Claude adjusts his sash, grinning widely in the mirror as Lorenz presses his mouth in a thin line, eyeing the chest hair that proudly stands on his bare chest.
“I still don’t understand why you have to be shirtless,” the noble man complains. Claude chuckles, turning to his reluctant friend with a wide grin.
“Would you rather I be naked? Because this was the most clothes I can get away with for this ceremony,” Claude informs Lorenz. The other Alpha balks at the information, appalling his “noble sensibilities” once again. Claude turns back to the mirror, making sure everything is in order before he waits for his bride. Almyra doesn’t do weddings, that temporary idea isn’t enough for most couples. Instead, they preform a mating ceremony, binding two people willingly forever. The Fodlan wedding was just a formality for Claude. This. This is what he wanted permanently with Byleth.
“Claude! They won’t let me put a veil on Byleth,” Hilda whines, bursting into the room to drop dramatically on the feinting couch that his mother brought with her from Fodlan.
“Be careful with that couch, it’s an antique,” he parrots his mother from his childhood. Hilda blinks before shifting carefully to be “kinder” to the old piece.
“They kept saying something about bad omens and switching spirits when I tried to put a veil on her,” Hilda whines, resting her elbows on her knees. Claude sputters out a laugh, unsure how to explain the weird bullshit that was his great-grandfather’s mating ceremony, when his chosen decided they wanted nothing to do with the King and switched with their twin, who had adored the King since forever. Luckily for everyone involved, the twin who like the King had actually been the one the King had wanted in the first place, just getting mixed up with names (which were extremely similar) and mixed scents.
“Let’s just say history has an interesting way of making superstitions,” Claude waves off, gathering the bead necklaces of royalty carefully in his hands before resting it around his neck. Cracking his knuckles to release some nervous energy, he turns to the door and strides out, heading to the decorated field that sat near the Almyran capital. Tables and chairs have been set for the nobles coming to see this ceremony, allowing them the luxury of sitting. The common folk are made to stand amongst the flowers, more flowers in their grasp to throw to the couple upon the walk as newly mated. A priest of Almyra stands at the front, frowning as Lorenz and Hilda have to be reminded that only those to be mated are to stand before the priest.
“Are you sure you want to tie yourself to this… Fodlan wretch?” the priest sniffs. Claude turns to him with a smile that maybe just a little sharp for a mating ceremony.
“You mean the Queen of Fodlan? You mean the Omega who literally castrated a man for making a pass at one of her close friends? You mean the Goddess incarnate, who defeated a resurrected King of Liberation? That “wretch”?” he asks, pleased as the priest balks and shakes his head quickly.
“I apologize, Your Majesty,” the priest sputters out. Claude nods once before turning his attention back to the other side of the aisle, his eyes widening at the sight of his wife and soon-to-mate. Byleth wears a simple off-the-shoulder white dress that floats around her beautifully, hiding just how perfectly she fits in his arms. Her eyes light up at the sight of him, a smile creeping shyly on her face along with a flush. Claude grins back at her, offering his hand to her. She accepts his hand, giving it a squeeze while she looks up at him almost shyly.
“All gathered here…” the priest begins, starting the spiel about binding the mind, body, and spirit of two together in mating. Claude tunes him mostly out (he needs to know when he can bite her and when they get to kiss) to look at Byleth, comparing this simplicity to the extravagance of their Fodlan wedding. Her bridal gown was gorgeous, clasping a choker around her throat before creating a window to her cleavage. From her bust down was a tight, embroidered cloth that emphasized her curves seductively. Her hair had been pinned up (which she complained about as they prepared to consummate their marriage that night), and had jewels draped over it. Here and now, she stands before him, simply dressed with only a single braid trailing down the side of her face.
“Alpha, you shall bite first,” the priest instructs. Claude obliges, leaning down to press a soft kiss to her mating gland before biting down. The soft gasp it draws from his wife is heady, almost as heady as the rush of Baklava filling his senses. He pulls back enough to lick up the blood before pulling back entirely. She blinks, trying to return to neutrality, before looking up at him with an absolutely smitten look.
“Now, Omega, you may bite your Alpha,” the priest barely says before she pulls him down, pressing her own kiss to his mating gland before biting. Claude bites back a keen, his pants suddenly extremely tight at the flood of feeling her so close to him, so in love with him. She pulls back to give the bite mark a few kitten licks before pulling back entirely, her lips now stained red in his blood (which should not be attractive but fuck him apparently).
“I now decree, with the blessings of the Gods, you are mates,” the priest cries, not even blinking when Claude dives down to smash his mouth against Byleth’s. The soft giggle from his mate matches the bubbling happiness that he feels through their bond. He can’t stop the grin from crossing his face in return, picking her up into a bridal carry to carry her over to Pearl. The Wyvern purrs happily, flapping her wings eagerly as the commoners and Golden Deer throw flower petals at the newly mated couple.
“I’m not letting you leave the bed all day,” Claude whispers in Byleth’s ear, a knot of pride curling in his chest at the flush that crosses her face. However, his wife, his mate, turns her head enough to press a kiss square on his mouth.
“How about you make it a week?” she asks, sweet and innocent in her tone. Claude chokes, burying his head into her shoulder as they settle onto Pearl’s saddle and take off.
Arriving on the balcony of the Almyran Castle, Claude slides off first before scooping his bride back up in his arms. Byleth sighs, accepting her fate within her Alpha’s arms. He’s practically beaming, laying his mate down on the bed before crawling over her.
“Well, well, well. It seems I have a queen in my bed,” Claude teases, caging her in with his hands. Byleth huffs, rolling her eyes. He knows he’s used that line almost every night since their marriage but, honestly? He’s lying. There is no queen, but a Goddess who lays beneath him.
“And it appears a king doesn’t know what to do about that,” she retorts, a small smile curling her lips and her giddiness crashing over their bond. Claude chuckles, reluctant to admit that she’s right. Then again, outside her heat and his rut, he never seems to know what to do for her. Instincts are things he pushed down and away, trying to keep himself safe with a clear head. Whenever he’s free to do what he wants, Claude’s left with wanting to do everything at once. It’s a little overwhelming, but he can persevere. Leaning down, he presses a kiss to her mating gland, nibbling and suckling around his mark. The wave of pleasure and joy that wasn’t his own was a new, welcomed change that Claude hopes to repeat over and over. He pulls back, unable to stop himself from just looking at her. A smile crosses her face, her hand reaching up to softly touch his cheek.
“Claude,” she coos, soft and sweet and everything Claude adores about her. He turns his face against her palm, pressing a kiss to the rough skin there.
“Nothing to worry about, dearheart,” he assures her, his hands running over her dress before pulling it up and over. He grins at her nudity underneath, pressing soft kisses and giving kind nips to her stomach. Byleth gives him soft sighs and sweet laughter for his work, only stopping to moan when he begins to feast at her cunt. He echoes the moan against her, licking into her opening eagerly while his thumb rubs little circles against her clit. His other hand trails up her thigh, giving any flesh within reach a soft squeeze as it travels up, meeting her hand and twining their fingers together. He feels the build up of pleasure through their bond, feels the rise of arousal from his beloved Teach. Claude pulls back, grinning at the moan of disappointment it pulls from his lovely mate.
“Don’t worry, love. Just getting ready myself,” he promises, undoing his sash and allowing his pants to drop, practically beaming when he sees her eyes widen at his lack of undergarments. Suddenly, her hands fly up to cover her face, which had burned a bright read, peeking shyly between her fingers. He feels how flustered she is through their bond, laughing as he returns to the bed.
“Why are you without garments?” she squeaks, shy despite how often they’ve done this (which is about once a week, but Claude hopes to make it every night from now on).
“Truthfully, the mating ceremony is preformed in the nude,” he begins to explain, pausing to press a kiss to her thigh. He travels up her body slowly, kissing and explaining the whole way.
“After the bites, the priest and audience can see how ‘compatible’ the pair truly is by how aroused the couple became,” he kisses above her mound, grinning at the hitch in her breath.
“Then, the couple consummate their mating while their guests eat, drink, and party to encourage the couple’s fertility and wish for blessings of healthy children,” he continues, pressing a kiss just above her belly button.
“After everything is done, the couple is visited by either close friends or family while still nude to assure them that their coupling was consensual,” he finishes, nipping at her nipple before raising his head to give her a large grin. Byleth gasps against the soft abuse, her face burning bright red at the idea of being seen in the nude by her ex-students.
“Don’t worry, Byleth. As king, I have the right to bend the rules a little. Obviously, clothes during the ceremony. Once the party’s over, we’ll probably be asleep, so we won’t have any visitors seeing us naked if they know what’s good for them,” he promises, kissing her neck.
“Th-they’re still going to ch-check on us?” she moans, arching into him. Claude chuckles, pulling back to give her an apologetic smile.
“Can’t change the tradition too much,” he explains. She bites her bottom lip, before nodding slowly, her legs wrapping around his hips to rub against his erection. Both of them moan at the feeling of pleasure running up their spines and through their bond. He reaches down with one hand to position himself while his other hand searches for hers. Byleth grasps his hand eagerly, lacing their fingers together as he presses in. He presses a kiss against her throat, distracting her slightly as he begins to pump in and out of her.
“Claude,” she keens out, pressing her body against his as much as she can, her nails digging into his shoulders. He presses his mouth against her gland, mouthing happily at the mating bite still standing starkly against her skin.
“So good for me, Byleth,” he coos against her skin, enjoying the way their skin tones contrast. Byleth tosses her head back, her eyes fluttering closed, as another, louder, moan escapes her lips. Claude grins, pressing more kisses to the column of her throat, picking up speed while his free hand holds her hip still, allowing him to pound into her. Byleth’s gasps and moans pick up in tempo, coming closer together and louder, as her cunt starts squeezing his cock, encouraging his release.
“You gonna cum, Byleth? Are you about to come, dearheart?” Claude pants. Instead of an answer, Byleth’s free hand tangles into his hair to pull him down for a demanding kiss. She moans into his mouth and trembles around him, her pussy tightening around him as slick rushes from her. Claude manages two more thrusts before he falls over the edge of ecstasy and releases inside her. He drops unceremoniously, face first into her breast. He gives a happy rumbling purr at his new pillows, rubbing his face between them.
“What is it with you and my boobs?” Byleth asks once her breath returns. Claude picks his head up and beams at her.
“What’s not to love about them? They’re just on the cusp of too big for your body, yet they fit you perfectly. And, they’re nice and sensitive,” he rambles, pressing a kiss to the underside of one. Byleth has a whole body shiver at the feeling of his lips on her breast, arousal curling within her once again. Without wasting another moment, she flips them over, leaving Claude on the bed while she towers over him.
“I think,” she starts, grinding against his cock, “that I should appreciate something of yours.”
Hilda doesn’t want to check on Claude and the professor, mostly because she knows that they’re having loads of sex. But, according to Lady von Riegan, it’s Almyran tradition to make sure everything is consensual. Hesitantly, she slowly opens the door to the newly mated pair’s room, cringing at the smell of sex, pastries, and pine. Peeking in, Hilda blinks before giggling in relief while cooing at the scene in front of her. Claude and Byleth, laying barely under the blankets, are asleep. Their bodies are twined together while their hands are clasped together between them. Carefully, Hilda creeps back and closes the door, humming happily to herself as she skips off to assure everyone that their mating was completely consensual.