AN: As always, for the people that follow this story on FFN, thanks for reading. This story is most up to date on ao3 ( /users/Raikishi/pseuds/Raikishi) along with other Claudeth/Dimleth fics. Thanks for reading and commenting 3

Warning for mature content in the first scene - skip to next page break if uncomfortable

"They loved you dearly," the Professor says, his voice a low tide, running over Dimitri's nerves.

Bylead pats Dimitri's hair, fingers combing through the strands over and over in a steady rhythm that makes Dimitri want to sink into the comfort.

The Professor is saying something else but Dimitri hears none of it, allowing himself to be lulled by the low rumble of words. Allowing them to drift over him in a cloud. He basks in the soft warmth of their embrace, the sensation like sunlight over his skin. The first thaw of winter. Spring creeping up around the corners.

Dimitri's hands tremble a little as they drift up Bylead's back, emboldened when Bylead shifts and sighs in contentment.

The Professor is deceptively lithe.

Dimitri marks the thought in his mind like a page in a book. His fingertips drift up and over the arch of the Professor's spine, over the soft hill of Bylead's shoulder blades. Marking out cords of muscle and finding hidden blades. Feels out the gentle curve of Bylead's waist, fitting his palms there as if for measurement.

A part of Dimitri thinks to pull away and loosen his grip. Thinks to be not just embarrassed but horrified, for so blatantly groping the Professor like some lecherous scoundrel. A pang of propriety stirring in his chest but it feels so far away. A distant, worthless thought made weaker as Bylead goes loose in Dimitri's arm. His head tipping against Dimitri's shoulder. Lashes fluttering against Dimitri's neck like a kiss as his breathing goes slow and deep.

The Professor is so soft, so compliant in his grip, Dimitri cannot find the desire to let go and greedily, as if he were a young prince once more with no thought for others, Dimitri holds tighter. Buries his face into Bylead's throat, breathing in through his mouth to hold the scent of something metallic and heated and male, until the need for air shook it loose again. His hands wander. Aching to feel something solid. Something alive.

Dimitri shudders at the draw of nails down his spine, a little mewl of a whimper escaping into the air, fluttering high and delicate. Feels and hears Bylead's responding growl. The noise ripping through Dimitri like a live current.

"Professor," Dimitri hears himself and some part of him thinks to be embarrassed at the fraught need in his tone.

"Yes?"

Bylead's lips draw over his throat. Followed closely by something warm and wet. Realization thuds heavy in Dimitri's chest as Bylead's tongue laves over his skin, raking up embers, drawing hot over a particularly sensitive spot behind Dimitri's ear that sparks into flames.

"Please," Dimitri groans.

He whines, drawing back to plead, the words caught in his throat when he sees Bylead smiling. It's just the barest lift of Bylead's lips but his eyes are so soft, so warm, holding nothing but gentle contentment and easy affection. It warms Dimitri to the very core, a heat spreading quickly outwards from his chest.

"How may I be of service, my prince?" Bylead rumbles and it draws a different heat.

Something thick and heady. Desire and want drawing over each other in frantic waves, throwing Dimitri unsteadily off course towards something vast and overwhelming. Desire so frantic, it can only be described as hunger. As if matching his thoughts, Bylead's eyes go darker, lashes casting a heavy shadow over them as he shifts in Dimitri's grip.

And then there are hands on Dimitri's belt. Lips against his cheek, marking a slow path over Dimitri's jawline. A calloused palm drifting along his hip. Fingers loosening his belt. Drawing his buttons apart.

Dimitri grabs for Bylead's hand, a gasp rattling his entire being as he pulls it up. He thinks to mind his strength, knowing the terror of his power but Bylead twists out of his grip with senseless ease.

"Oh, Dimitri," and it's said so softly, so full of wicked promise, a siren's song begging for his submission and Dimitri … Dimitri –

He bucks, a startled cry stuttering in his throat as Bylead's leg presses up between his.

"Won't you let me be good to you?" Bylead hums and Dimitri whimpers at the slow roll of Bylead's hips against his.

Ruts jerkily against Bylead's thigh, heat twisting in his belly at the feel.

"Let me –"

"Yes," Dimitri breathes, trembling apart as his hips jerk out of his own volition.

"Hm?" Bylead asks, surprise and amusement in his voice, his fingernails scratching another path down Dimitri's neck that makes him shudder.

"Yes," Dimitri moans, "Anything –"

"A dangerous promise," Bylead says, amusement rich in his voice.

A calloused palm caresses Dimitri's skin, the rough touch drawing fire like the strike of a match. Bylead's thumb curves Dimitri's hipbone, hand squeezing for a moment and –

What would it be like if that hand was holding him down to be taken?

And then blessed warmth curving over his –

Dimitri shoots up in bed, a cry barely stifled in his throat. He casts a frantic glance to the wall he shares with Sylvain, his entire body alight with humiliation as he slaps a hand over his mouth.

What would Sylvain have to say –

What would Fe–

He doesn't want to think about them now. A part of him still humming in the dream. He whines at the feel of his other hand on his cock. Gasping wetly over the flesh of his palm and biting down when he realizes he's hard. So much so it aches. Need rakes over his skin. Demanding. He twists his fist, holding the hand over his mouth tighter as sticky heat shudders through him.

Imagining … imagining –

"Shh, Dimitri," Bylead says, the sound like a purr.

His hand is over Dimitri's mouth as he bends him over the desk. Holding Dimitri silent. Holding back the frantic moans Bylead was drawing out with his other hand.

And he was smiling again, so delighted, so pleased. Someone leaning over a favorite, "Hush. Yes, just like that. What a good student you are –"

Lust crests over him like a hood. His hand working frantically over his cock as he curls to the side of his bed, hair sticking to his forehead as he presses against his pillows. Faster and faster thinking about –

"How may I be of service, my prince?"

He was a boar.

An utter beast. Shaped by depravity.

To so desperately crave affection when he was so undeserving. To draw carnal pleasure not only from someone he knew but from his Professor.

Felix was right about him. Always so capable of seeing right through him, straight to the jagged mess of his flaws and failings.

Dimitri bites his lip as he watches Bylead across the dining hall. The Professor was sharing tea with a small smattering of the Black Eagles alongside Annette and Mercedes.

"This is new," Ferdinand was saying, his voice rising above all others, ringing with pomposity as he presents Bylead with a small earthen teapot.

It was unpainted and unremarkable but Bylead touches the thing with the delicacy one would approach a long lost artifact. The look on his face is something Dimitri had not seen before. An intense concentration marked by interest, like a cat with a new toy. He says something Dimitri does not hear and it brings a smile to Ferdinand's face as if Bylead had paid him the highest compliment.

"What a good student," Bylead whispers in his ear, the feel of his lips so soft against Dimitri's earlobe.

Dimitri lets go of his teacup before he can break it.

"Remarkable taste, Professor! I never would have expected with your mercenary –"

Dorothea snipes something, her expression pointed and stiff. She leans against Bylead's arm, almost protectively as she says something sharp enough to make Ferdinand deflate.

Perhaps Dimitri should go over now. He should step in as house leader, should soothe –

Mercedes raises her hands, interjecting herself easily. A sweet laugh and a few more words and Dorothea's hackles lower a little. She rolls her eyes, tightening her grip on Bylead's arms, her head resting on his shoulders as Ferdinand returns to his new teapot.

He casts uncertain glances at Dorothea who takes in the slow tea ceremony with an air of boredom she does not bother to hide. The look bends Ferdinand's shoulders a little until Bylead tugs his sleeves, leaning forward with an enthusiasm Dimitri had never seen before.

Dimitri prickles as Bylead leans close enough to Ferdinand to whisper, something animated and lively in Bylead's face as he gestures to the leaves.

"You want to find a tea for yourself?" Ferdinand shakes himself, brightening considerably, "You only need to ask, Professor. I will, of course, endeavor to do my best. Shall I make you a cup of the oolong? Something more bitter like the Saint's tea?"

Bylead shakes his head at all of those, tapping a finger against a preserved discus of tea leaves.

"Start with your favorite," his voice rings louder than Dimitri had expected and briefly Dimitri wonders what it would be like if he were the one sharing a pot of chamomile with the Professor.

"Oh," and Ferdinand puffs out his chest, "Of course. Here, Professor, smell this for yourself. I believe it all begins with the aroma –"

Ferdinand's voice drops a little as he goes into further detail, his attention solely on Bylead now.

The two of them bend over the selection of teas, Ferdinand breaking a few leaves from a dried discus set to lift the tea for Bylead to smell.

Dimitri stares as Bylead tucks a strand of hair behind his ear, eying the curl of Bylead's hair against his jaw, at the way Bylead's fingers linger absently against his cheek, at the way Bylead's lashes flutter closed as he breathes. As serious as if he were selecting weapons for them during their sparring lessons. Bylead curls a hand over Ferdinand's to draw the leaves closer to his face and Dimitri feels a tension run over him, something charged and unusual.

Recognizing the emotion as jealousy. An old emotion shaking loose from the tangled mess of grief that was his every day, wandering towards his heart. The feel no less potent than the day Felix had announced the start of his sword training with Glenn, marking him the first of their friend group to accomplish such an achievement.

A wry smile twists Dimitri's mouth.

He'd thought himself incapable of such worthless thoughts but beast that he was, it was hardly surprising for him to welcome base emotions with open arms.

The old memory no longer stirred any intense envy from him. Looking back, he can see for himself the foolishness of it. And to feel it now, aimed so keenly at someone for sharing time with the Professor …

Childish, he chides himself, The Professor –

Is smiling at Ferdinand. It's the barest twist of his lips. Smaller than the one Dimitri had seen aimed towards Byleth mere days ago but it's a smile nonetheless. Aimed at Ferdinand for a simple lesson on tea, of all things. The expression is startling enough Ferdinand cuts himself off mid-sentence.

Astonishment drives Ferdinand's eyebrows into his hairline as Dorothea touches a hand to her mouth. A beat of silence then the two of them saying something, speaking over each other. Their words urgent. Delighted. It draws Annette's and Mercede's attention and Annette gasps, overly dramatic, leaning forward and nearly toppling the stand of sweets. Dorothea touches a finger to the edge of Bylead's lip and then follows up with a palm over his cheeks. As if she can hold the smile in her palms. Assuming a familiarity she surely should not.

And Dimitri –

Does nothing.

He very carefully loosens his grip from his pen and looks down at his breakfast and papers.

"Oh, come now, Professor!" Annette cries, "Do that again, please?"

"Oh, why ever would you hide such a lovely smile?" Dorothea huffs.

"Was it the tea? Did you like this one? I can brew another - I had thought the leaves were a little bland. The next batch –"

"Hush, Ferdie – now then, Professor …"

Dimitri refuses to look up, his attention razor-sharp on his homework. Hanneman and Bylead had cobbled together a different lesson plan this week. Less focus on Hanneman's typical seminars and more focus on individual attributes. They'd assigned each of the students different duties and assignments, targeting weak areas or specific interests. Had turned Dimitri's attention towards riding for that week and he stares at the words for defensive formations against cavalry units until they start to blur, reading the same line over and over, refusing to acknowledge the conversation across the dining hall.

"I must admit, it has been a long time since I've ridden. My father … he used to take me out on his horse," Dimitri notes as he looks over his lesson plan.

"Ah, my father did the same," Bylead says and then spreads his arms, "If you ever need a practice partner…"

He'd obviously meant to indicate himself as a practice partner and not at all offering another hug.

Obviously.

And Dimitri had not stepped forward in anticipation. Not at all.

But that meant the Professor would be able to help with this particularly difficult problem.

Yes, certainly, that was what Professors did after all. Dimitri shuts his book, grimacing a little at the way it slams closed, having misjudged his strength yet again. He grabs for the loose sheets, feeling a needle prick pang of guilt for crumbling them as he makes his way over.

He has enough wherewithal to keep his steps measured as he walks over to their table. Capable enough to draw a smile for everyone at the table. Controlled enough he does not allow his gaze to linger on the Professor –

"Oh, all it takes to shape deserters is some tea and a sweet smile, I see," Edelgard says, stopping at the table just as Dimitri does.

Her expression is neutral as if she would truly make her housemates stand trial for sharing a meal with a Professor from a different house. Hubert's little leer of amusement only lends to the discomfort that falls over the group.

"Edelgard…" Dimitri begins, thinking to intervene.

She interrupts him with a snort, something low and surprisingly inelegant as she bows her head to the Professor, "It was only a jest. I'd thought to apologize for my house for any perceived impudence."

Her gaze is more than a little critical as it shifts over to Ferdinand who bristles and puffs out his chest as if he means to offer a duel here and now.

"They can be a little … impetuous. That's the polite way of putting it," Hubert says, a little wicked smile aimed at Ferdinand, drawing more of his ire. He turns his smile onto Bylead who only blinks, "Feel no hesitation about denying their many demands. Treat them as if they were squalling babes begging for milk when they've already been fed…"

"Hubert …" Edelgard sighs and then turns to Bylead again, offering a little apologetic smile, "What I mean to say … I'm aware Linhardt has intruded upon the Professor's good will far more than he should. She's tolerated his presence in her classrooms but I hope it's not out of misplaced obligation for the nobility."

"Byleth doesn't do anything she doesn't want to," Bylead says and the tone with which he says it lends the impression that he would relish seeing people attempt to sway his sister.

"And besides, Edie, we're just having tea," Dorothea pouts, tugging at Edelgard's sleeve until she sits, "Come come, sit down. You look like you could use a cup."

"Don't forget the sweets," Mercedes says, pressing a plate into Edelgard's hands suddenly and firmly enough she takes it and then is left staring down at it incredulously.

"I –"

"You too, Dimitri," Annette says, tugging at his arm.

"Come on, Hubie - don't want to be left out."

"I do not care to be a part of this. I have more important matters demanding my time."

"You can consider this making up for their … impetuousness," Bylead offers and there's not quite a smile on his face but something subtly amused.

"Oh, so close," Annette huffs. Her fingers hover near Bylead's face as if she intends to pinch his cheeks and lift his lips upwards. She blushes, folding her hands behind her as if she'd suddenly remembered herself.

"Lady Edelgard is far too busy for something like this."

"Come now, Edelgard, surely you have some time to spare," Dimitri says. He picks up a pot Ferdinand had just finished brewing and pours her a cup, a little part of him hoping he'd remembered her favorite tea correctly, "You can consider this building interhouse relations. Isn't that the purpose of our time here?"

"Hmph, you should not be borrowing words from Claude. Here I thought I'd, at last, be free of him while he's away," but there is no heat in her voice, the same way she'd sounded lecturing him on dancing, stern but without malice. Dimitri cannot help smiling as she takes the cup, treasuring the soft look of surprise on her face as she peers at it, "Bergamot. Thank you."

How long had it been since they'd last shared a meal together?

He wonders if she remembered that disastrous first time he'd tried to brew bergamot for her. Edelgard blinks at him, withdrawing a little as she looks away. Ah, perhaps his smile had not been passable.

"Ferdinand said this tea's for worries," Bylead says, craning his head up to peek at her cup.

"Professor, I said it was to allay stress affecting sleep – now this one…"

"Oh, don't be so fussy Ferdie. Isn't it all the same?"

"It most certainly is not!"

"Tch, what remarkable free time you have to indulge in such dalliances."

"Knowledge on tea is the very mark of nobility. Why –"

"Ferdie, Hubie - your fighting's going to sour the sweets."

"Oh, yeah! Edel – er, your Majest – no, your Highness, u-um –"

"Edelgard."

"Or Edie."

"No, please. Just Edelgard."

"Well, don't forget the sweets. This one's a mandarin tart. This one's a honey bun. Mercie, what was that other one you said would go nicely with bergamot?"

"Right here, Annie."

Dimitri smiles at their antics, toying with a cup he'd poured for himself, watching Edelgard blink at the press of plates in her direction. If he'd recall correctly, she had a particular fondness for sweets. More specifically for peach desserts. He could recall times she'd bet her dinnertime saghert and cream if she could best him in a race. He'd lost many desserts to her during her short stay.

Warmed with the memory, he glances around the table, looking for something to push towards her growing pile.

"Dimitri, here," Bylead hands him a little plate with sweet buns, tugging him into the empty seat beside Bylead.

Pulls Dimitri close enough Dimitri can smell the last dessert Bylead'd had on his breath.

Absently, Dimitri thinks he'd like to taste the sweetness from Bylead's mouth and then has to duck his head, unable to meet his Professor's eyes.

"You said you liked this last time we ate," Bylead says.

A little flutter of warmth pulses in Dimitri's chest, something feather-light and remarkably enticing. Drawing him in. His fingers graze Bylead's under the plate, a touch here and gone in the span of seconds, leaving him wanting more. He utters a quiet thank you, not daring to lift his head until he feels Bylead's gaze lift away, staring at the sharp profile of Bylead's face as his Professor turns his attention back to Ferdinand.

And then regrets it immediately when he accidentally catches Edelgard's stare. Astonishment. Then understanding.

He'd not seen that look of low amusement in Edelgard's eyes since they'd had their last dance lesson. Her look right before she sniped a barbed tease at him was much the same, the corner of her lip drawing up like a predator ready to pounce. She folds her hands under her chin still as she leans in, ready to draw blood.

"El…" Dimitri mumbles, the sound too low for her to hear, a little whisper of a plead as he rips into the sweet bun.

"Professor," Felix's voice breaks over the group of them like a bottle over a tavern table.

He doesn't falter as he takes in the group, only the faintest trace of surprise on his face when he sees Edelgard at their table. His expression does not openly curdle, as it usually does, at the sight of Dimitri, the anger carefully regulated to only his eyes.

"Prince," Felix says but the tone with which he speaks the word, Dimitri knows he means, 'Boar.'

Only carefully withheld in light of Edelgard's presence.

"You're looking a little too free," Felix says, aiming the words at Bylead, "I have a favor to ask. Come with me. You too."

He nods at Dimitri.

"Aw, Felix, can't this wait?" Annette huffs, "Surely, it can't be so world ending."

"Now."

And he is already walking away. Strides long, without any hesitation, as if he does not care if they choose to obey or not.

"My apologies," Dimitri snaps on the offer out, rising quickly as he excuses himself, carefully not looking at Edelgard in case she chooses to tug at the thread she'd picked up on earlier.

He hears Bylead do the same.

"Professor, next time I shall find a tea suitable for your tastes," Ferdinand calls after them with as much seriousness as if he had made a knight's oath.

"I look forward to it," Bylead replies and Dimitri hears his pace pick up, startling a little as Bylead draws up next to him.

The Professor holds out a sweet bun.

"Here," Bylead says. Not smiling but his eyes are warm, full of care, "You didn't get a chance to enjoy."

The flutter comes back. A hopeless less rise and drop, wreathed in warm emotion. Dimitri clings to it, the gentle warmth a reprieve from the dark, holding it carefully within himself, nearly trembling with the effort not to shatter it.

"Thank you."

But as with everything good in Dimitri's life, the feeling does not last. The stickyness of the bun lingers still on Dimitri's tongue as they arrive on the second floor of the dormitories. Felix practically kicks open Sylvain's door.

The sight that greets Dimitri chills the warmth, the first creep of winter back over him.

There are papers and maps all over the floors, looking like a war room instead of a dormitory. Dimitri recognizes some of the papers as the last year's reports from the Knights of Faerghus, papers Rufus had scoffed over and disregarded, pushing the responsibility over to whoever would stand to pick them up. A little prick of dread digs between Dimitri's ribs as he enters the room.

"Your Highness. Professor," Ingrid displaces all the books in her lap just to stand up and bow, frowning in disapproval when Sylvain only lifts a hand in greeting.

"This favor… it doesn't have to do with the way you were following me around last week?" Bylead asks Felix.

"Guess you should learn subtlety," Sylvain laughs as Felix snaps a glower on Bylead, something like embarrassment flashing over Felix's face before it's hastily covered by annoyance.

"It was. But you were preoccupied with Gaspard. Just as well. Sylvain noticed something," Felix says stiffly, gesturing to the map in front of Sylvain and Ingrid.

"Ever since Duscar, there has been a rise in bandit activity throughout the Kingdom," Ingrid explains to Bylead, pointing to a map with many colored flags, "They've been raiding villages all throughout the Kingdom. Fraldarius territory was not spared. A letter came from Lord Rodrigue before the Knights of Seiros left for Gaspard."

"My father," Felix says in response to Bylead's questioning look, "He's requested my assistance routing bandits in his territory. What a pathetic old man he's become."

"Felix … that's hardly fair, Lord Rodrigue –"

"If I wanted your opinion, I would have asked for it," Felix snarls, "Cease your grunting boar. We have more important things to discuss."

"Felix!"

Dimitri bites his lip as he turns to the map, saying nothing. He'd lost the right to speak against Felix long ago. With a heavy heart, he sits down in front of Ingrid and Sylvain, pulling a stack of papers for himself. Glenn rising yet again beside him, peering down at the numbers in despair.

"I die so you may live," Glenn tells him and it's a sweet promise from a knight's tale. A line from Dimitri's favorite book. Something he'd cheered over.

Blood smears over Dimitri's cheek. The feel sticky and disgusting. Bearing a heat that did not translate to the hand growing colder against Dimitri's face. And then, because he had asked for warmth, fire erupts over Glenn's head. The smell like swine, a roasted pi –

"I would say I'm sorry for dragging you into my family's affair," Felix says. He gives Dimitri a look of disgust, ignoring Ingrid's furious glare, before turning to speak only to Bylead, "But you seem quite free. Especially now that your sister and father have gone to Gaspard. What was it you were entertaining yourself with? Tea time?"

"Yes," Bylead says, either deaf to the pointed barb in Felix's tone or uncaring. His fingers twitch as he leans over the maps, moving as if he were toying with an imaginary dagger as his other hand marks out the many blue pins in Gautier lands, jumping over to the yellow ones in Fraldarius, and then the white in Galatea.

"The colors. They're attack patterns?"

"As expected of the Professor," Sylvain says, smiling. Curiously, it doesn't reach his eyes.

"Sylvain noticed the pattern first," Ingrid says, "He happened to be looking at the Gautier reports."

"Aw, that's giving me a little too much credit, Ingrid. They just happened to fall on my head when I was otherwise engaged," he wiggles his brows at them all, "I'm just lucky it missed such a lovely lady. It would have certainly killed the mood."

"Enough," Ingrid snaps. To Bylead, "The colors are bandit attacks over the years. Each color is a different year. Seems they're jumping from territory to territory. White is three years ago. Yellow is two. Blue is this year."

"Unusually organized for mere bandits," Dimitri says, the dread in his heart twisting a little tighter, "I should speak of this to Rufus."

"Tch. If we wanted to scream to the wind, we could do it ourselves."

"I'm afraid that's not all, your Highness," Ingrid says, as she smoothes out one of the reports from Galatea territory, "The numbers also don't match up. There were arrests and executions when the attacks happened. Galatea territory is poor and the noble blood thin, but we are not the sort to turn away from our duty. We took leaders where we could and lent aid whenever requested. Yet the bandit numbers each year remain the same."

"Gautier, too. And don't let Margrave Gautier hear you whispering about incompetence. I know personally, that the bandits were dealt with. But they're still springing up undeterred. All over the territory like rats in a feedbag. You snap up one and five more take its place. The attacks were wearing our knights thin. There's an odd coordination to them. Creeping up to strike wherever we have the least men."

"Do you think Margrave Gautier has realized this pattern exists across the Kingdom?" Dimitri asks, his hands clenching in his lap.

"Ha! He hasn't spoken to anyone else in the Kingdom since my worthless excuse of a brother was cast out. Father might not show it but it seems his pride took quite a hit that day," Sylvain grins at Bylead, a little smirk sharp as a knife. It's a look he wears around his many mistresses and those he does not care for. A hidden blade waiting to be used, "Y'see, the noble families can be a little … cold towards their kin. Especially when they dared to be born without a Crest."

"It can't be helped," Ingrid sighs, "Gautier holds our main line against Sreng to the north. To be born without a Crest is to be borne weak. Oh – not that you are incapable, Professor! I was only explaining customs in the Kingdom."

"Thanks," Bylead tilts his head at them, his expression smooth as water. He doesn't seem particularly insulted. As if he knew, personally, what he was capable of and no one else's words mattered. Bylead glances to the side once, over Sylvain's head, as if he'd heard someone else speaking, and then down to the papers again, "But you were saying none of the nobles in the Kingdom have realized this pattern?"

"Ever since Duscar there's been little reason to unite the noble families at court. Rufus is more interested in chasing his own pleasures. Too enthralled by a pretty face. Insatiable. Just like this good for nothing here."

"Felix! No need to point a blade at me too!"

"Felix, that's your king …" Ingrid says but she makes no other attempt to defend the Grand Duke.

Rage bubbles in Dimitri's chest. An old memory of his father sitting at his desk surfacing. Lambert's face cast in shadows - blurring in Dimitri's memories - as he lent over the budget for that week, mumbling something under his breath as he worked. Marking out documents and examining books with care. The candlelight beside him growing steadily dimmer, at odds with the strength and conviction to continue within Lambert.

"A king is nothing without his people," Lambert says, patting Dimitri's head, "My apologies, my little lion cub, while I would cherish spending more time with you, this country needs me."

"He will be made to listen," Dimitri says hotly, fists clenching as his temper starts to rise.

Felix eyes him, full of judgment, "Calm yourself boar. What would you do, grab his head and beat it to stone until he listened? You just want an excuse for your violence."

Rage, black and bitter, spills over Dimitri's entire body as if someone had spilled an inkpot. The emotion rattling through him as the ghosts do. His father whispering in his ear, begging him to do the right thing. To wipe the stain on Lambert's people and land. Demanding Dimitri stop wasting his time with worthless –

"Do not speak to me like that," Dimitri snarls, barely noticing the way Ingrid and Sylvain flinch at his tone, his eyes only on the darkly damning glower Felix was giving him. Focused on the way Felix's hand drops to his sword, stance shifting, "Duke Rufus will be made to listen. He cannot continue to turn a blind eye to the people –"

A clap breaks the air. The sound right in Dimitri's ear. Startling enough, it yanks Dimitri's attention back.

"We're going to Fraldarius territory," Bylead says and there's a dagger in his hand, weaving through his fingers as if it were dancing. He eyes them all sharply as if he were ready to loosen the dagger if the need arose. The threat of a trained mercenary hanging in the air between them.

He aims a pointed stare at Dimitri's hands, holding until Dimitri unclenches them, and then over to Felix.

"That was your favor, no?"

Felix scoffs but nods.

"We'll leave after I speak to Professor Hanneman. And Rhea," Bylead says, "As for what happens afterward… well, you can discuss with Lord Rodrigue once we're there. Sound like a plan?"

He looks at Felix and then Dimitri, gaze cold as it had been that night in Remire, demanding an agreement from them both.

"Fine."

"Yes, Professor."

Dimitri barely manages not to flinch as Bylead shoves a stack of papers at him, a hand finding his beneath the stack, squeezing hard. A gesture hidden beneath the scrolls. Conveying something Dimitri struggles to cling to, the warmth of Bylead's touch easing the darkness a little.

"But I suppose if it makes you feel better…if you do it again, I'll just stop you again," Bylead says, his grip on Dimitri's arm like a vice. Holding him still while simultaneously holding him up.