A/N: Took long enough, but I've been basically like Chrom with this chapter, how appropriate. Anyway, hope it's worth the wait. Big props to all of your for your support and to The Erudite for his assistance.

Perfection

Chrom's mind dwelt on one word as he paced around the table. With every step, that one word echoed in his ear along with the thump of his heart. Perfect – he had to make tonight perfect. Nothing less would suffice. After all, Sumia deserved it. Grunting, he tugged at his collar, an iron band squeezing his neck, but he found little relief. The same bond tightened around his chest and every limb, pressing harder by the moment.

And Robin staring at him was of little help; the amused grin he wore, even less.

"Peace, Chrom; you don't have to pace around like you're waiting for your firstborn. I think I did just fine, planning out your little dinner party."

It was difficult to dispute that claim. Of all the feasts he had ever attended, Chrom could not recall an occasion when the great hall looked better. White linen, freshly laundered, dressed the single table, china of the finest quality sat at two places, soft candlelight flickered upon polished silver, bouquets of red, pink, and white provided splashes of color, and by some spell, the flames atop each candlestick burned cobalt and silver – the colors of his and Sumia's hair. His own imagination would have fallen woefully short next to what Robin had devised.

And still, he searched for the smallest of flaws, wishing for Frederick's eyes to spot what his own could not see.

"What if Sumia doesn't like it?" Chrom asked, never pausing. Beneath leather boots, that single thought splintered into two, into four, into eight and many more until he thought his head would burst. "What if she doesn't like the food? What if the musicians play the wrong music? What if-" his words went unfinished as he found himself almost nose-to-nose with his tactician, intent, curious eyes staring back at him. "What the hell are you looking at?"

"Well, I heard Tharja talking about hexes that cause people to change bodies. I just want to make sure you're still you. Maybe I should find Frederick and see how he's acting." Where once Chrom might have found humor in those words, now he only glared. The next thing he knew, Robin stood beside him, one arm wrapped around his shoulder. "Look, you're making too much of this. You've already done the hardest things. You proposed," he held up a finger, "you got married and you didn't send Sumia screaming from your room afterward."

"Robin," Chrom sputtered, pushing free of his arm.

"My point is you don't need to worry yourself sick. This isn't your wedding or your anniversary. Hell, I don't even remember you being this nervous at your own coronation. So, why make this dinner harder than it needs to be just because it has a little extra pageantry? Sumia is going to love this." Chrom only sighed. Naga herself could have said those words, and he still wouldn't find any reassurance in them.

"But what if she doesn't?"

"Chrom, she'd love you even if you served bread and water if she knows you're trying for her. You don't actually have to give her the world. She just has to know you would." Before the king could even ask or ponder the meaning of those words, the door opened and Lissa stuck her head in to announce his wife's coming.

"Just don't run off or say anything stupid," she warned before disappearing.

"Good luck," added Robin, giving his shoulder a quick pat before slipping out after the princess.

The night had proven a pleasing affair; Chrom could not question that. Peering across the table, he nodded to himself, glad to see the awestruck shine in Sumia's eyes had not faded. He leaned back in his chair with a grateful sigh. A rather cheeky grin tugged at his mouth when he thought of her entrance and how she'd managed to leave him well and truly stunned. At the first sight of the gown she wore, rippling layers of lilac falling to the floor, puffy straps sliding off creamy shoulders and a neckline cut just low enough to entice, Chrom stammered and sputtered what were intended as compliments. It had relieved him when Sumia only smiled and kissed his cheek.

To the music of the fiddle, flute, and tambourine, they had feasted on cool potato soup, warm crusty bread, seasoned cuts of boar, venison, and even a stuffed chicken. Chrom could still picture the white cheese oozing from the bird. Though he had little taste for royal fare, even Chrom admitted the food was wonderful to the point where he doubted he had the stomach for more. Sumia, however, took a few spoonfuls of the assorted berries slathered in thick sweetened cream and sipped her brandy. Though the notes had faded and the court musicians had taken their leave, the room still rang with their songs; some, Chrom guessed, famed romantic ballads. He would ask later.

Yes, the night was, without a doubt, greater than anything he'd expected. Still, it was not perfect, lacking only one thing.

"Sumia," he said, "tell me you love me."

From where she sat, she offered him a smile, one simple perfect smile, "I love you, Chrom."