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Chapter Text

The first time Dimitri met his betrothed in person, he was painfully awkward.

A more normal betrothal, he had been told, would have involved an exchange of letters over a long period of time, as well as some chaperoned in-person visits in order to ensure that the two parties to the engagement were amenable to one another. They weren’t expected to be in love, or even friends, but they would have been given the opportunity to get to know one another. In some circumstances, engagements had even been called off because of it when those involved realized that for one reason or another they could not stand the thought of marriage.

But of course, while ending an engagement simply because of incompatibility might be possible for a lesser noble, it was almost unheard of for a king. The King of Faerghus’ consort would be chosen carefully, vetted by the entire council, and knowing they would be elevated to such a high position meant they would do everything in their power to be pleasing to their king and future husband.

In the normal course of things, that was how it might have gone, but nothing about Dimitri’s short reign had been normal. And that was why he was meeting his betrothed for the first time a mere three days before the wedding.

It had been rushed, he could not deny it. For Dimitri, possible partners had been discussed since before he could walk, and if Faerghus had remained a peaceful and unthreatened place, he would likely have been wed to the daughter of a prominent noble, tying them to the throne and ensuring their support for generations in the future. That was what his father had talked about, the few times they’d touched on the subject.

Before the Tragedy of Duscur. Before his father was murdered, his country placed under the regency of his weak-willed uncle and the council of nobles who had advised his father. They hadn’t discussed his marriage prospects after that - they had focused on infighting and jockeying for power. They’d exposed Faerghus to all kinds of depredations: unfair trade agreements, growing food shortages, a weakened military. They’d ignored the danger pressing up from the south, the growing power of Adrestia.

And so when Dimitri had finally taken the throne, the day of his eighteenth birthday, he’d had more than his share of problems to solve.

He hadn’t thought about marriage then, either, or if he had it had only been as something to consider for the future. What was more important was now - fixing his country, keeping it safe, trying to right all that had gone wrong in the years since the death of King Lambert.

He hadn’t thought about it at all, not until he’d been poring over an ancient history book, trying to see a way to funding his military again. With the poor crop yields and lopsided trade Faerghus had been laboring under, taxes simply weren’t enough to provide the salaries needed. But surely the Kingdom had faced this before -

And there it was, as clear as day, written in a crabbed hand.

The Kingdom’s war against Sreng was bolstered by the King’s marriage to an Alliance noble of good name, his new queen bringing a battalion of knights and many chests of gold as her dowry.

He’d always known he would be marrying to ensure the future of his kingdom. It seemed obvious that doing so now would accomplish that just when Faerghus needed it most. Perhaps it was a bit mercenary, but Dimitri had sworn when he knelt to receive his crown that he would do whatever he must to protect his country. He had every intention of honoring that vow, and if his hand in marriage was the price, that was fine.

After that, it was only finding the appropriate partner. Naturally, that wasn’t as easy as he might have hoped. Marriage with an Adrestian noble was out of the picture, and though he looked to the Alliance, the nobles of good enough name and deep enough pockets turned out to be slippery. They responded with polite interest, but hesitated to offer the hands of any of their children, and Dimitri understood why. Adrestia pressed upon their border, too, but had not yet turned their attention to Leicester, being too occupied with Faerghus. To marry into the Blaiddyd family would draw immediate attention and no small amount of assumptions. Politically, it was smarter to stay neutral.

And so Dimitri did something no King of Faerghus had done in known history. He wrote to the nobles of Dagda, of Albinea, of Almyra. He looked outside their insular peninsula, because what choice did he have? A marriage within Faerghus could not help him, and their closest neighbors would not. There was a whole world out there, however, that might feel differently.

His council balked at first, but he was not the only one to see the wisdom in this choice. They’d come around, or at least enough of them had that he could carry out his plan. He’d considered a young woman from Dagda, their equivalent to a countess, and a chieftain’s daughter from a rich Albinean tribe, but in the end his choice was blindingly clear.

A child of the King of Almyra, bringing the riches of that land, bringing promised trade with a powerful country. A pledged dowry of enough gold to fund the Faerghus military for at least the next three years. It would have seemed too good to be true, except for two things.

One, Almyra would only pledge to send military aid if Faerghus found itself embroiled in war. Dimitri’s betrothed would not be bringing troops of their own. That was not ideal, but considering the amount of the dowry, it would be churlish of Faerghus to argue with it.

Second, the child on offer was, without any doubt or confusion, a prince.

Liaisons between those of the same sex weren’t unheard of in Faerghus, though admittedly they were more common in the Alliance or Adrestia. But mainly they were a thing for the lower classes, or sometimes for nobles without Crests in their bloodlines. Those nobles that had Crests wanted them to breed true, of course, and that meant natural-born children. Marriage between two men or two women was therefore rare indeed among the upper classes, and Dimitri did not believe there was a single case of the King or Queen doing so.

But he was already making history simply by marrying someone from outside of Fódlan, so he wasn’t particularly bothered by that. He wasn’t bothered by the thought of adopting an heir, either, nor would he have been upset by having a Crestless child - after seeing the damage Crests had wrought among his peers, he was beginning to think they were more trouble than they were worth.

It was his council that disagreed with this. They disagreed loudly and at length, the arguments raging on for hours. The more pragmatic members were in Dimitri’s camp, Lord Rodrigue Fraldarius the loudest among them. They argued the obvious: the gold was desperately needed, and the ties to a nation as strong as Almyra would only help them. In addition, a prince was far more fitting a partner for one of Dimitri’s station than the other options. They could use a surrogate to secure a Crest-bearing heir, Rodrigue pointed out, and the presence of a Crest would be proof enough that such a child was Dimitri’s natural-born heir.

The opposing camp was no less vociferous, but in the face of practicality - and increased border raids from Adrestia - they ended up having no choice but to buckle under. Their arguments mainly amounted to xenophobia and a desperate clinging to tradition, in Dimitri’s view, but he tried to have sympathy for them in any case. He would, after all, need to work with them for many more years.

In the end, the agreement was signed. Dimitri’s proposal was accepted, and before he realized it a small fleet of Almyran ships was docking at their ports, bringing a bright and lively procession to Faerghan shores, something unfamiliar and strange. And in the midst of all of that was Dimitri’s betrothed.

He had, perhaps, not entirely realized what he’d gotten himself into until the moment a servant stepped into his office, bowed low, and said, “The Almyrans have been settled in their rooms.” Oh, he’d known, of course - preparations for the royal wedding had been happening for weeks, and now and then he’d needed to give his approval for things. But he’d had so much to worry about that it hadn’t really sunk in. Not until that moment, when it became suddenly, shockingly real.

Dimitri was to be married in three days, and he had never met the man he was tying his life to.

He knew the prince’s name, Khalid, and he’d been sent a small portrait of him when the discussion of a betrothal began. He knew that Khalid was only a few months older than him, and he’d been told that the Almyran prince could speak the language of Fódlan, and so they would be able to communicate.

Beyond that, he knew nothing.

He did not know Khalid’s favorite foods, or the sort of celebrations he preferred. He didn’t know if Khalid liked to ride, if he could fight, if they would have anything in common at all.

He did not even know if Khalid had wanted this marriage. The Almyran ministers who had communicated with them had assured them that he did, but of course they would say that. No one wanted to risk an international incident by refusing an arranged marriage with a foreign king.

Dimitri had been certain this was the right thing to do since he arrived at the idea. He had not doubted it, had not wavered. And now he found himself hesitating outside the sitting room his future consort waited in, and -

He was impossibly nervous.

It hasn’t seemed real, he supposed. He had made his decisions without ever pausing to face the truth of things: that he would be marrying Khalid, prince of Almyra, who he had never met before. That they would spend the rest of their lives together.

And now it was time to meet his future husband for the first time, and Dimitri could not even be sure that Khalid would not hate him.

You won’t fix this by delaying it, a soft voice whispered in his ear, and Dimitri knew it was true. If nothing else, he could ensure that he did not keep Khalid waiting, did not insult him unintentionally at their very first meeting.

He took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and entered the room.

The sitting room was one of their finest, draped in Faerghus blue and outfitted with beautifully made furniture. Dimitri had ordered that the Almyrans be greeted with every bit of courtesy possible, and he could at least be pleased that they had done that much.

The room held three people besides himself. Near the doorway he had just entered Dedue stood quietly, his loyal friend also acting as both personal bodyguard and, in this case, chaperone. There was no one that Dimitri trusted more.

On the opposite side of the room, standing just as quietly, was a large Almyran man. He was taller even then Dedue, and just as broad. Khalid’s personal guard, surely, also there to act as chaperone for this meeting.

And sitting on one of the beautifully upholstered couches was Khalid.

He rose when Dimitri entered, as propriety demanded. He did not bow, though - which was not quite proper, but Dimitri didn’t care. He was more interested in looking at Khalid, and in allowing himself to be looked at.

Khalid was draped in Almyran silks, the sort of costume Dimitri would have called ‘exotic’ if he were looking to offend. The patterns, the draping, the bright colors were all so different from the fashions preferred in Fhirdiad - somber colors, fur, tightly-wrapped silhouettes. He wore jewelry too, an uncommon thing for men from Faerghus - a loop in his ear, gold rings on his fingers, thick bracelets around his wrists.

He was shorter than Dimitri, though not by much. The loose fit of his clothing obscured the lines of his body, but Dimitri thought he was not particularly large either - a stark contrast to the man at his back, who was admittedly much closer to Dimitri's previous idea of what an Almyran might look like.

Dimitri realized then, sudden as a bolt of lightning out of a blue sky, that Khalid was quite handsome.

His portrait had been pleasant enough, but in person he was something else entirely. His hair was an elegant mess, falling just a bit in his eyes - and those eyes were a bright, clear green. They were sharp, too, studying Dimitri as intently as Dimitri was studying him.

Then his mouth - a generous mouth, the sort that seemed like it might smile easily - curved into a clever little grin, and Dimitri realized he’d said nothing since coming in the room. He’d done nothing, except stare at Khalid like a lackwit.

“Your paintings don’t do you justice,” Khalid said, and he laughed. His tone was casual and his laugh came easily, and he didn’t seem nervous at all, which seemed like a miracle to Dimitri, burning up with his own nerves.

Belatedly, he processed what Khalid had said, and he felt his face heat. “You - ah, my apologies.” He stepped back and lowered himself into a bow. A proper greeting to the man he would marry. When he straightened, Khalid’s eyes were still on him, and still sharp. “It is a pleasure to finally meet you. I have been greatly looking forward to it.”

A lie. He’d forgotten, and then he’d been consumed with nerves, and now -

Now he wasn’t sure what he felt. He had not expected Khalid’s smile to be quite so breathtaking. He hadn’t known what he expected, if he were being honest.

“That’s nice to hear,” Khalid said, but his gaze was sharp enough that Dimitri suddenly felt certain that the boy could see right through him. That he noticed Dimitri’s nerves, his sudden realization of what he’d gotten himself into. But if he had noticed that, he said nothing about it. “I did come all this way, after all. It’d be a shame if you changed your mind and I had to head right back.”

He said it with some humor, that smile never leaving his face, though of course they both knew such a thing would have been impossible. Breaking a betrothal between royals of two countries was unthinkable.

“You have an excellent command of our tongue, Prince Khalid,” Dimitri said before he could think better of it. Then he cursed himself silently, realizing what that sounded like - like he’d expected Khalid to stumble, to have difficulty forming their words. And maybe on some level that was true, because Dimitri did find himself somewhat awed that Khalid’s command of Fódlan appeared flawless, unaccented.

He tried to correct himself. “I mean that I find it impressive, as I cannot speak Almyran at all.”

No. Goddess, that was even worse. He had not even tried to learn Almyran, and shouldn’t he have? Should he not have given Khalid even that smallest bit of respect? It was true he was busy, bordering on overwhelmed, but still.

Khalid was apparently not only skilled with tongues but also far more adept at courtesy than Dimitri was proving to be, as he did not appear to take offense - his smile didn’t falter for a moment.

“I’ve been speaking it since I was small,” he said, “so I’d better be good by now.” He studied Dimitri for a long moment, and then added, “How about you just call me Claude?”

Dimitri blinked. “Claude?”

“It’s something my mother called me sometimes. I think it’ll be easier than Khalid.”

Dimitri wasn’t sure what to make of that. Certainly, a more familiar name would sit easier with many of his countrymen, but he did not mind the sound of Khalid at all. Did the prince think he did? Or was it that - well, the name in Khalid’s mouth sounded a bit different than it did in his own.

“If I’m saying it wrong -“ He wanted to apologize, he wanted to drag this conversation onto a better track, but Khalid only grinned.

“Nah, don’t worry about that. Well, maybe a little, but it’s more that if I’m going to be living here, I might as well make it easier to blend in.” He shrugged like it was nothing. “Besides, I’ve always liked the name.”

“Very well,” Dimitri said. He still felt off-balance. He was beginning to realize that as brilliant as Khalid’s - Claude’s - smiles were, they also served to make it very hard to have any idea what he was actually thinking. Dimitri had no choice but to take his words at face value. “Claude, then. Ah, why don’t we sit down?” He was finding his manners again, belatedly. “I would like to hear about your journey here.”

And so they sat, and they talked.

This was easier. This was something Dimitri was used to - he’d been making pleasant conversation with nobles since he was no higher than his father’s knee. He could do this, so long as he didn’t allow himself to get too distracted by the fact that the person he was speaking to would be marrying him in three days.

Claude, too, made it easy. He was a good conversational partner when he wasn’t ever-so-carefully testing Dimitri. He was clever and he told excellent stories, turning the tale of a relatively normal storm at sea into a thrilling adventure yarn where - if he was to be believed - he’d had to be saved from falling overboard.

Somehow, listening to him talk, Dimitri doubted that. He could be wrong, but Claude seemed quick, seemed competent and perhaps not entirely the sort of careless jokester he portrayed himself as. And how could he be, really? He’d traveled here, so far away from his home, to marry a stranger.

He was brave, thought Dimitri, and smart. Whether he was kind, Dimitri couldn’t be sure, but he was at least practiced at seeming pleasant and entertaining. And he was -

He was handsome, with an easy smile and a charming manner. Dimitri watched his fingers rise, playing with the end of his braid. He watched Claude’s apparently carefree laughter and his eyes that did not match that lightness.

Dimitri would have married Claude no matter what - if he had been rude, unpleasant, unattractive. He would have married Claude if Claude had insulted him, had not spoken his tongue, had made it clear that he did not wish for Dimitri’s company. Dimitri would have married him, because Faerghus desperately needed Almyra’s gold, those diplomatic ties, that potential support. He had decided that when he decided on the marriage. Perhaps as a child he had dreamed of marrying for love, but that had been many long years ago, and he knew better now.

But looking at Claude, talking to him, Dimitri began to feel the first inklings of hope. He could like Claude, he knew that already. Perhaps this was a political marriage, but that did not mean there couldn’t be affection. That didn’t mean they couldn’t be friendly. He didn’t want Claude to regret coming here, marrying him. He already knew that, and they had just met.

By the time Dedue had cleared his throat, signaling that Dimitri’s next meeting was fast approaching, his heart had settled. He rose and bowed before Claude politely, and Claude rose as well.

Dimitri reached out and took his hand, fingers curling around Claude’s. Claude’s fingers were slim, but Dimitri could feel callouses. He could not tell from what - riding? Archery? Playing a stringed instrument? It didn’t really matter, but he was curious. There was so much he did not know about his betrothed, but he supposed they would have plenty of time to find out.

The rest of their lives.

He raised Claude’s hand to his lips and kissed his fingers. Gentle and proper, just as he would have done if they’d been properly courting. He thought, for a moment, that Claude’s eyes widened - he thought he saw surprise. But when he straightened it was gone, and whatever emotion Claude was feeling was tucked away behind that smile again.

“I will see you again soon,” Dimitri said, letting go of Claude’s hand. His fingers were warm where they had touched.

“You’ll have no choice,” Claude said with a laugh. Dimitri bowed again and left, Dedue following. They were some ways away when Dedue spoke, his words - as always - for Dimitri’s ears only.

“He seems pleasant.”

Dimitri nodded, his own words quiet as well. “I think I like him.”

“That is good, Your Majesty,” said Dedue, and that was all.

He saw Claude again before the wedding. He made time for it, difficult though that seemed to be. They were not allowed to be alone together yet, which seemed a bit ridiculous - did anyone really think they would deflower each other, being near strangers? But it was custom, and Dimitri would not give anyone an excuse to object to the union. So he twice took tea with Claude, and walked with him once in the castle gardens, each time shadowed by Dedue and Claude’s large retainer, whose name, it seemed, was Nader.

Nader did not speak, but he watched Dimitri closely. Perhaps he did think that, if given a chance, Dimitri would ravish Claude - it was impossible to tell from the look in his eye. It was a little uncomfortable, but Dimitri imagined Claude found Dedue’s quiet presence awkward as well. (Though he did think Dedue stared rather less openly than Nader.) Even so, Claude was easy to talk to. They talked of nothing important - the tea they were drinking, the plants in the garden - but Claude proved to have a sharp mind and more than a bit of curiosity. He asked questions about Faerghus, mostly, and Fhirdiad - about the clothes people wore, the food they ate.

Dimitri supposed that made sense. This would be Claude’s home now, and it was clear to him that Faerghus was very different from Almyra. Claude was trying to learn all that he could, and Dimitri did his best to answer questions as well as he could. Sometimes he could not answer at all, and sometimes his answers required thinking about things that had simply been a part of his life for as long as he’d been aware of the world.

As much as the conversations weren’t about anything of real substance, they were interesting. They were pleasant, and entertaining, and a nice change from the constant discussions of politics and the harvest and supplying his army. Claude was smart and quick, and Dimitri liked talking to him.

Which was very good, because before he knew it, the day of their wedding arrived.

It was a grand affair. Dimitri was not entirely comfortable with that, especially considering how recent his coronation had been - they could not really afford to throw two such events in relatively quick succession. But he was the king, and there was no getting around the fact that the royal wedding was something the entire country would wish to celebrate. And he couldn’t really deny them that, could he? Not with the threat of war looming. Not with so much to fear.

His people deserved a day of pleasure, even if that meant Dimitri would be the center of yet another spectacle.

A lavish feast was being prepared, and he had ordered that extra food be distributed to the people of Fhirdiad as well. There were crowds in the streets, a festival atmosphere - Dimitri could see them from his window as he dressed.

Well. As he was dressed.

This was his wedding day, after all. Though normally Dimitri dressed himself, on this day he was surrounded by servants. From the moment he’d awoken, they’d been there - giving him food and drink, dressing him, making sure he looked every inch the king. It was uncomfortable, really, but he knew that he had to endure it. After all, a king’s wedding happened rarely. Dimitri was well aware that it meant possibly even more to his people than it meant to him.

So he was happy to let them celebrate, let them fuss. And if the creeping sense of uncertainty threatened to overwhelm him at times, he supposed that was normal. After all, he was about to pledge himself to another.

He liked Claude. He knew that much, even if they still didn’t know each other well. He liked Claude, and he thought that Claude would make a good partner - clever, even-tempered, charming. Dimitri knew that much of the council, and probably much of Faerghus, didn’t know what to make of this foreign prince, but he thought that Claude could win their support, given time. And wasn’t that all that really mattered, that and the gold that would fund their troops?

Dimitri smiled at the servants, let them fuss over them. He watched in the mirror as they transformed him into something that reminded him of his coronation, something almost unfamiliar. He looked like a king, in rich fabrics with a crown on his brow. A cloak embroidered with the crest of Faerghus draped over his shoulders, and he wore an elaborate (and useless for actual combat, he noted) sword at his side.

Finishing their work, the servants scattered, off to more tasks for the wedding, no doubt. Dimitri looked at himself in the mirror, this man he barely recognized, and he took a deep breath.

“Are you ready?” Dedue said quietly from the doorway. He had stood there this whole time, watching the preparations.

I don’t know, Dimitri wanted to say. This was his life. This was his future, stretching out before him with Claude at his side. A man he barely knew.

But wasn’t it the same for Claude? Wasn’t it even more difficult? Dimitri at least had his home, his friends, all those who supported him. What did Claude have, leaving his home to come there and be Dimitri’s consort?

If Claude was brave enough to do that, then Dimitri could not let him down.

“Yes,” Dimitri said. He squared his shoulders, took one last look in the mirror, and turned to Dedue. “I am.”

The ceremony would be traditional, adhering to Faerghus’ customs. A priest of the Holy Church of Seiros would administer the rites, standing at the head of the great hall. Dimitri waited there, the eyes of all the nobles upon him. He tried to stand straight and tall under their gazes, to show no sign of weakness. That wasn’t an unfamiliar feeling - now that he was their king, they needed to see him standing strong. They needed to believe in him.

Even if, sometimes, he was not sure he believed in himself.

He could see those he cared for, all of their eyes on him. Rodrigue in the front row, who had helped sway the council to Dimitri’s side. Felix next to him, looking vaguely annoyed. Further down, Sylvain, who sat next to his father and winked at Dimitri when their eyes met. Ingrid was further back, alone, and Dimitri was fairly certain she’d only been allowed to journey all the way to the capital because he had requested it - and because her father hoped she might catch the eye of an appealing marriage prospect.

But Dimitri had not wanted to wed without his friends looking on. Even if it wasn’t a love match, this was an important moment in his life - and even if those friendships had some bumps and a certain amount of distance, they were still important to him. Seeing them there helped Dimitri settle himself, helped him stand up straighter.

Dedue stood at the back, along the wall, in his role as Dimitri’s guardsman. It felt a bit wrong to have him there, but it was necessary in order to avoid upsetting Dimitri’s noble onlookers. Dimitri had intended to give him a seat up front anyway - they ought to be upset sometimes, and they ought to treat Dedue better - but Dedue had requested otherwise, not wanting to cause discord on this day. When their eyes met, Dedue nodded once, solemnly, and then Claude entered.

The room fell into utter silence. Then whispers arose. For most of the nobles, this was the first time they had seen the Royal Consort - and it seemed Claude was aware of that, as well.

He was a spectacle. He wore Almyran clothing, as he had every day since his arrival, and the clothing he wore now was basically the same - flowing and loose, patterned and rich. But this was more. The silks were beyond anything Dimitri had seen, and the wide black belt around his waist was embroidered with golden thread in a pattern that almost looked like wyverns flying. He was all in gold, and Dimitri wondered if that was an Almyran wedding custom or simply what Claude had chosen.

But he wondered it distantly, because he could not look away. He didn’t think Faerghus had seen anything quite like Claude before, and he took the attention with an easy grace, that constant smile hovering on his lips.

His hair had been tamed, and Dimitri thought he saw the glint of jewels at the end of his braid. Beyond that and his earring, however, he wore no jewelry - only a bracelet made of gold chain, wrapped around his wrist.

He looked Almyran to the core. There was no doubt of that, no attempt to be anything else, for all that he’d told Dimitri to call him Claude, for all that he’d seemed to spend the past three days learning all he could about Faerghus.

Dimitri did not know what it meant, did not know what went on behind those clever green eyes. But he did know, in that moment, that whatever else he felt for Claude, first and foremost was respect. He had to be nervous - he had to be. But it didn’t show, not for a moment. All he looked was proud.

When he reached the altar and turned to face Dimitri, his smile softened just for a moment, just enough to show the tiniest bit of nerves. For some reason that was more reassuring than anything else Dimitri could have imagined, and he reached out to take Claude’s hand as the priest began to speak.

The ceremony itself was proper. A long speech about the duties of marriage, about two countries being brought together. Words like love and honor, which felt faintly ridiculous when Dimitri and Claude had met only days before. But Dimitri stood and listened, because it did all mean something to him, and he tried to impress those words on his soul.

Then they made their vows - both in strong, clear voices, no faltering. It felt unreal, it felt like Dimitri was outside of his own body, but somehow even so it didn’t feel difficult.

One of the priest’s attendants stepped forward, a ring resting on the cushion she held. Dimitri knew it was the one his father had given his mother, long ago, but he couldn’t remember that. He could barely remember her, so he certainly could not remember seeing the ring on her finger. But it was old, he knew, and valuable more for what it represented than what it was made of. On Claude’s finger, that relatively simple ring inlaid with the crest of Faerghus would mark him as the Royal Consort, and Dimitri’s partner.

He reached out. Claude placed his hand in Dimitri’s, and Dimitri could not read the expression on his face.

“With this ring,” he said, knowing the words well, still feeling somehow like he wasn’t the one saying them, “I swear to honor and protect you. So long as I live, may this bond never be broken.” He slid it onto Claude’s finger, where it fit perfectly, as the royal jewelers had ensured it would.

While Claude’s hand was still in his, the priest stepped forward with a jewel-inlaid knife and held it out for Dimitri to take. He did, without thinking, and then he looked at Claude. Had Claude been told of this custom? It wasn’t so common anymore, but it was traditional, and as he was the king it must be done. But if Claude wasn’t expecting it -

But Claude only smiled at Dimitri. As Dimitri stepped close, the edges of that smile twitched into something just a touch mischievous.

“This is so deliciously barbaric,” Claude said under his breath, just for Dimitri. The unashamed amusement in his voice brought a genuine smile to Dimitri’s lips, and his nerves settled for long enough that he was able to reach out, take Claude’s hand in his, and use the wickedly sharp knife to draw blood from the meat of his palm.

Claude took the knife from him, and Dimitri held out his hand. He did not wince when the blade touched his skin - in truth, the knife was sharp enough that he hardly felt it until it was done. Then Dimitri took Claude’s hand in his, and the priest stepped forward.

“Blood to blood, and heart to heart. Under the eyes of Seiros, your blood is now one, your family lines joined, from now until the day you die.” His voice rang through the hall, and Dimitri met Claude’s eyes. They were steady, looking back at him. He didn’t see doubt there.

He wasn’t sure if he would recognize it if he did.

It should have been the end of the ceremony - a few more words from the priest, a hymn from the choir, and then it was done. But in the moment of silence between the priest’s blessing and his closing words, Claude spoke, his voice clear as a bell and pitched to carry through the room.

“As your land has its customs, we have ours. You have made your vows to me, my king - allow me to make mine to you.”

It had not been planned, and Dimitri saw the look of surprise on the priest’s face, but he had no intention of refusing Claude this. He nodded, and felt a spark of interest. He still knew so little of Almyran customs.

Claude inclined his head with a smile, and his bodyguard stepped forward from the small knot of Almyrans at one side of the church. Claude did not move from where they stood. He held still while the man unclasped the golden chain wrapped around his wrist, then began wrapping it around their hands.

Claude spoke again. His words were measured, a sense of ritual to them. They were also completely in Almyran. The beauty of the language was evident, Dimitri so entranced by their flowing sound that it did not at all bother him that he had no idea what Claude was saying.

He finished, and then he flashed Dimitri another smile. “Under the eyes of the gods and goddesses, under the sun and the moon, may our union be blessed. May the gold of our marriage be as bright as the gold of this chain, and as strong. To you I give my hand, my name, my strength.” His words had the same rhythm as they had in Almyran, the same weight. “In life and in death, I am yours.”

They were beautiful words, and the chain that bound them did not feel heavy at all in that moment. Claude’s retainer stepped away, moving back to the others, and Dimitri could feel the stares of his nobles. He knew whispers would follow, that there would be manufactured and true offense that he had allowed an Almyran ritual into this church, this wedding.

But he didn’t care. He wasn’t the only one getting married. He would not, could not forget all that Claude had left behind to come here, to marry him. Dimitri would honor that, and he had no concern for what anyone else might think.

“Thank you,” he said softly, just for Claude’s ears. Claude’s smile - or maybe it was something in his eyes - shifted, shaded into something new.

Then the priest cleared his throat and stepped forward to end the ceremony. The choir sang, the nobles watched, and before the eyes of all, they were wed.

The feast afterward was a blur. There was food, wine, music, dancing. There were politics too, of course, the subtle jockeying of nobles trying to curry favor with greater nobles, or with the king himself. For all that he was king, Dimitri had never been good at that sort of thing. He found himself relieved that this once he could ignore it - because, after all, it was his wedding night.

It was easy to use Claude’s presence at his side as an excuse to end conversations. When it was Rodrigue, or Sylvain, or another noble simply seeking to offer their well-wishes, Dimitri would speak to them - but when it veered too close to politics, there were a thousand reasons to step away. He could fill Claude’s wineglass, or put a choice delicacy on his plate, or explain what a certain confection was, and it wasn’t impolite of him. After all, his first priority on this night ought to be his new husband.

What was more amazing was the moment when Dimitri realized that Claude had caught on to what he was doing. One of the border lords had cornered him, pressing him on the amount of troops that would be sent to his territory. Before Dimitri could reach for an excuse, a distraction, Claude was there, smiling at the man apologetically.

“My king, perhaps you could tell me what’s in this dish?” A hand on Dimitri’s arm steered him away from the man, back towards the banquet table, and it was a moment later that Dimitri realized Claude had done it on purpose. That he had seen Dimitri avoiding these conversations all night, and chosen to help him.

Claude quirked a smile at him, just this edge of sly, and listened with evident interest to Dimitri’s explanation of the dish. Dimitri barely heard what was coming out of his mouth, too distracted by Claude.

Dimitri had feared the worst from this marriage, but he’d hoped for the best: a partnership, an alliance. He thought that perhaps Claude also wished for that, and if that were true -

If that were true, Claude was certain to be a force to be reckoned with.

He did notice, over the course of the evening, that his nobles did not seem to be attempting to curry favor with Claude. Not many of them even spoke to him. Certainly that would change as they became accustomed to his presence - he was the Royal Consort now, and surely they would begin to see him as someone who had the king’s ear, if nothing else. If they were reluctant to do so now, that was only because of unfamiliarity.

He watched, once, as Cornelia passed right by Claude to greet another lord instead. It would almost have seemed a calculated snub, except that Claude didn’t even seem to notice it. But why would he have been expected to? He didn’t know who Cornelia was, her place at the court, her seat on the council.

Dimitri set aside his thoughts of politics as best he could. He could do little about any of that now, in any case. Unconsciously, his fingers brushed the golden chain that had once been wrapped around Claude’s wrist - now around his. It felt strange, but no doubt the ring that was glinting on Claude’s finger felt just as odd.

The feast stretched long, but once it was over, Dimitri wished it had lasted even longer. He wished that he’d had more time, but realistically, time wouldn’t have settled his nerves.

Not when he knew what they were meant to do on this night. Their wedding night.

He’d put it out of his mind, but the moment they were alone in his rooms, still in their wedding finery, it was impossible not to think of it. This was the first time they’d been alone together, and Dimitri could not help but think of the reasons they had not been allowed to be alone together before.

Claude was, to all appearances, untroubled. He yawned and stretched, as if he were letting the stress of the day roll off his shoulders. “Do you need help with that? It looks complicated.”

It was. Normally, if Dimitri was dressed in this sort of showy finery, he had servants to help him undress after the event was over. But not tonight. He knew that was intentional. They were meant to be alone, to help each other, to -

To consummate their new bond.

“If you don’t mind,” Dimitri said. Claude stepped close, first reaching up to remove the heavy cloak from Dimitri’s shoulders, then working on the lacings at his wrists - delicate things that Dimitri could not handle one-handed.

Claude still seemed unbothered. Completely casual, as if undressing another man was a normal thing for him. And maybe it was? That seemed unlikely, but Dimitri knew little enough of Almyran culture that he supposed it wasn’t unbelievable.

The fact of the matter was that he simply could not read Claude. Claude didn’t have any of the tells of nervousness that Dimitri could sometimes see in others, but did that mean he wasn’t nervous, or did it mean that he was just far better at hiding it? He didn’t know, had no way of knowing. Claude was a stranger.

“There we go,” Claude said, the wrists of Dimitri’s shirt loose now. He stepped even closer, raising his hands to the ties as Dimitri’s neck. Dimitri stiffened unconsciously, and he saw Claude notice it, a subtle narrowing of his eyes. But he didn’t say anything, and Dimitri didn’t step away.

Part of him wanted to. Part of him wanted to put space between them, to set boundaries. And yes, that was because this was new and frightening and he didn’t know Claude well -

But it wasn’t just that.

Claude was a little shorter than him, and standing very close. Dimitri allowed his eyes to drift down, settle on Claude, whose concentration was on the delicate ties he was unpicking. The soft warmth of his breath stuttered across Dimitri’s neck. His eyes were cast downwards, and his rather thick lashes cast shadows on his cheeks.

He was lovely.

Dimitri had known that before. He wasn’t blind. He’d known it from the moment they met. But here and now, it became abruptly very real to him. Claude was standing so close, and all his attention was on Dimitri, and they were married.

Though Dimitri had never had a romance, he’d never been immune to beauty, either. Or to attraction, or sexual desire. He hadn’t taken any of that into account when choosing Claude, because it hadn’t mattered. What mattered was his country, security, the things that Claude’s hand could offer.

But Claude was beautiful. Dimitri was attracted to him. And sexual desire -

He didn’t think that would be a problem.

Claude stepped back and looked up, catching Dimitri’s eyes on him. He smiled. “All done. Unless you need me to take it off for you?”

Dimitri felt his cheeks heat. “Ah, no, I - I’ll manage.” Was Claude flirting, or just teasing? He couldn’t tell. “Do you need help?” He would surely fumble if he tried to help Claude undress, likely make a fool of himself, but he would try anyway if Claude needed it.

“No,” Claude said, and his hands went to the wide belt that cinched his slim waist. “I can do it alone.” The belt loosened, falling away, and Dimitri had to look away as well.

Perhaps he shouldn’t have, but the fact that he wanted to watch made him half-certain he ought not to. They were married, yes, and intimacy was expected of them, but - even so, they had only just met. It felt wrong to treat Claude so callously, to act as if Dimitri had a right to see him, to touch him, to do… other things.

So amidst his own conflicting desires, Dimitri could only look away and finish changing into his nightclothes. He took care to avoid catching a glimpse of Claude’s bare skin, tried to focus only on what he was doing, but he found himself uncomfortably aware of the other man. Of the rustling of clothing being removed, the soft sound of his breaths, even the faint scent of the oils used to tame his hair.

It was incredibly distracting.

When he finally faced Claude again, they’d both changed into nightclothes. Claude looked softer out of his wedding finery. Softer, more approachable, more like something that could be touched. Dimitri looked at him for a long moment. Not knowing what else to do, he gestured towards his bed - their bed, now - trying to seem inviting.

Claude smiled, and there was some emotion in it that Dimitri couldn’t place. Then he got in, and Dimitri climbed in next to him, and it was…

Strange.

Dimitri had not shared a bed with anyone since he’d been a child, since visits with Felix where they’d stayed up late talking and telling tales and then pass out together. He’d certainly never shared a bed with anyone like Claude - someone already so distracting and interesting. And, well. Attractive, of course.

He was meant to bed Claude. Claude was his husband now. And while part of Dimitri was uncomfortable with that, there was another part of him that had leapt to life the moment Claude had stood close to him, the moment he’d seen those clever fingers untying his shirt. That part wanted things that had always been theoretical before - wanted to touch Claude, press him to the sheets, take what was his.

But Claude wasn’t really his, was he? They had only just met. Dimitri had no idea what Claude really thought of him, what he really wanted.

Dimitri had blown the candles out before they’d gotten in bed, and now the room was only lit by moonlight through the window. It made Claude’s figure next to him feel distant, the lines of his face barely illuminated. But when Dimitri looked over, he found that Claude was already looking at him.

He took a breath and reached out, one clumsy hand finding the slight curve of Claude’s waist. He thought he heard Claude’s breath stutter, but he couldn’t be sure. This was all right, wasn’t it? This, at least, was not demanding too much.

He slid closer, feeling Claude’s eyes on him in the dark, close enough that now he could feel Claude’s soft breath against his cheek.

“Is this all right?” he said, his mind a storm of conflicting desires.

“Yes,” Claude said, and then he kissed Dimitri.

It was nothing much, the soft slide of lips against his. It was a little clumsy, and Dimitri was too shocked by it to respond properly at first, but none of that seemed to matter. Not in the face of the simple fact that Claude was kissing him, this beautiful near-stranger who was more of a mystery than anyone Dimitri had ever met.

There was nothing Dimitri could do but kiss back. And then it seemed easy, seemed perfect, like he could lose himself in Claude and let all his confused thoughts fall to the wayside. He wanted to.

Somewhere in the middle of it, Dimitri slid his arm around Claude and pulled him closer, fitting him against Dimitri. They kissed in the darkness, the midnight silence only broken by the sounds of their lips parting, Claude’s soft sighs, Dimitri’s breathlessness. Dimitri could taste nothing, but Claude smelled of wine and Almyran spices and they found a rhythm, unpracticed but perfect.

Dimitri felt like he was on fire. He’d never been so close to someone before, never caught their gasps in his mouth, never been allowed to slide his tongue between someone else’s lips. It was sensuous in a way he’d always denied himself, and it made him want more. It made him want to push Claude onto his back and bite his collarbone, slide hands under his nightclothes.

He knew how it was meant to go - he’d read books, even asked a few awkward questions. It had been embarrassing at the time, but now, with Claude in his arms, it suddenly seemed a lot more enticing. To spread his legs, touch him, try to coax gasps of pleasure from his lips. To stake his claim.

Dimitri realized all of a sudden, with his tongue in Claude’s mouth, that he was hard.

They weren’t pressed closely enough together that Claude could tell - there was that saving grace. But now Dimitri was uncomfortably aware of it, uncomfortably aware of his own desire and all the things he wanted, all the things he wanted to take from Claude.

And Claude -

Did he want any of it?

They didn’t know each other. They weren’t friends. Dimitri didn’t even know if Claude liked men, or if he was simply doing what he felt he was meant to. Claude had kissed him, yes, and perhaps he had even been flirting earlier, but had he chosen this? Was this what he wanted?

He would never have chosen a beast like you.

Dimitri pulled back. Jerked away, almost as if he’d been burned, and he saw Claude blink at him, saw what he was almost sure was confusion on Claude’s face.

But it was true, after all. Claude had not chosen him. Dimitri did not even know if he had truly agreed to this marriage, or if there had simply been too much political pressure for him to be able to refuse. He didn’t know if Claude wanted this, wanted him, or if he was just doing as was required from a royal consort. Keep Dimitri happy, let him do as he wished, let Dimitri use him.

He didn’t even know if Claude would answer honestly if he asked about any of that. He thought, with a growing sense of discomfort, that Claude probably wouldn’t. But he didn’t even know that for sure.

Dimitri let go of Claude. He pulled back, putting some distance between them. He needed to cool off. He could not force Claude into this, and how could he know that he hadn’t already done that? He would not be that sort of beast, even if Claude was his husband, even if this was what they were meant to do.

“You must be tired,” he said. “We had a long day.”

Claude was silent for a long moment. Dimitri, who could barely read his expressions even in the bright light of day, had no chance to in that moonlit darkness. Finally, he said, “I am, yeah.”

Dimitri struggled with himself, then leaned in and pressed one last kiss to Claude’s cheek. “Then I will let you rest. Good night, Claude.”

“Good night,” Claude said, and he settled back, away from Dimitri.

It was the right thing to do, Dimitri knew, but his body already missed Claude’s warmth. He closed his eyes, desperately trying to will the ache between his legs away, and forced the memory of Claude’s mouth out of his mind.

Claude did not owe Dimitri his body, or anything else. They could - talk about it, perhaps. Eventually. Even if the thought of that made Dimitri want to shrivel up and die of embarrassment. They could talk about it, and if Dimitri made it clear that he did not expect anything, perhaps he would be allowed to kiss Claude again one day.

And if Claude did not want that, that would be all right too.

Dimitri closed his eyes, and told himself that, and tried not to think about the man sleeping less than an arm’s length away. He tried not to think about what he wanted.

It was a long time before he could sleep.