Dimitri had always prided himself on being on time.
Well, technically, it was expected of him, given his position as the leader of the Blue Lions and the future King of Faerghus. But unfortunately, the church staff member in charge of issuing training gear that afternoon decided to give him a hard time over some equipment that had "presumably" gone missing from the training ground. The back-and-forth had taken longer than it should have, and it had already left him in a testy mood before he'd finally gotten the matter resolved.
Now, because of that delay, he was running far later than he'd intended for his usual sparring session with Marianne. It was one of the few things in his daily routine that he genuinely looked forward to, considering that he could only squeez in so much spare time for her in his already busy schedule, and so the last thing that he wanted at this point was to keep her waiting long enough for her to think he'd forgotten.
He stepped through the archway leading into the training grounds, ready to apologize for his lateness.
Then he stopped.
A little ways past the double doors, Marianne stood with her practice weapon lowered at her side, looking visibly uncomfortable. Opposite her stood Lorenz, one of her former classmates, striking a pose that could only be described as… well, insufferable.
Without thinking, Dimitri instinctively pulled back behind one of the nearby stone pillars next to the archway before he could be seen. He wasn't exactly sure as to why he did this, given that he could have simply walked up and made his presence known, but another part of him wanted to witness what exactly was transpiring and see how Marianne would handle herself in the situation she'd evidently found herself in.
"I see that the prince has yet to arrive," Lorenz said with a flourish in his tone. "In that case, allow me to step in and oversee your training."
Marianne, standing a few paces from him, shook her head meekly. "That won't be necessary, Lorenz. Prince Dimitri will be here soon, just as we'd agreed."
Lorenz waved off her concern with a smile. "I have no doubt he means well, but it is no good to keep a fair noble such as yourself idling about while time slips away. Training should never wait. And I am, of course, more than happy to oblige you in his absence."
"I appreciate the offer, truly," The blunette attempted to decline once more, "but I'd rather wait-"
"Nonsense," Lorenz interrupted with a confident step closer. "If I may be so bold, I would argue that between myself and the prince, I am the more refined option for a training partner. And more importantly," he added, bowing slightly with an affected smile, "a delicate flower such as yourself deserves a hand that can guide with the utmost grace."
He straightened just enough to add, in a clearly backhanded tone, "As opposed to one who is perhaps more… brutish in his approach."
From behind the pillar, Dimitri's expression tightened and he could feel something igniting in his chest.
The absolute audacity…
Dimitri had always known Lorenz to be something of a well-known pompous blowhard, but hearing the noble speak so condescending and so presumptuously about him towards Marianne while taking underhanded jabs at the prince was another matter entirely.
To make things worse, the fruit-headed snob wouldn't even take the hint that the girl in front of him showed little interest in him. Twice, Marianne had tried to politely decline, and still, Lorenz pressed forward with all the grace of a man utterly convinced of his own brilliance.
And somehow, that was what burned the most. The sight of Lorenz standing before her, spouting romantic nonsense with smug confidence, acting as if he had any right to her attention…
He stepped forward from behind the pillar.
Marianne," he said, yet noticeably tense as he walked up to the conversing students, practice spear in hand. "I hope you will forgive me for my tardiness. Unfortunately, I'd gotten sidetracked against my own will."
Marianne turned toward him, relief flashing across her face. "It's alright, Dimi- I mean, Your Highness. I was just-"
"We were just about to begin today's practice." Lorenz cut in smoothly, placing a hand on his chest. "Given your delay, I took the liberty of offering my assistance in the meantime."
Dimitri turned to face Lorenz fully. "I appreciate your… enthusiasm, Lord Gloucester," he said in a tone that was almost polite. "But your services are not required."
Lorenz narrowed his eyes slightly as though he'd felt slighted by the assertion. "I believe you misunderstood, Your Excellency. Miss Edmund here has already agreed that we would proceed with our sparring session, and I merely stepped in to ensure her training would not be neglected due to your unfortunate delay. Surely, you would understa-"
By this point, Marianne had opened her mouth to protest what had obviously never happened. However, she didn't even get the chance to speak out before a dark scowl crossed Dimitri's features, taking a step forward as he interrupted Lorenz.
"I heard what you said," Dimitri replied grimly. "And I assure you, there is no misunderstanding."
Lorenz's posture stiffened. His confident stance faltered as he looked into the prince's eyes, and whatever bravado he carried began to erode. Dimitri's cold and unflinching stare had stripped away any sense of control Lorenz thought he had over the situation.
Despite this, however, he tried to maintain composure while straightening his back with forced elegance, and was about to speak again before the prince finished in a low, almost threatening voice. "It would be best if you found someone else."
At this, Lorenz couldn't help but bounce his gaze between Marianne and the Crown Prince, until finally, realization dawned on him as his face drained of color, and a bead of sweat could be seen making its way towards his brow.
"I… yes." Lorenz stammered, his voice faltering. "Of course. My deepest apologies, Your Highness. Lady Marianne, I hope that you will forgive me for my insolence. I shall be going now."
He gave a rigid, shallow bow and stepped back in a hurry. Without another word, he turned and quickly walked off in a tense posture. He didn't look back as Dimitri watched him go.
For a moment, all was silent.
"Dimitri…" He heard Marianne say softly.
He turned to face her, and the moment he saw the concern written across her face, the darkness immediately lifted as it had done the last time she'd witnessed that expression. His hardened look evaporated, and guilt quickly took its place.
"I… forgive me," he said, voice low, almost hurried. "That wasn't- what I meant to show you. I don't know what came over me. I had no right to speak that way, even if-" He stopped, unsure of how to finish.
Marianne didn't say anything in return and continued to gaze up worriedly at the prince, who exhaled and turned slightly away. "Perhaps…" He muttered, "It would be best if we canceled for today."
He took one step before he felt a hand catch his own. Without thinking, Marianne had reached out and caught him before he could go any further, and he turned to face the girl once more with a look of genuine surprise.
"Please… don't go," she said, barely above a whisper. "I… I still wish to train with you."
Dimitri furrowed his brow slightly, caught off guard by the sincerity in her voice before glancing around the training ground.
A couple of female students loitered near the equipment racks, casually chatting and leaning lazily against their training weapons. Off to one side, Annette was focused on a set of swings with the practice axe that Professor Mimir had had her start on months prior.
And just behind her, Lorenz, still rattled, but clearly trying to save face, was now approaching Annette with that same rehearsed posture he'd tried earlier. Dimitri's eyes narrowed briefly, but the thought was dismissed just as quickly.
No one was paying them any mind, and he turned back to Marianne who continued to hold his hand as he met her gaze.
"Marianne," He began awkwardly. "I don't know exactly what you saw in me just now, or back in Conall, but…" He paused, glancing down for a moment before looking back at her. "By now, you have to know the kind of darkness I've been holding back. It is something I can hide from you no longer, and so I must ask: am I someone you truly wish to be around?"
"I've seen it," she admitted sympathetically. "And I know what you're going through." Dimitri's eyes searched hers, uncertain.
"But I don't care," she continued, letting go of his hand to cup his cheek in hers. "Because ever since I started spending time around you… things have always turned out better than I expected. Even if just a little. That's why…" Her cheeks turned pink, and she managed a small smile as she finished, "That's why I don't want to waste the time we still have today. Even if it's just sparring together."
Dimitri stared at her, stunned by the warmth of her touch and the honesty in her voice as he slowly raised his hand and placed it over hers. There was a shift in his eyes, though Marianne couldn't tell as to exactly what it was aside from him seemingly coming to a small realization.
"If that is your wish," Dimitri said at last, his voice low and sincere, "then I would be honored to stay and do so."
Meanwhile, unbeknownst to them, Hilda Valentine Goneril had been peering past the double doors from one side as she watched the conversation between the two unfold.
She couldn't quite hear everything that had been said, but the moment the pink haired noble was passing by and saw the prince looking as though he was about to pound Lorenz into paste in front of Marianne, she knew she was witnessing something serious.
By the time Lorenz turned and made his quick escape, Hilda had already come to two conclusions.
One: Dimitri had possibly one of the scariest expressions she'd ever laid eyes on.
And two: He and Marianne were absolutely a couple now.
She watched as the prince reached up to cover the blunette's hand, and across the yard, a pair of students were already whispering while glancing toward them.
"Lorenz, you sure know how to pick your battles." Hilda said under her breath.
But before she could get the chance to see what her best friend would do next, a smooth, chilling voice spoke up behind her:
"Do you always make a habit of observing others so intently, Miss Goneril?"
Hilda's body tensed. She turned on her heel and found Jeritza standing there- closer than he had any right to be. His posture was relaxed, but his presence was anything but. There was no hostility in his tone, or any visible aggression.
But something about the way he stared at her behind the mask, on top of already being way too physically close for comfort, sent a chilling wave down her spine.
"Oh, Jeritza!" She told him innocently, forcing a nonchalant smile and letting her arms dangle as she swayed from side to side. "Don't mind me, I just happened to be on my way to the greenhouse until I happened to stumble on some of your typical teenage drama. Have you ever had one of those when you were our age, sir? Honestly, it's like everyone here's caught up in some romance novel half the time."
Jeritza remained silent. His masked face didn't so much as tilt, and the lack of response only made the silence stretch longer. Hilda kept her sway going as she attempted to excuse herself, "Anyways, I should be going now. I have tons to do right now, and I'm sure you've got your own lessons to attend-"
"Why would you be going to the greenhouse?" He asked bluntly.
Hilda seemed caught off guard by the sudden question, but she quickly recovered as she tried to make an excuse. "Oh, why, there's a bunch of beautiful and cute flowers that need nourishment, and I'm going to need them for my next set of flower cro-"
"You never go to the greenhouse," Jeritza said flatly, cutting her off. "If you were, it would be the first time I've seen it."
Hilda froze for half a second before flashing another forced smile. "W-Well, you know how it is. First time for everything-"
"You don't spend time near the greenhouse," he continued coldly. "Instead, you get your flowers from the market." The young noble started. How in Fodlan would he know that specifically?
But he didn't stop there. "You spend your free periods behind the dining hall. You sleep through morning drills. You cut across the gardens only when you think no one's watching. Two days ago, you lied about a weapons check to avoid cleaning duty. And yesterday, you spent fifteen minutes pacing around the library before deciding not to go in."
Her mouth opened slightly, but nothing came out.
Jeritza himself remained absolutely still as he allowed the student to mentally flounder over everything he'd just told her, until finally he took a step and lowered himself to eye-level and said in a cold, threatening voice.
"Tell me. Do you find me… creepy?"
The terrified girl shook her head. "I-I- um…"
"Because let me tell you something, Miss Goneril." The fencing instructor's eyes locked onto hers from behind the mask. His tone never rose, but the edge behind it was loud and clear. "Those who cannot learn to mind their own business often find themselves in more trouble than it's worth. Trouble that usually ends… at the other end of a blade."
Hilda's breath caught in her throat. She didn't move.
"I do not take kindly to prying," he went on. "If you value your safety, you would do well to control that tongue of yours- as well as your curiosity."
Before he could say anything else, the man suddenly turned away and buried his face into his elbow before letting out a heavy, nasty fit of coughing. When he'd finished, Jeritza gazed back at Hilda with what she could only presume was that of a bloodthirsty look before finishing.
"Because after all…" He said coarsely, though the edge in his voice was still evident. "Those with loose tongues and wandering eyes often find themselves in places they were never meant to be."
With that, he walked briskly past the girl and into the training ground, and all Hilda could do was try and stop herself from trembling as she placed a hand over her agape mouth.
x-x-x
It wasn't often that Kratos found himself alone in the Blue Lions classroom, but with Mimir having insisted on being left in the library for longer than usual, it now fell on him to decide on how to grade the backlog of written assessments for the week.
It was an odd thing, really. Even after five months of having been torn from his leadership position back in the Norse realms alongside Freya, it still never felt entirely normal to be sifting through papers in a classroom full of teenagers. Kratos had led armies, fought monsters, and buried gods, but deciphering adolescent handwriting remained one of his more tedious challenges.
Not that any of their handwriting was bad, but a man who'd always appreciated print form over the flourish cursive that his students- particularly the ones from noble class- had practiced (hence why he favored Ashe Ubert's writing over everyone else's) and simply had Mimir tell him how to grade them instead.
He was just about to turn over the parchment to move on to the next essay when he heard the classroom doors creak open. The Ghost of Sparta looked up to see Annette stepping in hesitantly, her hands clasped in front of her and her expression unsure. She glanced at him, then around the room, before slowly approaching his desk.
"Um, hello, Professor Kratos." She said quietly, "I, um…"
Immediately sensing her distraught, Kratos put his quill pen down and gave her his undivided attention. "What is it?" He asked, trying his best to sound as though he was genuinely concerned about whatever problems the girl may have. (Which, to his credit, he was)
Annette hesitated, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve. "I didn't want to bother you over something like this. I mean, I know you're busy and it's probably not that important but-"
"If it troubles you, then I will do what I can to handle it." He told her reassuringly. "But first, you must start by telling me what it is."
Annette blinked, then nodded, her shoulders relaxing just slightly. "It's, well… it's about another student from the other classrooms…"