A Lost Ballroom of Gold: A Fire Emblem Three Houses Masquerade Rarepair Zine

Lingering Shadows

Rooms in the city have never been Dedue’s favorite. The noise, the constant bustle- a lifetime
of constantly monitoring his posture, his expression, the small exchanges he has with others
he passes by. He’s always preferred the idea of living in a small home on the outskirts of town-
something similar to his childhood home- but duty demands he remain in close proximity to His
Highness and Lady Edelgard. He doesn’t mind terribly, it’s a small adjustment compared to the
sacrifices of some, and he counts himself lucky to have a home to return to at the end of the day,
considering there are so many that are still rebuilding theirs now that the war has ended. It isn’t
all bad, either- one of the more pleasant adjustments is companionship. Someone to return home
to. Someone to greet him the moment he sets foot inside, no matter how many hours have passed
since the sun has set. Someone to calm his racing mind, someone who makes it so easy to forget
the burdens of the day. Someone he loves wholeheartedly.

“I would caution against staying out on the balcony too long, as it’s easy to catch cold, but I
forget that’s not much of a concern for you,” a voice drawls from behind him. Dedue turns to look
over his shoulder as footsteps approach.

Hubert sidles up next to him on the balcony, greeting him with a kiss on the cheek. He tries to
hide the fatigue in his eyes.

“It’s late,” Dedue remarks, keeping his tone soft. Sympathetic. He wraps an arm around his
husband’s waist. The weather is mild in Enbarr compared to Faerghus, it never much bothers
Dedue, but Hubert chills easily.

“Yes, well, some of the nobles like to hear themselves talk, as I’m sure you’ve gathered. It took
all but a royal decree from Lady Edelgard and Dimitri to call it an evening.”

Dedue laughs at that, taking Hubert’s hand in his own.

“You should rest.”

“I will,” Hubert sighs, “I’m just going to enjoy being home for the time being.”

As much as Hubert surely needs his rest, Dedue isn’t one to push the matter. He understands
better than most just how taxing it can be to be constantly surrounded by nobles and hindered by
the game of political favors and diplomacy.

“I trust negotiations are continuing smoothly?”

“They’re continuing,” Hubert sighs, “Though I fear some of the more loose ends may take
longer to tie up. Some of the nobles are less willing to contribute to relief efforts than others. Petra
was able to reassign some of the ships in Brigid’s fleet to provide a temporary flow of food to the
north once the winter sets in, so a famine is no longer a concern.”

They stand in silence for a moment- the silence is always comfortable between them, and
for this, Dedue is grateful. Years of a carefully cultivated persona has made it difficult to enjoy
the pleasantries of small talk- in fact, the very act of engaging in idle conversation is baffling to
Dedue- but Hubert has never been one to mind. The two of them are perfectly content to simply
exist in each other’s presence, breathing the same sighs of relief and comfort. Perhaps that’s how
their unlikely relationship first started- a silent acknowledgement that neither was fully what they
seemed, eventually blooming into curiosity and a desire to understand the person behind the facade.

Hubert rolls his shoulders, leaning in closer toward him. Dedue notes the subtle shifts in
Hubert’s demeanor and expression as he relaxes, the mask he wears through the day falling away.
It isn’t that Hubert becomes a different person, he simply… melts into himself. Dedue doesn’t
have to dig or carefully observe to understand what Hubert is thinking. Often, he doesn’t even
have to pry for his thoughts. He wonders if he undergoes a similar transformation in Hubert’s eyes
when it’s just the two of them.

He says none of this, instead gazing upward at the night sky as a soft melody floats toward the
two of them on the cool evening breeze.

The Mittelfrank Opera House has since opened its doors to the public once more- another
sign that things are falling into a new sense of normalcy. Of course, there hasn’t been an official
performance of any sort, but musicians and singers have taken up practicing in preparation, and
the occasional crowd gathers to listen as they rehearse. Dorothea has since assured them she has a
special opera in mind to celebrate the fifth anniversary of the war’s end. For a time, Dedue thought
the music coming from the opera house was new- that it must be a piece from Dorothea’s new
opera, but there’s something nostalgic and easily recognizable about the music. He can’t quite
place his finger on what.

Dedue absentmindedly traces patterns into Hubert’s skin as he listens, guessing for what feels
like the millionth time at where he’s heard the song before. It should be a simple enough task- it
isn’t a Duscur melody, and music was absent from the halls of Faerghus’ castle for many years.
For the past several nights, the same tune weaves its way through the night air, and it’s become
something of a ritual for Dedue to wander out onto the balcony, mesmerized by the tune. He’s not
always home early enough to hear the musicians play, but when he is, the melody does enough to
keep the fatigue away, long enough for him to lose himself in his thoughts before Hubert has to
remind him to come to bed.

It’s a simple enough piece- melancholy, haunting, yet always ending on some resolved chord
with a hopeful tone. Soft strings accentuate the occasional sharp melody of brass instruments.

“It’s been years since I’ve heard this song,” Hubert says, breaking the silence with his quiet
observation, as though he’s finally realizing there’s music drifting toward them. “How long
have they been playing?”

“Only a short while. It’s a familiar tune,” Dedue muses aloud.

“Yes, an Adrestian Nocturne,” Hubert clicks his tongue, “If I recall correctly, it was played at
the Establishment Day ball.”

“Ah.”

With Hubert’s statement, Dedue’s memories become a bit clearer. He remembers the constant
chatter of the evening, the strain in his neck from trying to keep an eye on Dimitri as he danced
with the classmates clamoring for his attention. He remembers the ache in his own heels from the
few dances he’d managed to participate in.

“Pity you didn’t dance with me then,” Hubert teases, grinning up at him.

Dedue remembers the way Hubert looked that night, his formal uniform pressed neatly,
perfectly flattering his figure. He remembers the way his lips felt, the way he smiled into their
kiss. And yet, Hubert was right. For all the cherished memories he has of that night, they hadn’t
actually danced together. There were too many prying eyes, too many other duties to fulfill.
Thinking back on the occasion, it was something of a miracle they’d even managed to meet up. At
the goddess tower, of all places. It was unintentional- at least, that’s what they maintained- they’d
merely stolen some precious few moments to escape the crowds and clear their heads.

Despite all the reasons they couldn’t and shouldn’t have come together, they did.

In those days, they’d been skirting on the edge of… some sort of relationship for quite some
time, but it never felt appropriate to mention it. Not out loud. Not at the time. And though Hubert
would never buy into the idea, Dedue sometimes wondered if divine intervention was at play.

“Perhaps we can make up for a missed opportunity,” he suggests, wrapping his arm confidently
around Hubert’s waist. He begins swaying slowly in time with the music, and Hubert falls into step.

“You will have to forgive me,” Dedue smiles, “I’m afraid I still don’t know many
traditional Fodlan dances.”

Hubert laughs. As Dedue moves, none of the anxiety or tension present at the Establishment
Day ball is fluttering in his chest. No one is watching them now, no one will talk if he performs the
steps out of order or forgets a sequence. Though Hubert knows the dance far better than he ever
will, he’s content to follow Dedue’s lead.

“You know, you never told me what you wished for that night,” Hubert grins wickedly,
breaking the brief silence.

“I kissed you,” Dedue laughs, “I would have thought that made the desires on my mind quite clear.”

“Yes, a rare moment of weakness coming from you,” Hubert joins in his laughter. He leans
against Dedue’s chest, closing his eyes.

“A weakness I’m happy to have succumbed to. I think things have changed for the better
because of it.”

They mean it in jest, of course, their love being a weakness. But in actuality, it had taken time
for the two of them to realize their ‘I love yous’ aren’t bloody daggers, but rather medicine for the
gaping wounds of loneliness. When you don a mask your entire life, when you hide every aspect of
yourself so the one you serve can be the focal point, it’s hard to find people who can actually see
the real you. Hubert is one of the few people who can understand and, more than that, one of the
few people who managed to unmask Dedue.

It is hard to say what path the future might have taken had Hubert not chosen to slink out
of the cover of darkness that night. Dedue would be lying if he said he had not considered those
futures. They aren’t thoughts he cares to dwell on, but they’re among the unpleasantries that
often plague his quieter moments. Nightmares of a doomed future are an odd companion for his
inability to escape from his bloody past.

“I should track down some traditional Duscur music,” Hubert says, cutting into his thoughts.
“Perhaps I could convince Dorothea to get the musicians to play it. Then you could teach me steps
you are more confident in.”

Hubert’s eagerness to learn about Duscur culture was surprising to Dedue at first. Now, it is a
source of pride. Another part of himself that he can share with Hubert, another way to keep his
culture alive. How funny it seems to be- a creature that prefers the darkness and solitude is the
light of his life.

He brushes Hubert’s hair back, exposing the eye usually hidden. The starlight glints
handsomely off his face, contrasting with the warm candlelight emanating from their room.

Dedue Molinaro keeps to himself. This is a widely known fact across the monastery. He seems
content to remain aloof, and most of their peers seem more than happy to keep their distance. Hubert
von Vestra, however, is never anything but an exception. On a constant quest for knowledge. Any little
scrap he can pick up, he knows he can use to better serve Lady Edelgard.

And he knows for a fact that Dedue’s goal is to remain an enigma. To remain a mystery to the rest of
his classmates. Which, naturally, makes him an irresistible target of study. And study he does. He finds
that reading Dedue is surprisingly easy. There’s something familiar about the way he carries himself,
the way he forces himself into the background.

What started as silently shared evenings in the greenhouse has turned into continued coincidental
run-ins and, loathe as Hubert was to admit it, an increased curiosity. Dedue doesn’t speak much,
driving Hubert to want to know more, though the desire perplexes him. Outside of understanding
Dedue’s demeanor, the depths of his loyalty to Dimitri, and the limits of his strength, he has no use for
knowledge of his classmate.

Hubert meant to beeline for the greenhouse. He has precious few spare moments now that Lady
Edelgard has turned in for the evening, and he’s been meaning to take some clippings from his newly
blooming pea vine. As he walks briskly, his eyes light upon Dedue, who seems to be released from his
duties as well. He sits under a tree in the courtyard, various books and rolled up scrolls of parchment
strewn about him. A book sits open in his lap- Hubert can’t make out the title- but Dedue’s eyes are on the
stars instead, his expression tired. Sad, even. The stoicism he dons throughout the day has fallen away.

He doesn’t mean to linger, not really. As curious as he is, and even in the cover of darkness,
he knows it’s rude to stare. But there’s something about Dedue that’s constantly pulling him in,
constantly begging to be understood. And, truth be told, he didn’t realize he’d stopped to stare
until he hears Dedue calling out to him.

“I must admit I find it somewhat shocking that my presence has finally managed to make
someone of your reputation uncomfortable,” Dedue’s eyes are trained on him, but his gaze is
kind. A joke- he’s joking. Hubert blinks once or twice in surprise. While Dedue’s tone is polite and
lighthearted, there’s a weight to it. Nothing threatening… more melancholy. Dedue’s mere existence
puts most of their classmates on edge- unjustly so, of course- and even Dedue can’t hide the fact
that it wears on him. At least, he can’t hide it from Hubert.

“Apologies,” Hubert laughs breathily, “old habits die hard. I can assure you I had no nefarious intentions.”

“That’s what they all say,” Dedue smiles. “I’d be glad of your company, out of the shadows, if you’ve
got no other plans.” He begins rearranging the books and parchment strewn on the grass beside him,
organizing it all into neat little piles.

Hubert takes a few steps forward, closing the space between them. He sits next to Dedue, their arms
brushing, all thoughts of his pea vine long empty from his mind.

“You seem relaxed,” Dedue observes. “No concerns for tomorrow’s exams?”

Hubert lets out a short laugh. He’s fortunate that most subjects at the Academy come easily to him.
Tactics, advanced spellwork, basic survival- each of these topics are things he’s studied since his youth.
Arts he’s long since perfected in his Lady’s service.

“Not exactly,” he replies. He’s not exactly sure how to continue his thought- how does one confess
that the cover of darkness eases anxiety? Hides him from prying eyes? Provides a cloak so he can let
down his guard? He finds he’d like to confess these things to Dedue, assuming Dedue hasn’t already
been able to guess as much, but his words fail him.

“I just find… the evening relaxes me,” he continues. “It’s quiet.” It’s as much of an
explanation as he can manage.

“But what of yourself?” he asks, turning the spotlight back onto Dedue. “It’s awfully late to be
studying- surely you have time to study with Dimitri during the day?”

“Of course,” He nods.

“Then, shouldn’t you be resting?”

Dedue glances at him for a moment, the irony of someone as disheveled and tired-looking as Hubert
telling him to rest isn’t lost on him. Instead of cracking a joke, he turns his gaze back up to the stars
before eventually speaking.

“Sleep doesn’t come easy to me,” he sighs. “As rare as it is to have time to myself, I like the business
required of someone in my station. Too much time with my own thoughts is… unpleasant. Darkness and
shadow provide no respite for me.”

Hubert doesn’t need to ask him to elaborate. He knows it isn’t his place to inquire in the first place
and, more than that, he hates the idea of drudging up painful memories for Dedue. Dedue has never
revealed the details of his past with Hubert, mostly because there is no need. Everyone knows what
happened to Duscur. Or at least, they think they do. Perhaps one day Hubert would like to hear the story-
the truth- without the lies and embellishments that have spread from Faerghus, but now hardly seems the
time. Sometimes his curiosity pushes him to the point of cruelty, but never with Dedue it seems.

“Hence your invitation that I join you,” Hubert fills in the blanks out loud.

“Now you see how truly desperate I am,” Dedue smiles, “Though, I must say, I find I enjoy our
increasing encounters. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were seeking me out on purpose.”

Hubert scoffs, but doesn’t protest. It isn’t true, of course- even if he wanted to spend more time with
Dedue, he doesn’t have the luxury of ample spare moments. Instead they both have to cherish moments
like this- moments where they can sit in the darkness, guards down, masks removed, their true selves
laid bare for each other. He isn’t so sure he’d go as far as calling Dedue a companion, but there’s an
unspeakable connection and closeness between the two of them, as though they’ve been cut from the
same cloth. Perhaps neither of them were meant to be alone.

“Hm, well,” Hubert lets his voice trail, “You always seem to know where to find me. On evenings you
cannot sleep, I suppose I can permit you to trouble me further,“ he grins.

The music slows, Dedue desperately trying to remember the ending of the dance. He butchers
the movements, stepping on Hubert’s left foot in the process.

“Apologies,” Dedue laughs nervously, quickly jerking his foot off Hubert’s. He can feel heat
rushing to his face and a familiar fluttering returns to his chest- one that he felt frequently during
their Academy days, even before he knew much of Hubert outside of what he could read in his
expressions and body language. Which, in all fairness, was more than most- Dedue was a natural at
interpreting Hubert and vice versa.

“At least you have the comfort of knowing I would have done much worse had we actually
danced together in the Academy.”

He’s met with a soft laugh from Hubert who leans up to kiss him gently. He stops to study
Dedue’s face for a moment, his eyes sharp and concentrated as he runs gloved fingers across
Dedue’s skin. His fingers follow the scars that run across his face, as if to comment on how time
had changed the two of them.

It’s odd- Hubert always seemed to enjoy the darkness, sticking to the shadows, preferring the
anonymity it provides. Dedue hated it, still hates it, his mind often drifting to his home in Duscur.
But it doesn’t always bring the constant discomfort it used to. In the Academy, nightfall provided
a shield for both of them, serving as a barrier from the outside world, allowing them to drop the
persona of “dutiful servant” and be themselves. And it was in that darkness they met, in darkness
that they unmasked each other. It’s how they reunite every evening- blanketed in stars and cool
night air, laying their burdens and duties and formal personas at the door.

“I adore you,” Hubert whispers, interrupting his thoughts and leaning in for another kiss, “and
all that you are. I always will.”

Their bloody paths, lonely as they may once have been, have converged. And they have vowed
never to walk- or dance- alone in darkness again.







Bernadetta hadn’t even wanted to come.

When she heard that a grand festival was being held in Enbarr to celebrate the anniversary
of the Empire’s establishment, Bernadetta told herself that she was going to spend the night in
her room as far away from the capital’s activity as possible. Still, she realized rather quickly that
her wishes meant little before the pressure of her parents, and Bernadetta was forced to bite her
tongue as she was dragged through hours of preparation for the upcoming event.

Bernadetta had been at the party for only a few minutes, but she was already desperate to
find a way to escape. Her purple gown was beautiful, she had to admit, but she still had to admit
that she preferred the comfort of her regular clothing. The upper half of her face was hidden
behind a mask. Everyone at the party was wearing them, concealing the identities of many a noble
seamlessly. Bernadetta tried not to stare at the tall man with dark hair or the orange-haired boy
who trailed after him and a girl with light brown hair. They seemed so much more confident than
she felt, and she wished that she could grasp even a small portion of that passion. Instead, all
Bernadetta wanted to do was curl up in a corner and hide.

It was this desire to escape the festivities that led Bernadetta outside. She had been to the
palace in Enbarr a few times in the past, and she knew the way to the gardens by heart. She
navigated her way there as quickly as she could manage without tripping over the hem of her skirt.
Slowly but surely, the chaos of the party faded into a distant memory, leaving Bernadetta to sigh in
relief as her ears were finally cleared of the cacophony.

Bernadetta found a familiar stone wall before leaning up against it. Her purple hair was curled
gently, and she knew without a shadow of a doubt that she was messing with the fancy style that
her mother had conjured, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. Instead, Bernadetta simply tilted
her face to the sky, reaching up to remove the mask from her face.

The sound of approaching footsteps stopped her, and Bernadetta let out a small yelp as
she realized that she wasn’t alone. She glanced around wildly in an attempt to find out who
the intruder was. Her gaze eventually settled on a young man who appeared to be a few years
older than she was. His hair was purple as well, and he wore a mask in the shape of a wolf. His
expression was unreadable, though Bernadetta supposed that was the point behind the mask.

“I didn’t expect to have company here,” the man in the wolf mask commented, his lips
quirking upwards into a smirk. He took a step closer to Bernadetta, and she felt a shiver run up her
spine. Something about him was familiar, but she couldn’t quite put a finger on where she could
have met him before.

Bernadetta fumbled for words for what felt like a century before forcing her lips shut. She
glanced down to the ground, not wanting to embarrass herself more than she already had.
Internally, she was chastising herself for being such a blatant nervous wreck. Her parents had
always told her that she needed to get better about maintaining her composure, and she could
certainly see where they were coming from all of a sudden.

“I needed to get away from the party,” Bernadetta mumbled, unsure of if she would be able to
force herself to say anything else. She felt bad saying it out loud, confessing that she didn’t want
to be there around her peers, and something deep inside of her hoped that the man in the wolf
mask didn’t take offense to such a comment.

“It sure is stuffy in there,” the man remarked, his smile only deepening. Bernadetta could tell
that he wasn’t exactly talking about the temperature or number of people in the reception hall of
the palace. She couldn’t hold back a snicker at his words, and she sent one hand flying up to cover
her mouth as soon as she realized what she was doing.

“Yeah,” Bernadetta said, not sure of how she was meant to find any other words that wouldn’t
completely fumble the situation out of her control. She looked up at the man once again,
examining him from head to toe. He was wearing a cape over one shoulder, and one of his hands
was resting loosely over his chest. It was a familiar gesture, but regardless of how hard she tried,
she simply couldn’t find out how to place where she had seen such before.

“Have we met before?” Bernadetta found herself asking before she could stop herself. Her face
went pink as soon as she realized what she had done, and she attempted to tear her gaze away
from the man’s mask. Something about wearing the mask was leaving her bolder than before.
Normally, Bernadetta never would have been able to get through even a sentence without giving
in to her anxieties and retreating, but the mask upon her face was easing her into something that
resembled confidence. It was strange to her, but she wasn’t objecting in the slightest.

At first, the man in the wolf mask seemed to be caught by surprise. He looked over Bernadetta
before settling his gaze on her face. For a fraction of a second, his smile slipped, but it had been
replaced before Bernadetta could even hope to comment on it. “Perhaps we have,” he said,
effortlessly covering for his moment of nervousness.

Bernadetta didn’t know how she was meant to respond to that, so she looked down to the
ground once again. A falling petal from a nearby cluster of violets earned her attention, and she
glanced up to stare at the flowers. They were the same color as the man’s hair, and Bernadetta
caught even herself by surprise when she noticed such a connection.

Bernadetta wasn’t sure when her stare had shifted back up to the man, but he was most
certainly aware of how long she had been watching him. A light chuckle left his lips, and he shook
his head. “If you’re going to keep staring, you should try to say something,” he told her casually.
“We’re at a party, aren’t we? If you want to dance, just say so.”

Suddenly, Bernadetta was overly aware of the distant melody of the orchestra inside of the
palace. It seemed to close in around her like a blanket, demanding every ounce of her attention
immediately. She had no way of saying for sure if he was joking or not, and somehow, the
uncertainty left her feeling anxious.

Before she knew it, the man’s hand was stretched out before her. His palm was up,
inviting her to come closer. Bernadetta froze as she examined each and every crease on his
fingers. She knew what he was trying to ask of her, but she didn’t know how to respond. She
was so busy kicking herself for her delayed reaction that she didn’t even notice the way that
her hand was reaching up to slip into his.

The first thing that she noticed was how warm the man’s hand was. Bernadetta stared at him
with wide eyes as he pulled her closer, the gesture far gentler than his detached posture would have
suggested. His other hand curled around her waist, and she found herself settling into his grasp a
moment later. Every part of him was warm, and Bernadetta had no idea why she liked it so much.

He was leading her in a simple waltz a moment later, and Bernadetta allowed herself to
follow his lead silently. She had been taught to dance many years ago as part of her training to
become the perfect noble lady her father dreamed of. Bernadetta had once thought herself too
clumsy to go anywhere near a ballroom floor, and yet, she was doing alright against her previous
expectations. She eased herself into the rhythm, welcoming its gentle flow into her mind. It felt
as if her body had been taken over by some higher power, perhaps even the goddess herself, and
Bernadetta felt nothing but pure bliss.

The man appeared to be enjoying himself as well, but he remained as impossible to read as
ever. His smile was distant, but there was something oddly familiar about him in Bernadetta’s
mind. She tried to figure out where she had seen that trademark grin before, but she never seemed
to be able to grasp onto the truth. It was upsetting, but she eventually allowed herself to cast it
aside in favor of concentrating on the dance itself.

When they finished their performance, Bernadetta was pressed far closer to the man than she
would have expected. She was forced to look up at him, her jaw slightly agape in her surprise.
“You’re… You’re a really good dancer,” she murmured, unsure of what else could even be said. She
swallowed dryly, wanting to know why the hell she was so nervous all of a sudden.

The man let out a small chuckle. “You aren’t half bad yourself,” he remarked before slowly
pulling away. His hand reached for hers, and he pressed a kiss to her knuckles carefully. She could
feel his smirk against her skin. Bernadetta found herself missing the warmth that his body brought
as soon as it was gone, and she was left alone in the cool night a moment later. She did her best to
ignore the heat rising to her features behind her mask at his act of clear affection. She reached out
towards him at first before forcing her hand to retreat out of a wish to not look desperate.

He turned on his heel and looked back towards the party, but his smile began to slip away.
“I should probably head back,” he commented. He made no remarks about asking Bernadetta to
join him, and she couldn’t tell if she was more relieved or disappointed at such a revelation. She
wanted to spend more time getting to know him, but at the same time, the last thing she wanted
was to have to jump back into the chaos of the party.

The man took one step away before he glanced over his shoulder, a light smile on his face.
“Until we meet again,” he said simply. He started navigating through the garden and back to
the palace afterwards, leaving Bernadetta alone in the silence. She watched the place where his
silhouette had been for far longer than she would have expected from herself, almost as if she
believed that she could wish him back to that spot.

Bernadetta couldn’t shake the feeling that she had met that man somewhere before, but she
didn’t know where they could have crossed paths. Part of her mind said that she should have been
searching through her memories to find an explanation as to who he was and where they had met,
but there was another voice deep inside that told her to simply think about what had just taken
place.

To put it simply, she was enamored with him. There was something about the man that drew
her attention in the blink of an eye, but she didn’t know why that was. She suspected that it was
somehow involved with their strange sense of familiarity, but the details were still unclear to her.
Bernadetta was positive that she loved being around him though, and she found herself looking
down to her hand, admiring the creases that had touched his skin just a few minutes before.

The rest of the party passed by in a blur, but Bernadetta didn’t even realize how much time had
passed until she was on the carriage returning to Varley territory. She remembered the warmth
that the man had brought her all the way back, and when she was alone in her room once again,
she smiled into the silence.

Until we meet again.

The next year brought with it another celebration of Enbarr’s anniversary. It was a yearly tradition
that Bernadetta didn’t realize she loved until the previous year. When her parents told her that they
were going, she didn’t protest in the slightest. Bernadetta regularly hated public arrangements and
parties, but she was shockingly eager to make the journey to Enbarr for the festivities.

Bernadetta dressed herself in yet another stunning purple gown before donning the same
mask as the year before. She was starting to grow taller, so her dress from the previous year didn’t
fit as well as it once had. Her mother had fussed over her sudden spike in height enough for
Bernadetta’s father to issue an order for a new gown.

She didn’t mind. The dress was beautiful, and she found herself twirling around in her room as
she imagined seeing the man in the wolf mask once more. This was just like in the books she loved
so dearly. She had found her prince the year before, and she couldn’t wait to see him once again.

Enbarr’s party was just as chaotic as it once had been, but Bernadetta focused on the song
around her to keep her nerves calmed. She breathed carefully as she weaved through the crowd
before departing from the palace. She made her way to the garden before settling down against the
same stone wall as she had the year before. As she rubbed one hand along the barricade, she found
the same familiar notches as before, and she prayed with everything she had that something else
familiar happened as well.

Bernadetta waited throughout the entire gathering, staring at the spot where the man in
the wolf mask had stood before departing. She found herself dancing around the garden a few
times, remembering the way that his arm had curled around her midsection the year before, as
she longed for him to return.

The orchestra continued to drone in the distance as Bernadetta wondered what she would say
if he did appear again. He had told her that they would cross paths once more, and this was the
best place for them to reunite. She had to be ready since she hadn’t been before. Bernadetta knew
that she had been a bumbling disaster when they first met, and she was determined to not repeat
the mistakes of the past.

However, as the hours passed by, Bernadetta was left perpetually alone in the garden. No other
people appeared, and the man in the wolf mask was nothing more than a distant memory. When she
heard the orchestra winding down, an indication that the party was ending, Bernadetta’s heart sunk
with disappointment. Was he truly not coming? Was she destined to be alone that fated night?

Bernadetta’s stomach sunk into her feet as she walked back to the palace. He hadn’t come to
see her. She was simply going to have to wait until they crossed paths once again in the future.
Maybe he would appear at the party the following year. He had said they were going to meet again,
and she was choosing to have faith in him. She was desperately clinging to his final words, but she
didn’t even chastise herself for her folly. She was too eager to meet him again to bother.

Until we meet again.

Bernadetta was still on her climb of growing like a weed when the ball of Imperial Year 1182
came around. She found herself slipping into yet another new dress as she got ready for the party,
and she pressed the same mask as always onto her face. Her hair was starting to get longer, and she
ran a brush through it before tying it into a delicate style at the back of her head. Half of her hair was
held up by a silver pin while the rest of her curls were left to hang free. It had been two years since
she first met the man in the wolf mask, and yet, she was still intent on making a good impression.

As soon as she got to the party, Bernadetta drifted to the garden where she first met the man
in the wolf mask. She waited for the rest of the night, occasionally remembering the way that he
had kissed her hand so tenderly. The hours passed by, but she barely noticed until the number of
people in the castle grew thinner. Once again, she thought about her prince on the carriage ride
back to Varley territory.

Bernadetta felt as if she was caught in a dizzying cycle by the next year. This would be her
third year waiting for him, and she was still hanging tightly to the hope that perhaps he would
appear. There was little reason to believe that he even still remembered, but Bernadetta wanted
desperately to believe that perhaps he would reach her once again by some stroke of a miracle.

She knew every step out to the garden by perfect memory after the previous few years, and she
found her regular spot once again. Bernadetta began to dance in the melody of distant rhythms a
few times, but it was never enough to perfectly imitate the waltz that she had shared with the man
in the wolf mask. She waited, but just as before, he never appeared, and she felt tears form behind
her mask the whole way home.

She wanted a miracle.

Bernadetta waited in her fourth year for the man in the wolf mask. She looked down at her
hand, wondering when it had gotten so large. Would it still fit between the fingers of the man who
had captured her attention so effortlessly? Did she even want to find out?

Bernadetta still hadn’t figured out why he was so familiar to her. She knew that there was
something about him that struck her as nostalgic, but she hadn’t the slightest clue what the
connection could have been. She shook her head to herself and tried to eliminate the thought
as soon as possible. Her mind continued to spin regardless, and she hummed along with the
orchestra in an attempt to quell her raging thoughts.

Bernadetta lifted her gown and began to dance gently in the darkness of the night. She truly
was a sight to behold. Her years away from the man had given her the chance to become far taller,
and she wore her hair straight rather than curly more often than not. She was nothing like the shy
girl that had first met the man in the wolf mask.

And yet, she still wished that he would be the same as before.

Bernadetta had begun to lose hope.

Five years had passed since she first met the man in the owl mask, and she wasn’t sure if she
would ever be able to see him again. Her eyes fogged with tears at the mere implication that they
would never cross paths again, but she was starting to lose faith that he even still lived.

The ball was what Bernadetta looked forward to most of the time. She wanted to see the
man in the wolf mask more than anything, and it kept her going on her worst days. Her father’s
rage was difficult to cope with when he grew particularly upset that she was still unmarried, and
Bernadetta burned the image of the man with the wolf mask into the back of her mind as her
father continued to scream at her in pure rage and hatred. She missed him more than anything
else, and she wanted nothing more than to dance with him just one more time.

“I didn’t expect to see you here.”

Bernadetta almost jumped out of her skin at the voice coming from behind her, and she
whirled around in a panic. Her splendid violet dress shifted with her, and she was ready to unleash
a scream of fear. Her mask suddenly felt restricting, and she wanted nothing more than to escape
and run as far away as possible.

Her fears were calmed as soon as she saw who was responsible. Bernadetta’s eyes went wide,
and she ran towards the man in the wolf mask before throwing her arms around him. He had
grown in the time they were apart, but she would know that gentle lavender hair, devious smirk,
and intricate mask anywhere. “You’re here!” she cried out.

The man stumbled at her sudden actions, and he hesitated for a moment before wrapping an
arm around her shoulders in response. “You sure are excited,” he commented simply. He returned
the gesture of the embrace for a moment before pulling away, but his hand remained planted
firmly between Bernadetta’s palms. “I was sure that you would be out doing bolder and better
things with your life than coming back here to this party all over again.”

Bernadetta let out a laugh and shook her head. “No… My life really isn’t that glamorous,” she
told him, trying not to think about the way that her father had snapped at her on the way there.
She dismissed the thought as quickly as possible. “But enough about me. Why are you here? I was
so sure that you wouldn’t ever be coming back.”

The man shrugged, and suddenly he refused to meet her gaze. “I wanted to see you,” he replied
bluntly. When he looked up once again, there was a smile on his face that whispered of secrets
untold. “I’ve been thinking about you a lot lately.”

Bernadetta did her best to not feel flustered by his words, and she bit her tongue to keep from
telling him that she had been thinking about him for ages as well. She laughed to herself, but that
didn’t stop the blush from rising in her cheeks. She wanted to say something, but she wasn’t sure
of what sentences would apply best to the situation at hand. Internally, Bernadetta felt like a mess,
but she wasn’t going to tell the man in the wolf mask that when they were finally reunited after so
many years apart.

She was cut off from her thoughts when the man began to pull her in closer. “Shall we dance?”
he questioned. The man curled his other arm around her waist while still holding tightly to her
hand. Bernadetta felt herself flooded by the familiar sensation of his warmth from five years prior,
and she loved it far more than she would have ever admitted openly.

Bernadetta was all too eager to accept the man’s prompt, and she smiled as they began to
dance. It was a familiar waltz to the one that they had engaged in five years prior, and Bernadetta
loved it. A lot had changed, and yet, in a way, nothing had. Bernadetta found herself far more
comfortable around the man in the wolf mask than even her own father, and she wished that the
moment of them dancing would last forever.

Bernadetta had only ever experienced this sense of pure bliss with one other person before. When
she was a child, there had been a commoner boy who worked on the Varley estate. He had been her
first, and only, friend when she was growing up. Bernadetta practically attached herself to his side as
a way of warding off the evils that her father would visit upon her when she was alone. He had been
thrown out of the state during one of her father’s fits of violence, and she never saw him again.

Suddenly, the striking familiarity that the man possessed made sense.

Bernadetta’s eyes went wide and glassy as they finished their dance. “You… You’re the
boy!” she suddenly yelped. Her moment of shock had caught her by surprise, keeping her from
reaching the memory that would allow her to speak his name. Instead, she simply stopped
moving, allowing his hand to remain firmly planted around her waist. He was comforting to
her in a way that no other person was.

The man in the wolf mask let out a low rumble of a chuckle as he shook his head. “Most people
prefer to call me Yuri,” he told her, but something about his smile told Bernadetta that he knew
exactly what she was talking about. At long last, she had somehow managed to find the friend of
her childhood and the man of her dreams, and they were one and the same.

Bernadetta wasn’t sure of how she was meant to respond to this information, but she was
positive that she didn’t want this moment to end. The party was going to be winding to a close
soon, but she wanted nothing more than to stay at Yuri’s side for hours to come. She would have
been content with never going back to her home estate, as a matter of fact.

“I… I want to stay with you!” Bernadetta eventually blurted out. With anyone else, she would
have instinctively covered her mouth and tried to hide how embarrassed she was, but with Yuri,
she remained firm. It took a moment for her to gather herself before she could continue. “I’ve
really missed you… Ever since we were kids, I’ve been thinking about you, and… I don’t want to go
back home. I want to stay with you.”

Yuri watched her for a moment, and something akin to disappointment flooded his gaze. “I’ve
heard about what goes on in House Varley,” he said simply. The words were far from threatening,
instead merely being a statement of fact, but they still sent a shiver sprinting up Bernadetta’s
spine. “It’s why I had to come back.”

Bernadetta wasn’t sure of how she was meant to respond to that. She didn’t know how Yuri had
found out about what her father did, but she wasn’t positive that she wanted to hear his honest
answer either. It would be so much easier to simply ignore the problem and continue on with life
as if nothing was happening behind closed doors. She wanted to stand by Yuri’s side for the rest of
her life. It would certainly be better than returning to her home territory.

Bernadetta’s body started moving before she fully knew what was happening. Her shoe locked
onto a stone that stuck out slightly from the stone wall that she had been leaning against prior
to Yuri’s arrival. She continued clambering upwards, running purely off giddy joy and her own
adrenaline, until she was sitting on top of it. “I can’t go back there,” she told him. “Please, Yuri…
Let me come with you.”

Yuri stared at Bernadetta in shock before nodding as a smirk began to play at his lips. “If that’s what
you truly want,” he told her conversationally. He reached up one hand to take her fingers between his
own the same way that he had when they were dancing, and Bernadetta felt the feeling of weightless
electricity claim her body once again. Everything about Yuri truly was magical in a way that she didn’t
think she would ever be able to describe.

Bernadetta waited as Yuri climbed the wall himself, and he sat beside Bernadetta for a moment that
seemed to make the air thick with beautiful tension. He examined every part of her expression carefully
before swinging his legs over to the other side of the wall, jumping down as soon as he was in position.
Yuri once again reached up to Bernadetta after he had settled down and corrected his sense of balance.

Bernadetta took his hand once again, and she let out a small, heavy breath before allowing herself
to jump off as well. The landing was a bit rough for her due to the heft of her gown, but Yuri was able to
stabilize her a moment later. Bernadetta sent him a nervous grin, but Yuri didn’t seem to mind in the
slightest.

The night was dark around them without the nearby illumination of the Imperial palace’s gardens.
It took Bernadetta’s eyes a moment to adjust to the lack of light, but once she did, she realized just what
she was staring at. Her chest swelled with joy at the mere concept.

Freedom.

“You’re going to enjoy Abyss,” Yuri told Bernadetta, his voice just as smooth and hypnotic as she
remembered. There was something honest about him that she hadn’t seen in a long time, and it made her
far happier than she ever could have anticipated. “We’ve got a nice place there for outcasts, and I think
that it’ll work far better for you than Varley territory ever did.”

Bernadetta wasn’t entirely sure what Abyss was, but she figured that she would learn soon enough.
Until then, she was happy simply being at Yuri’s side. She smiled and nodded, understanding that he
would explain as soon as he got the chance.

Yuri took the first step forward, and everything about his posture beckoned for Bernadetta to follow. Her
eyes transformed to steel under the influence of determination, and she began to follow him.

Bernadetta gave one final glance over her shoulder at the stone walls that surrounded the gardens of
Enbarr’s palace. She was saying goodbye to her upsetting existence as Bernadetta von Varley, and her new life
as simply Bernadetta was beginning. The past was giving way to the future at long last.

“Goodbye, garden walls,” Bernadetta whispered under her breath before she trained her eyes on the
horizon ahead. She was starting life anew, and she knew that she was going to be happy no matter what came
her way. After all, as long as Yuri was at her side, no boundaries would ever be able to hold her in ever again.





Evening Dance

Breathe. That was all she had to do. Breathe, and focus. Focus on what she was here for, and
why she had agreed to dress up in ways that she had all but shunned for as long as she could
remember. Nobility did not equivocate to thirsting for attention, or yearning to look like a glorified
doll in a room full of spectators. Easily put, Lysithea von Ordelia had never been a fan of events
catered to high society and all their overly-dramatic woes. She had never been fond of crowds, or
bright lights, or mumbled droning, not since such things had only ever become associated with the
years she had lived in torment and agony. Not since…

No. She refused to fall victim to the memories again. No. This time, the memories, and the ones
who had mutilated her, would fall victim to her. This, she swore. It was why she was here in the first
place, gazing up at the looming manor before her. The dwellings of a lesser known family of nobles
that skated the former Adrestian-Leicester border. She had memories of visiting this place before,
conducting Ordelian business and trade agreements at her father’s side during the War. She scoffed
inwardly, wondering if the oh-so esteemed Grairni house knew that their nobility was no longer a
factor in their family’s power, no matter how much they seemed to think otherwise. Clearly their
choice in decoration and elegant imitation spoke of their desperation to puff their chests.

She was getting frustrated, and she needed to center herself. She turned to her side, white
waves bouncing across her shoulders as she peered up at her companion the moment he
opened his mouth to speak.

“Even now, they spare no time in preparing a lavish event, though I suppose you probably are
more familiar with them than I am. So long as we act accordingly, then nothing should go awry...
Lysithea, your mask is lopsided.”

She fixed her face with a swift flick of her arm, nestling the royal purple and gold mask back
into its proper place, all the while shooting him a scowl.

“It’s not my fault that these things are ridiculous. Who hosts a masked event these days anyways?”

“Clearly the house that we are gathering information from.” Goddess, the knowing tilt to his
voice could be infuriating sometimes, but in this case there was a warm glide to that she had come
to actually like hearing. Almost as if his confidence assured that no matter how the evening went,
they would succeed. He truly was a pinnacle of optimism, even with all the stress of the newly
united continent weighing on his shoulders. It was clear that they were awaited guests, with the
way similarly dressed nobles and high-class merchants parted ways to allow them through with
bewildered whispers. They were going to draw a lot of attention tonight. Just as she hoped the
moment she had offered the plan to him, and the moment he had agreed without a second thought.

Nobody grabbed attention of any kind better than Lorenz Hellman Gloucester, towering tall and
brightly illuminated in splendor and speech no matter where he went. If there was anybody that she
could use to get into any venue she needed after dissolving Ordelia’s territory and claim to nobility,
it was the newly named Prime Minister. A decision of Byleth’s that was still being digested by the
people of Fodlan, not that she had ever cared about the opinion of others when she put her foot
down on a decision. Lysithea admired the new Queen’s drive, though she inwardly pitied how she
must have been received choosing Lorenz as her right hand rather than an older noble or general.

Contemplating such things was not on her agenda. They were here to get answers, and to draw
out the rats that were slinking in the shadows. Nemesis’ fall had buried the Agarthans back into
the dirt where they belonged, yet the masses of dark mages that had followed him still remained a
hidden threat to the people, and especially to people like her. So long as the Crests that tainted her
remained, she would never be free of their waiting and watching eyes. She was going to find them.
She was going to get the answers she needed to remove the parasitic energies in her blood.

And then, she was going to get her revenge, for the family that had been stolen from her.

“We can talk about their decor after we get what we came here for. Do you remember what I
told you?” She inquired, testing him. Lorenz merely offered his arm for show, allowing her to loop
her own arm through the gap and press it closely together as they walked forwards.

“If the ones we assume are working in the dark are present, they will either flee due to our
sudden arrival or trail after us in hopes of getting us alone. I am to serve as your form of repellent,
or attraction. Whichever miss Ordelia requires.” Lorenz’s voice was quiet, an imitation of a
whisper of affection to fool those around them as he recited her earlier words. She nearly flushed
at the closeness of it, the way he leaned in to speak, and the way his body radiated a warmth that
had always been more prevalent than most. She nudged him shortly though, as soon as he wormed
the “miss Ordelia” in there with a humored hum. At least he was confident in his role in all this.

“Just make sure you don’t mess it up, alright? I’m counting on you tonight.”

His voice grew serious, touching Lysithea’s heart in a way she would never admit so casually.

“I would not dare let you down, Lysithea. I desire to find them as much as you do...and to make
them pay for what they have done to my people...and what they have done to you.”

Lysithea peered up at him, watching the way the torch light traced the bridge of his nose and
made his violet eyes gleam beneath his own mask of purple and gold. She knew that he meant each
and every word he said. She knew that she could depend on him, and she had known that since
before the War had even ended. She allowed his determination to fuel hers as she nodded, and
stopped right before the Knights guarding the entrance to the stone and marbled manor. Almost
instantly, the guarding figures seemed to stumble in place, realizing just who was before them.

A flourish and puff of the chest was all it took for Lorenz to slip back into his usual persona,
instantly recognizable to them. Lysithea admittedly had to give the tall man credit, for he knew
how to play the political game enough to slip himself inside any event he wanted. All it took was
an assurance of his presence, and the Knights were frantically stepping aside to allow them access.
Lysithea walked at his side in stride, glancing at him once more.

Lorenz did not look at her, but he did speak. She could hear the sudden twinge of
mourning in his voice.

“If only I was so respected in my rank in the vestiges of the other former territories. Perhaps one
day they will welcome me as a friend and leader...rather than in fear of retribution if they deny me…”

Lysithea blinked, unaware of how seriously he could take something as mundane as a few
Knights scuttling aside to let him through. For a moment, she thought of how he used to act, and
how he acted now. Such a stark difference, so much so that it...rather endeared her. She swallowed
down the lump in her throat, brushing her shoulder lightly against his side.

“If it makes you feel any better.” She murmured. “I think that you’re doing a great job. Our
futures are brighter when you’re there to help us, right?” She smiled ever so slightly, teasing in
her voice to be the one to uplift the mood for once. She felt her chest flutter the moment he finally
looked at her as if her words held an immense power, a glow in the purple irises she had slowly
come to depend on more and more.

“It does, Lysithea...Thank you.”

The music was lovely, and the scenery was even lovelier, though Lysithea did not have time
to stop and soak it all in. She was focused far more on the throngs of people dancing around her.
Admittedly, she had to force herself to be. It was getting harder and harder not to focus on the
person she was dancing with. Lorenz moved with such grace and comfort, as if he had known these
dances his whole life.

Oh. Well. He probably did.

She ignored the flicker of heat at her cheeks, instead peeking a glance at the man. Lorenz’s
eyes were also trained elsewhere, scanning through the crowds of people, though his hands held
her steadily. She refused to admit how nice it felt, how warm his hand was on her waist as they
danced. Instead, she listened when he leaned down to murmur softly to her.

“Nothing out of the ordinary so far...I’ve yet to see any faces worth recognizing for what
we are looking for.”

“I noticed someone standing by themselves for a while, by the tables.” Lysithea admitted,
glancing towards the far corner of the room, where a rather normal looking nobleman seemed to
be sitting by himself. “I’m trying to read magic signatures, but there’s so many people in the room
that singling out a single signature that’s not yours is...gah, it’s practically impossible!”

“Mine?” Lorenz seemed to falter for a moment, much to Lysithea’s confusion, though he
quickly righted himself and cleared his throat softly. “I can see why you would be suspicious of
that...such events are not commonly spent alone. If his partner has not been present for some
time, then one can only wonder what he is here for. It’s also rather strange...”

“What is?” Lysithea whispered, moving in time with Lorenz’s flawless steps. Lorenz shook his
head gently, lifting his arm tall to guide her into a spin. “That man is not one that I recognize,
even if we all are wearing masks. I was trained to recognize any and all potential peers of nobility
when I was younger. This man, he is unfamiliar to me.”

Lysithea narrowed her eyes sharply behind the mask, though she knew it would be unwise
to shoot looks in the man’s direction. Instead, she held Lorenz’s hand tighter, feeling a strange
sensation in her stomach when she heard the soft exhale of surprise come from his mouth. She
pulled him along, taking the lead in their dance as she gave him a firm look.

“Do you think he could be one of them?”

“I think we should wait and see what he does. We must not let paranoia cloud our best
judgement.” Lorenz’s voice was soft, steady, grounding her as anticipation and nerves filled her.
“Relax, Lysithea.” He murmured. “Your shoulders are tense and your movements are becoming
mistimed. My eyes are on him. So long as we are steadfast and work together, then we will find the
answers we need. Patience will be the deciding factor this evening.”

“I know.” She pouted, before she shook her head and regained her bearings. Her dress flowed
around her legs, swishing softly against the violet leather of his boots. “You’re right. I’m okay now.
But if he makes any sudden movements-”

“I will tell you. We will monitor him together.” Lorenz answered before she could finish, that
small smile gracing his face, thin lips quirking upwards knowingly. Lysithea could only trust in his
determination, almost envious of how sure he could sound in any situation. She was spun around
once more, a blur of purple and gold rushing around her. She could notice that Lorenz was looking
intently at her, though for what reason she was unaware of. It wasn’t until he spoke again that she
obtained an idea of what he was thinking about.

“You look wonderful, by the way. I apologize that it took me until just now to admit such a truth.”

Oh. Oh, well that was-

“That- you, I-.” Lysithea stammered at the sudden compliment, looking up at him with
bewilderment. She prayed to Sothis that he wasn’t able to see the flush on her face. “I...I don’t
really go to these kinds of things a lot anymore, I’m just...wearing one of my old dresses, I look like
I always do.”

“I did not mean to fluster you.” Goddess, why was his voice so light? Why did it strike her so
deeply? Since when had he ever had such an effect on her simply by speaking? He continued, his
calm facade finally breaking into an awkward ramble. “I merely wanted to voice an observation,
and it would be ever so rude of me to not speak of the partner I am dancing with, even if this
situation is not so typical of…” He sighed as he trailed off, and she watched him almost curl up a
bit. The ever so grand Lorenz Hellman Gloucester…

Well, he looked anything but, at this moment. And yet, Lysithea found herself even more
flustered, at how normal he looked...and how much she was beginning to enjoy seeing him trip
over his words to compliment her.

“You…” She began, her confidence slipping into tentativeness. “You look...really nice too.”

“...You jest.” A breathy little thing, from such a vibrant man, and Lysithea could only wallow in
her growing embarrassment at how silly and red she must have looked just then. “I do not! Why
would I joke about that? Hmph…”

“L-lysithea-”

“See if I ever compliment your outfit again, maybe I like how well the colors suit you.”

“Lysithea.”

“Maybe I appreciate you complimenting my dress even if I don’t like coming to these stupid
things, did you ever stop to think about that?”

“Lysithea!” Lorenz hissed quietly, interrupting her spluttering indignation with a frantic blink.
“Lysithea, he is gone! My eyes left for less than a second, he is gone!”

Lysithea’s eyes widened in realization, and she whipped her head around to see that indeed, the
strange man seated by himself had vanished without a trace. She cursed to herself, feeling a wave of
shame that her stupid feelings distracted her away from what they had come here for. There was no
way in hell that she was giving up though. The man couldn’t have gone far, he surely must have left
the ballroom. She gripped Lorenz’s arm, pulling him with her as she whispered sharply.

“Come on! Pretend we’re going to the washroom or something! We have to find him!”

“I am coming, Lysithea! You need not pull me.”

Lysithea did release him at that, relieved to see that he was keeping up with her with ease.
He seemed as concerned as she felt, and she certainly felt better with someone else to help her
if things went south. She slipped past the grand doors, scowling quietly down the dimly lit halls.
Which way did he go? For a moment, she considered telling Lorenz to take one way while she took
the other, but the thought of Lorenz running into the mages alone frightened her more than she
expected. She was more frightened for him than she was for herself.

“There is residual magic. That way.” Lorenz pointed down the hallway to the right, and if
Lysithea was correct in her memory, that was the direction of the gardens. She nodded once,
feeling the residual magic herself and curling her lip a bit. It was strong, that was certain. She
moved, not caring in the slightest if her dress was scraping upon the ground behind her. The sound
of Lorenz’s muted bootsteps behind her gave her confidence as she sharply turned the corner.

The hallway was dark. Darker than she would have ever expected, and a crawling sort of
suspicion filled her. The doors to the gardens were flung wide open...and worst of all, there was no
sign of any guards at their posts.

“Lorenz?” She whispered, her fingers curling as she readied her stance. “I think this is a-“

Almost as if on cue, a vicious Swarm of magic flitted through the hallway, roaring in from the
opened doors. Lysithea lifted her arms, her own magic beginning to build up in retaliation, though
the stinging she expected on her skin never happened. A glow of blue and white surrounded her,
and White Magic shielded her from the attack. A Ward spell, and Lysithea knew exactly who was
making it. Lorenz’s hands glowed behind her, giving her enough time to send her own Swarm back
to block out the attack.

“A trap!” Lorenz grunted out, finishing her sentiments.

“Yeah, you think?” She called, before demanding. “Are you okay?”

“I am fine! Do not worry about me, they cannot get away!”

Lysithea nodded at that, breaking into a run towards the garden doors. The cool air hit her
skin, and she whipped her head side to side in frantic search of their attacker. Nothing. She cussed
lightly to herself, calling back to Lorenz.

“Do you see them anywhere?”

“It is too dark! I cannot see any- agh!” Lorenz was cut off as a Miasma spell burst from the
shadows, clipping his side and eating through the waistcoat, singing the skin beneath.

“Lorenz!”

She turned back quickly, shouting his name and rushing back towards him. Another Miasma
hurtled towards them, but Lysithea was ready. She lifted her hands, the incantation screaming in
her mind as she repeated the attacker’s spell once again, a Miasma flying from her to block out the
attack. The air lit up with a sickly purple glow, and Lysithea found herself tugging sharply at Lorenz’s
arm. The moment she spotted the grand fountain, she tugged them both behind it, providing
temporary cover for them. Byleth’s teachings were not lost on her, even after the end of the War.

“There’s at...least two.” Lorenz gritted out, his hand pressed to his side where he had been
struck. Lysithea flickered her eyes at it, then back up at him. “Don’t touch it!” She ordered, worried
and stern. “We’ll take them out quickly, got it? They’re using the darkness as an advantage!”

“Then I shall level the playing field!” Lorenz growled, lifting to his feet and extending his arms.
Magic spilled from his palms, a gleaming Sagittae spell lighting up the gardens as arrows of light
hurtled through the air. Lysithea stood quickly, understanding Lorenz’s intentions as she looked
around for the figures of the mages.

There!

“Hya!” She shouted, summoning another Miasma and blasting it towards the figure she saw.
Her heart lit up when she heard a shout, the sound of her powerful spell hitting its mark filling
her with satisfaction. She turned quickly, having just enough time to warn Lorenz as another spell
came towards them from the side.

“Lorenz, your left!”

His reaction time, even when injured, was one to be envied. He moved on instinct, light
turning to fire as he nimbly avoided the Miasma, and sent a Fire spell back in return. The spell lit
up the dark gardens, revealing two more attackers. Lysithea did not hesitate, summoning a mighty
Swarm to flush out the rats and to accompany Lorenz’s flames.

Two choked screams, two more victories.

If this was supposed to be a trap, Lysithea was sorely disappointed. Even so, magic was still
being fired at them. Goddess, how many of them had been hiding in these gardens? A Wind spell
burst into the large marble fixture atop the fountain, cracking it off and down into the water.
Droplets splashed upon the Gremory and Dark Knight, and Lysithea felt a moment of comfort
when Lorenz sneered with disgust at the sudden wetness, as he would have done.

The moment passed though, as the Wind spell struck again, slicing past Lorenz’s shoulder
as the man barely had any time to react. Lorenz bit down his yelp of pain, and Lysithea could
see the calm anger in his eyes as he aimed his Sagittae spell towards the direction of the attack.
Putting her trust in him, she darted towards the bodies of the mages they had taken out to their
side. Surely one of them had to have another weapon they could use to get closer! Her heart sank
though, as she realized that the mages were gone, nothing but smoke and fizzing residues of their
spells remaining. No mages. No bodies. Damn it! She had no choice but to run back towards the
fountain.

She gave a startled scream as hands snagged her arm, pulling her back in a tight grip. She
lashed out blindly at her attacker, feeling the sickening sensation of leather and dark silks on her
skin as the mage tried to subdue her. Byleth’s training kicked in, and she shot her heel backwards,
stabbing it into the mage’s leg, before reeling her head forwards and slamming it backwards
against her attacker’s.

Her shoulder singed with heat as an arrow of light flew past it, finally prying her attacker off of
her with a strangled shout. Lysithea turned around with a deadly glare, giving the downed mage a
vicious kick to the side just in case, before she turned and sprinted her way back to Lorenz’s side.

“Thanks for that!”

“You had it handled, yet I would have killed that mage no matter what, for putting their
hands on you.”

“You can be chivalrous after we finish this!” Lysithea snorted, though the adrenaline in her veins
made her response seem breathless, the wit grounding her as she stood back to back with him.

“I am getting obscenely tired of this.” Lorenz complained, scorching hot at her back as
his magic flared up.

“That makes two of us. If we use our strongest spells, we’ll risk destroying the gardens. Then
we’ll be in more trouble than it’s worth. The last thing I need is endless questioning.” Lysithea
panted, looking around as much as she could.

“And here I was desperately hoping to decimate a family’s sacred gardens in pursuit of using
my Agnea’s Arrow.”

“Oh, you’ll live!”

This time they both ducked as another Swarm buzzed around them, this time striking both of
them. Lysithea grit her teeth against the painful sensation, before a familiar glow flickered in front
of her. The Crest of Gloucester formed before her, though it was not her that had summoned it.
Lorenz braced the Swarm as he stood up, the air around them growing hotter and hotter.

Lorenz’s head turned then to peer towards the right, and he seemed to lock onto something.
With a short bellow, his now strengthened magic burst forwards, obliterating the darkness of the
Swarm and slamming into a solid body. The Swarm dissipated at that, and Lysithea could finally
see exactly who Lorenz had struck. The very same man they had seen in the ballroom, now strewn
across the garden grounds, alive but severely weakened.

Lorenz took in heavy breaths at her side for a moment, before he wordlessly motioned for her to
go towards the mage. Somehow, his mask had stayed on in the fray of battle, yet the golden strands
on the side had been torn and singed, the rose adorning the silk now battered with wear. Her own
dress was now a mess of tears and fabrics, and muddied at the bottom. What a damn bother!

She stormed furiously towards the mage, fingers digging into his robes as she snarled down at him.

“You are going to tell me who you are, why you are here, and why you think you could even
possibly stand a chance against us!”

For a moment, the mage did seem afraid of the powerful young woman, gripping at her wrists
weakly. Though, that moment faded quickly, and a rasping laugh escaped the unknown man’s lips.

“Tell your Queen...that this is far from over, Madam Ordelia...Count Gloucester.”

In a blinding pink flash, the man disappeared, slipping right from Lysithea’s trembling fingers.
Lysithea clawed at the ground where he had been, cursing furiously and pounding her fist into the
ground. No! No no no! For a moment, she contemplated finding a way to follow the mage’s Warp
trail, but the enraged thoughts simmered down once she heard Lorenz’s softly concerned voice
behind her.

“Lysithea…”

“We were so close!” She pressed her hand to her head in an attempt to calm herself. “This is...
it’s my fault. I was reckless, we hardly had a plan.” She finally turned to look at him, guilt filling
her chest as she saw how torn his lovely outfit now was, how blood stained the sleeve of his coat,
and how the last remnants of his Crest wisped back into his body. He looked exhausted, and yet...
he was still looking at her, focusing only on her. He still looked so elegant, even when in tatters.

“Do not blame yourself. They were clearly aiming to lure us out and apprehend us. They
failed...and you are safe, and that is what truly matters. Please do not look so forlorn, Lysithea. We
now know another family these mages may have connections with.”

Lorenz’s sharp eyes shot towards the estate behind them, before he reached his hand out to
her, helping her pull herself up to her feet. For a moment, she stared up at him, taking in the way
he looked at her, and the way his hands glowed once again. Her eyes fluttered with bewilderment,
as she realized he was trying to heal her small wounds. His magic was so...soothing, in a way she
had never paid attention to before. It rippled through her skin, tending to the small burns and
cuts, replacing the biting sensation of Miasma with a soft warmth.

Even when he had the greater injuries, he cared only for her sake first.

“W-...we have to go. Now, before anyone sees us in this...uh, this mess.” Lysithea swallowed,
trying not to focus on how warm his hands were against her skin, and failing miserably. “Thank
you, Lorenz. Really. I...It means alot to me, that you’re helping me.”

“I would do anything for you, Lysithea.” Lorenz’s voice had become unusually soft, and she
could finally see that he was suffering from the same wretched fluster that she was. He kept his
eyes on her healing skin, even as he spoke. “I did not lie, when I stated that I could not begin to
imagine a future without you in it.”

Her mouth opened at that, gaping for a moment, before her lips pressed together, and she
swore her face would melt right in front of him. It had not been the words that had moved her, as
much as the way he had said it. The way he had meant it. How she could tell he meant it.

Lysithea slowly brought her hand up to her face, adjusting her mask to hide her fluster once
again, before she realized then and there that she was starting to genuinely fall in love with the
person she least expected to. It broke her heart, tore it apart, knowing that it may not ever matter,
if they did not cure the artificial poisons in her blood.

She knew she could die. She knew she could leave him behind. And yet…

She reached for his hand, shy in her motions yet yearning all the same. She breathed in, feeling
his hand grasp hers as soon as she allowed him too. She looked at him then, pushing her fears
behind her and taking that chance.

“I’ll...I’ll be there. For that future...whatever it takes, Lorenz. I promise.”

His smile engraved itself into her mind and her heart, as he lifted her hand in his own with a
shyness that was unlike him, yet so utterly endearing. He pressed his lips to her knuckles, and she
allowed him. His voice was a murmur, warming the chilling night.

“Whatever it takes.”



The Last Dance

The ballroom was quiet. Lysithea stood stock still in the hallway, listening to the quiet
murmurs of the servers, the clatter of dishes, the soft strumming of instruments. All of which
she’d expected, but there weren’t any of the other accompanying sounds. No matter how hard she
strained her ears, she couldn’t hear the swishing of a hundred ball-gowns, the rhythmic steps of
dancers, or the gossiping nobles. Especially the gossiping nobles. Their voices were impossible to
ignore, no matter how many doors she’d closed and how deep in her blankets she buried herself.

They’d all been present hours ago, when she’d taken leave for a short rest. Lorenz had
kissed her cheek, telling her to go, that it was fine that she had once again had abandoned him
to the wolves. It was his territory, after all, and he was as fluent in their meaningless buzzing
as she was with her research.

What she had intended to be only a short, ten minutes nap had clearly ended up much longer.
The guests had left. It was the only reasonable explanation. Lysithea glanced at the mask dangling
off her right hand, its purple ribbons brushing against her silken dress. There was no point in
putting it back on if no one was still around.

Sighing, she quietly trotted toward the central staircase. Despite Hilda’s many, many lessons,
she still couldn’t move as gracefully as she wanted, and maybe it was a good thing the ball was
over. Her dancing was lacking in many places and while Lorenz insisted he found it charming, she
knew the rumours that ran amok every time she went out in public.

If it were directed at her, she wouldn’t mind, but at him…

Lysithea snorted. She’d grown soft in the past few years. To think there’d be a day when she
actually cared what the nobility thought.

As she descended the staircase, the view before her confirmed what she’d already known. Most
of the small tables were gone now, stored away until the next ball. The long table filled with tasty
morsels and sugary sweets was empty, the butlers carefully folding its lilac cloth.

“Tell your Queen...that this is far from over, Madam Ordelia...Count Gloucester.”

In a blinding pink flash, the man disappeared, slipping right from Lysithea’s trembling fingers.
Lysithea clawed at the ground where he had been, cursing furiously and pounding her fist into the
ground. No! No no no! For a moment, she contemplated finding a way to follow the mage’s Warp
trail, but the enraged thoughts simmered down once she heard Lorenz’s softly concerned voice
behind her.

“Lysithea…”

“We were so close!” She pressed her hand to her head in an attempt to calm herself. “This is...
it’s my fault. I was reckless, we hardly had a plan.” She finally turned to look at him, guilt filling
her chest as she saw how torn his lovely outfit now was, how blood stained the sleeve of his coat,
and how the last remnants of his Crest wisped back into his body. He looked exhausted, and yet...
he was still looking at her, focusing only on her. He still looked so elegant, even when in tatters.

“Do not blame yourself. They were clearly aiming to lure us out and apprehend us. They
failed...and you are safe, and that is what truly matters. Please do not look so forlorn, Lysithea. We
now know another family these mages may have connections with.”

Lorenz’s sharp eyes shot towards the estate behind them, before he reached his hand out to
her, helping her pull herself up to her feet. For a moment, she stared up at him, taking in the way
he looked at her, and the way his hands glowed once again. Her eyes fluttered with bewilderment,
as she realized he was trying to heal her small wounds. His magic was so...soothing, in a way she
had never paid attention to before. It rippled through her skin, tending to the small burns and
cuts, replacing the biting sensation of Miasma with a soft warmth.

Even when he had the greater injuries, he cared only for her sake first.

“W-...we have to go. Now, before anyone sees us in this...uh, this mess.” Lysithea swallowed,
trying not to focus on how warm his hands were against her skin, and failing miserably. “Thank
you, Lorenz. Really. I...It means alot to me, that you’re helping me.”

“I would do anything for you, Lysithea.” Lorenz’s voice had become unusually soft, and she
could finally see that he was suffering from the same wretched fluster that she was. He kept his
eyes on her healing skin, even as he spoke. “I did not lie, when I stated that I could not begin to
imagine a future without you in it.”

Her mouth opened at that, gaping for a moment, before her lips pressed together, and she
swore her face would melt right in front of him. It had not been the words that had moved her, as
much as the way he had said it. The way he had meant it. How she could tell he meant it.

Only the musicians were still seated on the stage, their instruments out as they softly played a
ballad. No doubt they were waiting for their payment before packing up. Maybe she could handle
that, if only to make up for everything else Lorenz had covered in her stead.

Quietly, she crossed the ballroom and headed toward the balcony. A cool breeze hit her bare
arms soon as she stepped out and despite herself, she shivered. It was a mild relief after weeks
of summer heat, and she rubbed her arms as she moved toward the railing. The Gloucester lands
sprawled before her. When she’d first arrived, she’d found the castle lands too expansive.

They still were, but she felt more fond than annoyed when she took in the candle-lit gardens.
A little further out, she could just make out the lanterns of carriages as their guests travelled
home, like small fireflies flitting in the dark. Leaning against the railing, she rested her chin on her
clasped hands and watched the steady stream.

A silken cloth landed on her shoulders, disturbing her musing. Lysithea looked up to find
Lorenz smiling tenderly down at her. For once his hair didn’t block her view of his face, all pinned
up and back as it were. However, he still wore his mask, though the delicate velvet couldn’t hide
the emotions shining through his eyes. “Cold, my love?”

“No,” she mumbled, feeling hot under his stare. No matter how often he used pet names
and showed his affection, she wasn’t sure if she could ever get used to it. Her ears burned from
something as simple as this; it was a good thing no one else was around. Lysithea drew the coat
around her tighter anyways, breathing in the rose-water scent that penetrated all of his clothes.
“But thanks.”

“Say nothing of it.” His smile grew wider. It was ridiculously easy to make him happy. “Are
you feeling better now?”

“Much,” she reluctantly admitted. When he wrapped an arm around her shoulder, pulling her
close, she leaned into him. They were alone, she could allow herself this weakness. “I needed the
rest. I’m sorry I had to leave you like that.”

“There is no need for apologies.” Lorenz pressed a chaste kiss on her head and she shivered at
the touch, at the memories of other, more heated kisses. “Besides, that was as much for me as it
was for you. I am just glad that you have recovered.”

There he went again, shrugging off this as though this was nothing, as though this had only
happened tonight and not on a regular basis. For all of his fancy words and lofty ideals, he was
surprisingly humble when it came to matters like these. Irritated, Lysithea bit her cheek as she
looked up at him. “Lorenz.”

“Yes, love?” He smiled innocently at her.

It was hard, sometimes, to argue with him when he looked at her like that: full of adoration,
as though her company was all that he needed. It left her feeling unsettled, as though her heart
was too full. She had to look over his shoulder to keep talking. “It’s not just tonight. I’ve left you
alone at these functions more often than not. I’m…” Lysithea sighed. Removing her second crest
wasn’t exactly what she’d thought it’d be—some days, she felt even frailer than she had before the
operation. “I thought I’d be stronger by now.”

“Nonsense.” Despite his stern tone, his expression was still one of warmth. “You are one of the
strongest people I know. You have argued with diplomats and nobles without backing down. There
is nothing wrong with needing a break. It is healthy.”

Healthy.

She should ignore that part of the sentence, focus on his praise instead. It was a warm, summer
night, they’d just had a ball, and there was no need to drag in an inconsequential matter. Yet,
all she could hear were the echoes of past arguments, all she could see were the nights he spent
burning the midnight oil.

There was a reason Lysithea never worked on the more delicate aspects of diplomacy.

“Healthy? You want to talk to me about being healthy?” Turning in his arms, she reached up to
tug the ribbons holding his mask up, careful to avoid the pins keeping his hair together. This was a
serious discussion and she needed to see him properly.

As the mask fell in her hands, he stared at her blankly. His ears were pink from where her
hands brushed them. “Lysithea?” Lorenz asked, bemused.

That was much better. She could see his expressions more clearly now. Pulling out of his grasp,
she crossed her arms and frowned. “How long did you spend organizing this ball?”

Lorenz’s smile dropped a notch, his expression forlorn as he awkwardly dropped his hands.
“That…I spent as long as was needed.”

“And how many nights did you crawl into bed after midnight?” She scowled as he tried to
sidestep the issue. “That is not healthy.”

Lorenz’s brow knit as he finally started treating this seriously. “If that is the case, then I must
insist you do not spend your nights in the library. You will strain your eyes if you continue to read
by candlelight.”

“What?” Lysithea gaped, her jaw dropping. Perhaps it was a good thing that even the
staff were gone by now: she didn’t have to worry about lowering her voice. “You are the one
with a secret pair of spectacles.”

“That…” Lorenz flinched, his eyes wide with surprise. “Ignatz.”

“Doesn’t matter who told me.” She rested her hands on her hips. “You spend too much
time on your paperwork—don’t think I haven’t noticed the bags under your eyes. You don’t
even sleep some days!”

“When you were sick, you still insisted on reading over my policies.” he pointed out, his
normally placid voice rising to match hers. “Despite the doctor’s orders—”

Lorenz cut himself off, looking away. She cocked her head, not sure how to respond. “Lorenz?”

After a moment, he chuckled, brushing back a stray hair. His cheeks were a soft red as he
quietly admitted, “It’s amazing how much more I can love you, Lysithea.”

Immediately, she flushed, her mouth opening and closing like a goldfish’s. She would never
understand how he was able to say those things so easily, the words just rolling off his tongue like
a pleasantry. Pressing her cold hands against her cheek in a futile attempt to fight her blush, she
squeaked, “What does that have to do with anything?”

God, it was hard to sound dignified when her body refused to cooperate. Her skin burned as she
covered her mouth, humiliated.

“Everything.” His eyes crinkled as he laughed, gently prying her hand off her mouth. “Look at
us, arguing about each other’s safety, neither of us listening to our own advice.”

“That’s…” Lysithea stared at his fingers, unable to refute his point. They were both as stubborn
as it came, ignoring their own follies for the other’s. “Do as I say, not as I do? When you put it like
that…I guess it’s no wonder we keep having this same argument over and over.”

Lorenz nodded, his shoulders still shaking with amusement. “We are a pair of hypocrites.”

“I wouldn’t go that far…but, yes.” She sighed. They’d gone far off track from what she’d wanted
to say in the first place. Gently, she interlaced their fingers, ignoring his sharp intake of breath at
the action. A shudder ran up his arm and her eyes followed it up till she was looking at his bright
red face. “I wasn’t planning to argue tonight. Like I was saying before, thank you.”

Lorenz swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing as the blush spread down his neck. She was glad
he reacted as badly as she did to physical affection; unlike with his silver tongue, it felt like they
had even-footing here.

“Whatever the reason, I keep leaving you alone for these balls. As silly as they are, I don’t mind
them that much when you’re there,” Lysithea explained honestly, squeezing his hand. She kept her
eyes trained on his. “I know how useful these are politically…one day…I’ll help you with them.”

“Lysithea…” Lorenz’s smile was smaller now, but it felt more real too. “I…”

It was suddenly too much—his expression, her words, everything. God, had she really said all
that? Embarrassed, she let go and stepped back. “Well…” She cleared her throat. “We should pay
the musicians and let them go.”

As she turned around, Lorenz’s hand wrapped around her wrist, tugging her to a stop. Still too
mortified to look at him, she mumbled, “What?”

“There’s one last thing I need them to do before they leave,” Lorenz replied.

“One more?” Confused, she looked up at him. His mask was back on now—when had he taken that back?

“Yes.” He let go of her wrist. Bowing forward slightly, he held out a hand. “I did promise you
the last dance, remember?”

“But—everyone’s gone,” she replied incredulously.

“Then it’s a private dance.” He reached up, tenderly tugging one of her locks free, curling it
loosely around a finger. She breathed in sharply as he pulled it to his lips, pressing a kiss to her
white strands. Lorenz asked once more, “Shall we, my love?”

Heart in her throat, she shyly nodded. When he held up her mask, she turned around, closing
her eyes as he pressed the soft fabric to her face and gently tied it in place. Her skirt twirled as she
turned around and took his hand. “I’ll try not to step on your foot,” she mumbled as he directed
them back into the ballroom.

“I do not mind if you do,” he replied easily, signalling to the musicians to start playing a slow
waltz. His right hand slid around her waist, pressing her close as they swayed through the hall. “I
love how you dance. It’s charming.”

“It’s not,” she hotly retorted, resisting the urge to hide and bury her face in his chest. It was
only the two of them now, the floor cleared of everyone and everything else. Candles lit the hall,
bathing them in a warm gold as they stepped in and out of the candelabras’ and chandeliers’ glow.

In his arms, she felt oddly graceful as he guided her through the steps. The entire time, he kept
a confident grip on her hand, never letting it go for more than a second as she pivoted around him.
As they stepped in and out of shadows, spinning further and further away from the musicians, the
moon was their only witness. For once, there were no guests watching. For once, the staff wasn’t in
the room. It was just the two of them. She hadn’t felt this relaxed since their school days or when
he’d first courted her formally.

It was an excuse, but Lysithea had always needed pretext for embarrassing actions, no matter
how much she wanted them. Gathering her courage, she tightened her grip on his hand. Lorenz
glanced at her curiously but didn’t say anything. As they stepped into the shadows, she reached
up, hooking a delicate hand around his neck and pulling him down. He gasped, lips parting in
surprise, and she leaned forward, kissing him softly.

He tasted like sunlight, like an ever-present warmth. Reluctantly, she pulled away as they
automatically stepped into the light.

“Lysithea…” Flustered, Lorenz stepped on her toes.

Before he could apologize, Lysithea giggled. “You’re right, that is charming.”







Masked Feelings

Despite her most earnest efforts, Marianne can’t wrap her mind around the evening’s
festivities. It feels bizarre to think that her adoptive father has finally decided to step down from
his role as the head of house Edmund, but considering the years that he’s put into training her for
succession, she can’t say that her ascension is in any way a surprise.
What is a surprise, however, is how much the guests are interested in her. It makes sense, she
supposes, that they would want to get on her good side now that she’s in charge of the estate,
but considering the way that she’d never expected to make it this far in life in general, the whole
ordeal is more than a little overwhelming.

It doesn’t help that everyone—herself included—is wearing a mask. It had been a stipulation
for attendance, per the nature of a masquerade ball, but it carries the unfortunate side effect of her
guests blending together in an amalgam of color.

“Thank you for coming,” Marianne says as she greets each of her guests. Most of them are
younger nobles like herself, which makes sense when considering the recent rash of predecessors
either stepping down or being forcefully removed from their positions.

They have the Emperor to thank for that, Marianne supposes.

She moves on to the next guest, grasping their hands gently within her own as she greets them
in turn. “It means a great deal to me that you’ve come to celebrate with me.”

The noble in front of her smiles kindly. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Marianne smiles back as she tries to put a name to the face behind the gold-and-porcelain
mask. It’s a pretty face, gentle and soft with the kindness of recent years, though there’s a
tiredness darkening a pair of lilac-colored eyes that Marianne finds familiar.

Lilac-colored eyes that match those of the Emperor, actually. Marianne hesitates, though she
does her best to keep it from showing in her expression. Her guest certainly does look like the
Emperor, but for one critical feature.

Her hair is a light brown that, while indeed beautiful, is nothing like the famously pale hue of
her former class leader’s.

Marianne would know. She hadn’t had the strength and confidence to sit near the front
of the class when they were students together, but Edelgard had. She’d spent hours staring
at the pale, gentle waves of the Imperial Princess’ hair, wondering what it would be like to
comb her fingers through its lengths, to have her own hair brushed as lovingly as she could
only assume Edelgard brushed hers.

Edelgard had been leagues away from Marianne; that was a fact. She’d had a self-assurance
that drew Marianne to her, but despite the broad differences that separated them, Edelgard had
done so much for her. She’d welcomed her to the Black Eagles with open arms, given Marianne the
home that she’d so long believed she wasn’t deserving of.

So of course, Marianne had extended an invitation to her liege when preparations for the
celebration had begun. She had never received a response, though, so she had been operating
under the assumption that the Emperor was far too busy to attend such an unimportant gathering.

Marianne shakes her head lightly, the dangling pearls and baubles suspended in her hair jostling
gently as she urges her memories of the past to leave her be, and lifts her smile back to her guest.

“I’m sorry, but,” Marianne says, letting her guest’s hands go in favor of wringing her hands
together before the front paneling of her gown, “um, I thought I knew everyone on the guest list.
May I ask who you are?”

She can’t allow herself to appear incompetent, not when this entire celebration is centered
around her becoming head of the Edmund estate. She only hopes that her guest can empathize
with her, and doesn’t hold her inexperience against her.

But after a thoughtful click of her tongue, the lady cants her head, gives a smile of her own,
and relief washes over Marianne.

“You may call me… Ionia,” she says.

The name rings familiar in Marianne’s ears, like she’s heard it somewhere, but she can’t exactly
place it. Regardless, she takes the faint recognition to mean that Ionia must be involved with
minor nobility, or perhaps a business that she sponsors, so to avoid being even more impolite, she
curtseys slightly.

“Thank you for attending, Lady Ionia,” she says with a dip of her head. “Your support means
everything to me, and I hope that I can prove myself worthy of continuing our good relationship.”

“I have no doubt that you shall.” Ionia places one gloved hand over her heart and bows in
return. “Your role in the unification of Fódlan proved that you have a good head on your shoulders,
Marchioness Edmund, and if you continue along the same path, I’m certain that your future holds
nothing but success.”

Marianne feels her cheeks begin to heat up, and not for the first time, she’s grateful for having
commissioned a mask that reaches three quarters of the way down her face as opposed to the
traditional half. She feels protected, safe from having her emotions put on display for all of her
guests to see, and so she feels more at ease with having so many visitors at her home.

“I hope you enjoy your time at my estate,” she says, gesturing out towards where all of her
already-acknowledged guests are mingling. “Please let me know if there’s anything I can do to
make your time here more enjoyable.”

“Of course.”

Then, without warning of any sort, Ionia reaches out to take Marianne’s hands. She holds them
gently, preciously, like she’s holding a delicate flower, then lifts them up high enough that she
can brush her lips against Marianne’s knuckles. Marianne can’t stop herself from gasping at the
sudden display of—affection? Fealty?—and she withdraws her hands from Ionia’s.

“Ahem. Yes.” Feeling quite embarrassed, Marianne tangles her hands in the thickly
embroidered fabric of her dress. “Now, um, if you’ll excuse me—”

“You have other guests to greet, I’m sure.” Ionia looks past Marianne, towards the throng of
guests partaking in refreshments and enjoying the music. “Thank you for humoring me, Marchioness
Edmund. I hope we will have the opportunity to converse again before the night is through.”

With that, she sweeps away in a flurry of dark red and cream satin, and Marianne is left to
finish extending her greetings to her remaining guests. Yet all the while, she finds her gaze
wandering back towards Ionia, a question ever-present at the forefront of her thoughts..

The resemblance to her Emperor is a striking one, she can’t deny that. Her eyes, her voice, even
the color of her gown bring to mind Edelgard’s imposing figure. But why the color of her hair is
different, she has no idea—not when Edelgard had always carried such pride for her hair and cared
for it so. Is Ionia a sibling of the Emperor, perhaps? Had she been sent as part of the Emperor’s
delegation? But if that were the case, why wouldn’t she have announced as such during her
introduction?

Ionia was a mystery, and judging by the way she smiled every time she caught Marianne
looking her way, she delighted in just that.

When all is said and done, and no more guests clamor for her attention, Marianne lets herself
deflate. She knows from watching her adoptive father at his own events that not only are such
moments of respite few and far between, but that they rarely last for more than a few minutes
at a time. So to take advantage of her brief solitude, Marianne wraps her arms around herself
and hurries towards the refreshments table. As if prepared for this very moment of desperation
on Marianne’s part, the servant manning the beverages mixes up a nonalcoholic drink as she
approaches and holds it out to her.

Accepting the fluted glass easily, Marianne whispers her thanks, then turns around to face the
open courtyard where her guests mingle. From her position on an elevated veranda, she can see that
most of her guests seem to be enjoying themselves. Some inspect the statues dotted through the
estate, some walk through the gardens, but as she turns to the side, she sees that a decent number
are taking advantage of the easy music provided by the quartet performing near the fountain.

Most interesting, though, is that among the pastels and dark blues that most of her guests wear—
likely in homage to the Edmund colors—she keeps catching glimpses of the deep garnet and gold
that make up Ionia’s gown. With a sigh, Marianne watches Ionia dance across the cobblestone.

There’s a fluid grace to her motion as she sweeps across the ground, the hem of her dress
fluttering enchantingly as she spins and twirls without a care in the world. Flyaway strands
of brown hair which have fallen out of her once-elaborate styling breeze about her face, and
distantly, Marianne wonders what it might be like to be so close as to be able to stare deeply into
the lady’s eyes, tuck those stray hair behind her ears, then lean in and—

Oh, but she doesn’t even know Ionia, not really. There’s something painfully familiar about her,
yes, but no matter how hard she searches her mind, she can’t put her finger on Ionia’s identity.
Maybe if she could figure out where she knows Ionia from, she’d be able to work up the courage to
go over and say something else to the other woman.