked at each other, each unsure of what to say. Seteth’s emotions swirled alongside her own, and she was unable to make sense of either.

“I suppose we should get on with it, then,” said Byleth, gesturing toward the bed. “That’s the next step, right? The marriage isn’t official until then?”

“That is correct,” responded Seteth, but his brow furrowed. “I know we just spoke of this, but do you truly want this?”

“…Yes.”

“Are you certain?”

“We can’t be married without it, right?”

Seteth stepped back, now frowning. There was a dark undercurrent to his emotions now. Fear? Worry? Anxiety? “That is not a good answer.”

“Well…” Byleth fidgeted, feeling unreasonably uncomfortable. She shouldn’t be! She’d done this before! And yet now she found it hard to speak, heat creeping from her neck up to her ears.

“We can wait until you are more comfortable, if you would rather.” There was impatience in him, but it was overshadowed by an overwhelming sense of care.

He stood so far away from her, unnaturally still. Byleth crossed the distance between them and took his hand. “I don’t want to wait. I want to be married to you.” The words made her blush deeper even though they’d already said their vows.

Seteth’s eyes studied her. Again, his expression and emotions were unreadable. “Hm…”

Should we wait? Byleth asked herself. No, of all things, even in the face of her uncertainty, she did not want to wait. She barely knew how this was supposed to work outside of the strictest technical sense, but she wanted to try. She doubted she would ever be more ready than she was now.

With Seteth controlling himself the way he was, and the way she couldn’t make sense of what she was feeling enough to put it into words, action might convince him better.

Slowly.

She reached up and gently removed his circlet, meriting a jolt of surprise. His widened eyes focused on her as she tucked his hair behind his ears, and when her fingers brushed the skin, he loosed a unsteady exhale.

Gently tugging him down to her level, she held him as she brushed her lips across his, along his jaw, and down his neck. The fabric of his tunic obstructed her further, so she undid the buttons one at a time until she could slip a hand inside, tracing his collarbone before sliding over the muscle of his shoulder.

He shuddered at her touch, muscles rippling under her fingers like a nervous horse. It was around now that he would usually tell her to be careful, that they should exercise restraint. Tonight he said nothing, and she could feel a certain heat rising in his emotions. But he remained motionless, completely on lockdown.

“Cichol,” she murmured. He jumped — that got his attention. “I can’t do this by myself.”

He swallowed. “What…would you like me to do?”

She hadn’t been asked that before. “Kiss me?” she suggested. If they started with familiar ground, maybe she could feel something as they crossed into the unfamiliar.

He kissed her tentatively, starting at her temple and trailing down her neck. Each kiss was slow and lingering, as if he didn’t trust himself. Although he acted patient, she could detect an underlying impatience through their bond. Impatience and...hunger. A building need, tightly reined in, but also nearing a breaking point.

It was fascinating.

“What would you like me to call you, as my wife?” he asked softly, the breath of his words whispering across her skin. “‘Wife?’”

Byleth chuckled. “Nah.”

Another kiss. “I hear the youth calling each other ‘babe’ these days.”

“Don’t you dare.”

He chuckled, then kissed the underside of her jaw. “My dear?”

More kisses, each one getting slower, more lingering, more desirous. His hand traveled upward to cup the base of her skull. His thumb began to slowly trace over her ear as his lips continued to wander.

“My darling?”

Her neck. “My love?”

Her collarbone. “My queen?”

“Mmn,” Byleth hummed. “You’ve always used ‘my love.’ Let’s keep it that way.”

“Very well, ‘my love.’” He opened his mouth to lick the flesh between her neck and shoulder, wet and hungry. His teeth very lightly scraped against her skin.

Byleth crumpled into this new kiss with a gasp.

He lifted and pressed his mouth against hers, testing his tongue between her lips. She responded in kind, slipping in to trace the points of his canine teeth. “Byleth…” he sighed.

Something new sparked to life inside of her. As soon as it appeared, Seteth gasped. Their eyes met, and they shared a smile.

Byleth tugged him toward the bed. “Cichol.”