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The negotiations were going smoothly, but that was less a testemant to Dimitri's skill than it was Rodrigue's ability to handle Archbishop Rhea. The Archbishop's granddaughter was amply dowered--fit for an emperor, or a mere king--but there was the matter of a piece of land adjoining Galatea that the Kingdom and the Church had a polite but centuries-long dispute about the ownership of; and a few Holy Weapons associated with Saint Cethleann that the Crown had been interested in acquiring from the Church in Dimitri's father's time, all of which Rodrigue insisted on pressing for.
Dimitri let Rodrigue have his politics and focused on looking serious and interested. His bride-to-be stood on the balcony, facing the mountains, utterly still. Her hair was covered by a veil, and he hadn't even seen her face yet. My sweet girl takes no interest in worldly affairs, the archbishop had said when he'd asked whether she meant to come to the table. Hers has been a sheltered life of quiet contemplation.
After much dithering, Rodrigue and Rhea adjourned to lunch, and to give Dimitri and his intended a moment alone. Mortifyingly, the Archbishop of the Church of Seiros winked at him as she left.
"They're gone," Dimitri called out to the balcony. "There are refreshments, if you'd like them."
She did not move.
From behind, at least, she cut a fine figure. Archbishop Rhea was accounted by all as quite beautiful; her granddaughter could not fail to be so as well. She had strong shoulders, which spoke more of weapons training than they did of quiet contemplation, and a narrow waist.
She tugged the veil off and dropped it on the balcony, revealing green pale hair.
His heart froze. He knew that color, and well. He'd seen it spread out over a pillow and plastered against a wall. Then she turned, and his worst fear--or his fondest dream--came true.
She was the girl from yesterday.
-
It was not often that a king was able to escape advisors, retainers, knights, guards, servants, and enemies and have a day to himself, but in the furor over the negotiations and setting up His Majesty's apartments for his stay at Garreg Mach, Dimitri managed the feat. The town that surrounded Garreg Mach was pretty and well-planned, and the goods on offer in the market were more exotic and diverse than what he might have found in Fhirdiad. Thus distracted by a stall of silk scarves that purported to be from Morfis, Dimitri walked directly into someone holding a stack of boxes.
The boxes went flying, and their bearer fell backward. He lunged forward and caught the--woman, it was a woman--around the waist. It most certainly was a woman. She stared up at him with startled green eyes, and her chest heaved against his as he righted her.
"My apologies," he said. He thrust his hand into his pocket, easing his royal signet off of his finger before she could see it. "Allow me to assist you."
"Thank you," she said.
Her hair was the most peculiar shade of green. Her voice was cool. She wore a tight pair of trousers, a loose-fitting shirt, and knee-high boots that looked neither expensive nor cheap. A shopkeep's assistant, perhaps, or a local huntress come to town for the day. The idea of either was charming.
Dimitri gathered the boxes for her. Intellectually, he knew they were heavy; he did his best imitation of someone having difficulties. (He hoped.)
"Where are you going?" he asked. "I'll gladly make it up to you."
He made it up to her, and in spades. After they delivered the boxes to the back door of a shop, she showed him Garreg Mach town. He bought her an extravagant lunch, which she ate every bite of. And when she beckoned him upstairs to a room at the inn they'd stopped at for a meal, he thought: I'll never see her again. Why not?
-
Byleth, here and now, walked directly to the platter of cheeses and examined it. "I thought they'd never leave."
"My lady," Dimitri said. There had to be some kind of mistake. The archbishop's treasured granddaughter would not be allowed to simply leave the monastery, let alone lead a strange man about town for hours on end, let alone....
She blinked owlishly up at him. "Just call me Byleth."
"Yesterday--"
"The boxes were full of rocks and books," she said. "I wanted to meet you." She nibbled at an olive, made a face, and returned it to its place. "Hmm. I should go get all the books back."
"I see."
Dimitri sat back in his chair, watching Byleth choose what to put on her plate with the focus of a mage casting a spell for the first time.
"What are you waiting for? Get some food," she said. "Let's get out of here before Grandmother returns."
Far be it from him to deny his betrothed, whom he had already made vigorous love to under what he'd thought were false pretenses, anything she desired of him.
Laden down with both of their plates of food, a bottle of wine, and an entire loaf of bread, Dimitri followed Byleth through the monastery. The servants and clerics inclined their heads to her as she passed and took no notice of the king in her wake, which was... quite a nice change, really. They ended up on a pier in the middle of the lake, after she stopped to pick up a fishing pole.
"Do you like your life here?" Dimitri asked.
She'd hiked up her skirts to her knees and toed off the lacy little slippers she wore, and so Dimitri could do no less than to remove his boots and put his feet in the water as well. The water was cool, and the sky was a clear, cloudless blue he never saw in Fhirdiad. If they'd been anyone other than who they were, it might have been romantic.
"I'm not a prisoner," she said. "If that's what you mean. I take the Sword of Seiros and go out on missions with the Knights. It's a nice life." She baited her hook with a piece of cheese. "Do you fish?"
"I can't say I've tried," he replied.
"It's about patience." The line went taut, but she didn't pull it. The line went slack again. "See? I was being tested."
"Was I... being tested yesterday?" And if it was a test, did I pass? Will we suit? He'd been prepared to do his duty and tolerate a political match, and even grow fond of his bride with time; it had never occurred to him that he might actually like the woman he was meant to marry.
Dimitri hardly had time to see the line go taut before Byleth flicked the pole back and reeled a flopping, wriggling fish. "We'll do well in at least one way," she said. She held the fish out to him. He recoiled--she threw it back into the water. "Maybe not this one, though. You can learn."
It took Dimitri's brain a moment to catch up to Byleth's words. When it did, he was inundated with images from yesterday, images he'd successfully been forgetting all morning: Byleth kissing him. Byleth undoing both of their trousers enough to get his cock out. Climbing atop him to ride him while she stared at him with those wide, serious eyes. A sheltered life of quiet contemplation, his foot. "Ah," he said, "ah, yes. At least one way. I agree."
"Then let's figure the rest out," Byleth said, and cast her line again.