Before I get into this chapter, I wanted to offer a fair warning that this is where I'll be starting to throw in more mature "romantic" themes. This isn't an inherently smutty story so I won't be leaning into it often, but I figure I should indicate the demarcation.
For anyone who does prefer that heavier content, this chapter takes inspiration from the story "Let Me Steal This Moment From You Now" by seasaltmemories [ID: 6074947]. That piece is much more NSFW comparatively, and I'm remixing some of its ideas.
So without further adieu, something a little different:
Part 2 — Guardian Moon
To the south of Fódlan, even the dead of winter had not put the great city of Enbarr into hibernation. Since Edelgard took the throne five years prior, those who called the capital their home found life sweeter than ever. The arts flourished under the Flame Emperor's rule, and they were more accessible to all. In fact, the haves and have-nots were beginning to seem one and the same as the young Empress was determined to make Enbarr a shining example of the egalitarian values she aimed to spread.
It made no difference how many Adrestian soldiers needed to throw their lives away in the name of peace; or how many detractors — noble and common alike — disappeared without a trace. Enbarr was still revered for its historic splendor, its impregnable rule in the face of adversity, and its majestic Mittelfronk Opera Company. Edelgard intended to keep it this way.
Dorothea violently claws her left hand into the protruding desk of the wall vanity behind her as she leans the exposed small of her back into it, deepening the red crease on her pale skin. The songstress struggles to catch her breath between shuddering gasps. Her eyes are screwed shut as her head rocks back and forth along her neckline with each unsteady gyration of her hips.
She picks her black boots off the ground and rests them on the back of the figure who had their head and hands under the waves of maroon fabric making up her floor-length evening gown. This other woman's coos mix with Dorothea's groans in the otherwise empty, opulent dressing room.
"Edie…" Dorothea whimpers through clenched teeth as her free hand finds the top of her lover's head from atop her frilly outfit.
The girl's sprawling brunette hair starts sweeping across the top of the vanity like a paintbrush, her movements growing more erratic. Her breath hitches with each jolt of pleasure that runs up her spine whenever Edelgard's tongue prods just the right spot, and the dance of sensations tingling her skin like lightning was dictated by each careless swipe of that calloused thumb across her most sensitive bit.
Just as Dorothea's feet had situated themselves, her legs slide down Edelgard's back with an intense shudder. She hooks them around the other girl's head and squeezes, trying to keep herself grounded by straining her muscles.
"Edelgard," she manages again, weakly through her trembling lips. That name passes her tongue over and over again, but hardly ever become audible through her increasingly loud whimpers.
Dorothea pulls her left hand off the vanity before finding out whether the wood or her fingers would snap first, and throws her upper body forward so she could curl into herself. Both hands now gripped the bulge of fabric that was Edelgard's head between her legs, and her hair flops messily in her face to partially obscure her ecstasy.
Edelgard could feel everything tighten around her, and Dorothea squeals loud enough that the mirror nearly shatters behind her. It takes a moment for the songstress' body to ease its uncontrollable tremors, but as soon as she was free from the vice grip she slips out from under Dorothea's cavernous dress.
She smiles at her handiwork.
Rather than the bulky scarlet garb she wore on the throne and the battlefield, Edelgard was in a pleated black midi dress that sparkled with golden accents toward the bottom, each of which flared upward like ruffled feathers. She brushes her free, long ivory hair back behind her ears as she rises back up onto her six-inch heels.
"Just look at this mess you've made, Dorothea." The Empress teases as she walks around the bench where her lover sprawled out limp, back against the vanity. She gets a hand towel off the desk and wipes running makeup off her cheeks. As she does, Dorothea rolls her emerald eyes toward the other woman.
"What can I say?" She offers in a quiet, breathy tone before clearing her throat so she can project more. "I've always had a flair for the dramatic."
Edelgard looks over to find Dorothea with a goofy little smile as she puffs up the hair around her rightmost teardrop earring. The two girls laugh together, and then Dorothea slides over to give Edelgard room to sit.
Once she takes the offer, Dorothea whirls around so the two are both facing the mirror. She gingerly wraps her arms around the other girl's waist and leans her cheek on the fine, black fabric over her shoulder.
Dorothea's breath was still labored. She took four-second breaths in and two-second breaths out, over and over. Edelgard counted each second. Each heartbeat.
"I don't think I'll ever get used to the idea of the Adrestian Empress getting on her knees for a lowly opera singer," Dorothea remarks with a giggle.
As Edelgard sets her black-and-red stained towel aside, she looks less amused.
"Come now Dorothea, we've talked about this." Her tone was soft, but authoritative. "When it's just us, none of that matters. I'm yours, and you are mine."
"Mmm." The songstress closes her eyes with a smile, letting the thought wash over her. She frees Edelgard enough to entrap the girl in a cute, chaste kiss.
"Still," she mumbles against her lips before shifting back again so the white-haired girl can re-apply her eyeliner and rouge. The Mittelfronk staff now stocked Dorothea's dressing room with the Empress' preferred cosmetics, and had learned not to ask questions. "There must be something I can do to return the favor now!"
"We wouldn't want to hold up the second act, people would get suspicious." Edelgard smirks, but keeps her lavender eyes locked on the mirror. "Besides, I think you've done enough damage as is, regardless of how I feel about this dress."
Dorothea combs her hair back, and starts to touch up her own make-up. "I think it looks great on you, Edie."
"Really?" Edelgard shrugs. "I suppose I won't have to behead the advisor who said I should 'dress up' for the occasion, then."
"Edie!" Dorothea scoffs and playfully bumps into the other girl's shoulder.
"I'm just saying!" Edelgard pushes back, her speech half-encumbered by a laugh. "Seems it would be a fine endorsement for the Empress to arrive regardless."
Dorothea pulls her hair back a few more times before setting the brush down.
"Why did you decide to come out tonight, anyway? You've seen me practice a dozen times over, and as much as I appreciate the support I imagine there are much more important things you could be doing."
After a long moment with no answer, Dorothea finds Edelgard staring wistfully into the mirror as she pickers her lips to spread a coat of coral lipstick.
"Hey…" She reaches out; resting her hand on the back of Edelgard's to keep it pinned to the vanity. "What's wrong?"
"I was hoping not to bother you with this," Edelgard pushes both hands into the desk so she can stand up. "But you have a very important benefactor tonight."
Dorothea stares up at the ivory-haired woman and takes in every inch of her face under the glaring lights that reflected off the marble pillars around the room. As strong and imposing as Edelgard was leading councils or battalions, she had never quite grown out of being sickly. She had a fit figure underneath the bulky armor she often adorned, but one that bordered on being emaciated. Dorothea was typically one of the few who ever saw her with her hair down — literally and figuratively — so it was telling how much more exhausted she looked in this theatre attire.
"I see," Dorothea mumbles.
"Some of our former classmates slipped out of Enbarr, and our intelligence points to them seeking that traitorous Church faction." Edelgard walks away from the mirror and picks up a pair of black gloves strewn across a nearby drawer. "We believe this person may have helped them go undetected. The Count of Bergliez would prefer to not go to war with his own son, if we can avoid it."
"Caspar?" Dorothea bites her lip as she turns back toward the mirror. In it, she watches Edelgard re-cover her hands. "That would be tragic."
The songstress takes a few deep breaths as she catches her own emerald eyes. She presses a hand to her right cheek and easily pushes into the flesh. Many had praised her graceful blossoming into maturity over the years, but whenever the subject of war arose all she could see was how lazy and complacent she had gotten since the Academy.
"Is there… Anything I can do to help?" She asks, begrudgingly.
Edelgard approaches and rests a hand gently on Dorothea's exposed shoulder.
"I suppose." She offers a warm smile to the mirror. "If he were to receive an invitation to meet a star performer after the show, it would be easier to corner him."
Dorothea swallows hard; Edelgard continues. "Only if you would be willing."
"I think I've done worse." The brunette turns around to face her lover. "I would be happy to help where I can. Especially if it takes some of the pressure off you."
Edelgard's smile grows, and Dorothea forces one to her lips.
"It would be demonstrably helpful." She gives Dorothea a kiss on the cheek.
When Edelgard makes her way back to the middle of the wood-paneled dressing room to pick up a haphazardly discarded off-the-shoulder coat, the one touch of scarlet on her black ensemble, Dorothea tries to finish her make-up with an unsteady hand.
"Don't worry, I'll set everything up. All you have to do is sit back and be perfect, as always." The Empress chuckles as her heels clomp with every step until she reaches the door. She looks back. "I really appreciate it."
Dorothea waves off the comment. "Like I said, I'm happy to help."
Edelgard nods. "I'll see you after the second half then. Break a leg, love."
She blows her one last kiss before opening the door, letting in the distant hum of a chattering crowd and warming violins.
Then Dorothea is secluded in silence. She offers a bone-weary sigh to the mirror. After that, she pats her left, and then her right cheek a few times to work herself up to the idea. The poor commoner had been willing to do a lot to stay alive when she was younger, but now that she was more settled into a comfortable life it became harder to work up that confidence.
But she dearly loved Edelgard. It seemed this was just the life of a confidante.
"Back into espionage, hm?"
Dorothea screams at the haughty voice suddenly breaking into her personal space. She grabs a brush off the vanity and turns prepared to bean the intruder with it. However, she freezes when she sees Hubert standing just on the edge of a shadow cast upon the light-leeching wood from one of the far wall's marble pillars. He was completely unfazed, staring emotionless with just one eye not covered by oily slicks of dark hair.
"Hubie." Breathing heavily, Dorothea turns around again to set her brush down. "You scared me half to death. Now I'll never get my heart rate down before the show."
The man slowly steps out from his shroud of darkness. Between the almost completely black imperial uniform he wore and his floor-length cape with a popped collar, it was easy to see how he had hidden away for so long in spite of his sharp, boney face, nearly as pale as his white gloves.
It takes a moment for things to dawn on Dorothea, at which point she turns back toward him and stands.
"Just how long have you been there exactly?!"
His lips curl into a sinister little smile. "Long enough."
However, he just as soon lets a dour air take over his face again as he sweeps across the room to meet her.
"I must say, I agree with your assessment of this whole… Arrangement." He folds his arms behind his back, and stops only when they are face to face. "It's disgusting to see Her Majesty stoop so low as to be with one of such common descent."
Dorothea sneers at him, and then turns to look at herself in the mirror. This was still no escape; he towered over her in the reflection.
"You haven't changed one bit since we were kids, Hubie."
"Not at all?" He asks with a pointed tone while leaning in to try and draw her ire. It worked.
"I guess that's not true. You're a hell of a lot more willing to be a prick out loud than you used to be."
He shrugs and walks out of Dorothea's frame in the mirror, but keeps his glaring eye on her through the reflection.
"I'm quite alright with that," he says arrogantly. "At least it takes more than a quick screw to have me be an excellent spy for the Black Eagles Strike Force."
Dorothea snarls and picks up the brush again, this time actually chucking it at him. He easily dodges, letting it dent the wall.
"I'm not sure what to yell about first, you insulting my worth or turning a war with our friends into some idiotic game with codenames."
"Your friends." He brings up his right hand, faux checking his fingernails through his glove. "I never particularly liked any of them, and Lady Edelgard was not much more attached from what I understand."
"Why do you insist on lying to yourself, Hubie?" Dorothea crosses her arms and plops back down onto the vanity's bench. "Is it truly easier to say you do everything in Edie's best interest than it is to just admit you hate how she likes others more than you?"
"And you say I haven't grown up," he mutters with a nasally scoff.
As Hubert turns to make his way toward the door, he flairs out his cape.
"It means nothing how Lady Edelgard feels about me, so long as her will is spread across Fódlan as she desires." He pauses with his hand on the knob. "If you still wish to squabble over pitiful emotions, perhaps you aren't as deserving to be a part of that vision as she believes."
He opens the door and walks out, calling back over his shoulder. "You won't have to watch the scoundrel for long, I know how weak a constitution you have for blood."
Dorothea growls and picks a small bottle of perfume off the desk, tossing it at him. The door was closed by the time it got there, so the bottle explodes into a sparkling cloud of glass and pungent liquid.
"Nasty cuckold!" She screams before settling back, panting hard.
She hides her face in her hands as anger sinks into a pit of anguish deep in her gut. Dorothea resists the urge to cry, and goes back to fixing her make-up in the mirror.
After all, the show must go on.