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Edelgard’s eyes fall upon the garden. They bloom along the sides of the manor, trimmed and kept neatly like everything else that the Vestras do. She is no horticulturalist nor a florist, but she can pull out a few flowers from the gardens below: shrinking violets, Angelica and irises, blooming protea, carnations, delphiniums and lily of the valley. There’s a sea of dozens below, but those few are the ones that she recognizes.
Those, and the other flowers that bloom along the railing of the guest room. They are always well-kept, as if worshipped and waited on for every petal that falls from the buds. They are quite pretty, pink towards the middle, white at the edges almost painted like artists. And tall and slender, like swords. Perhaps in the kingdom of flora and fauna they are weapons. After all, the name she knows them as is sword lilies.
She hears Hubert before he makes himself known with just a breath. He has a presence all of his own, different from the Professor or Dorothea or Ferdinand or any of the other of the Eagles for that matter. It is... not as deterred or brash or anxious as the others, but in a way, Edelgard can’t quite describe it with words. Perhaps Hubert’s presence is more like the warm tones of a palette in fall, reminding Fódlan of the desires that come with the death of the seasons. Or maybe that the cold chill that she finds inviting and comfortable is what she finds in him.
Words can not suffice. Still, she gazes at the flowers and raises her voice a little. “Hubert.”
His voice rumbles. “It is late my lady.”
“I cannot sleep.”
“We march tomorrow.”
Yes. Another march to parts unknown. Another battle against the Kingdom. More cries she will hear and that will haunt her dreams, and more faces that will sear into her memory. A path she walks, red with blood and death and blackened with her name.
“I am aware.” She says before frowning. “This body betrays me. When I cannot sleep, I doze off. When I need to sleep I am as wide awake as an owl. It is pitiful.” She laments. “Hands moulded me as a paragon and yet I am far from one.”
Hubert shifts, she can feel his gaze narrowing upon her. Not scrutinizing, perhaps trying to place her. She dares to glance up, meeting his eyes with thin lips and a knotted brow. “You look pensive. What wounds you?”
“It is none of your concern my lady.”
“What ails you, ails me.” She insists, adding only when his eyes meet hers with curiosity. Her heart is exposed to him, only him. “I cannot have your mind elsewhere tomorrow.”
He sighs, not of relief or annoyance. His voice is low and hoarse. “I ache for your body.”
She turns a little red, almost stumbling back into the railing. Her feet hold steady, mimicking a villager’s ditzy sway. Edelgard’s lips fumble for a second before she stops.
“I ache for what occurred when I was not there. When Arundel took you from my gaze.” Hubert says, his gaze turning to the flowers that bloom along the railing. He rests a hand against the marble and glances back to her. “Often I dream of cutting off the hands of those who defiled you. A restitution of what was taken without consent or right.”
“What would their hands give me?”
He scoffs a little. “Nothing, I’m certain.” He says. “Just a small daydream I have of avenging you.”
“But I am not dead.”
“Need you be?” He asks. “As your vassal it is my duty to ensure your safety. And currently your body is not your own.”
Edelgard clears her throat. “But it is.”
“Forgive me, my lady.” He corrects promptly, adding a bow of the head for good measure. “Still I am furious at those who defiled you and took what wasn’t theirs.”
Edelgard turns away, glancing at the gladiolus. “Could you... perhaps put your emotions into something other than a restitution?” She asks.
He glances to her for a second, the moonlight bathing him in light so that he looks almost like a ghost. For a split second, she fears he will fade away. Tenderly, gently, she reaches for him, as he reaches for her. The Emperor’s breath hitches as she holds his face in her hands and brings her lips to his. He is cold against her arms, against her lips, against her mouth. But such bittersweet taste from his lips makes her crave more like a wild beast.
But she is the Emperor of Adrestia and the liberator of Fódlan—she must show restraint and control even in front of her closest confidant. She pulls her lips from his, and swiftly looks away, pretending as though it didn’t happen. An exposed heart does little but break and hurt.
Edelgard grips the marble railing tightly, fearing that her grasp may shatter it. She swallows hard, suddenly a little breathless. She hears Hubert’s footsteps, both deathly silent and loud at the same time. She thinks of another time like this before. Back in the Monastery, before the siege. He had joined her, ever at her side, watching the balcony of the Goddess Tower. In secret, she had taken glimpses at him, looking at the curve of his jaw, the sharp slopes of his cheekbones, the hook of his nose and the eyes that ever watched over her. Her eyes flickered down his arm, to his hand which perched upon the similar railing.
Then, Edelgard had first seen gladiolus. She’d said, ‘how pretty’ under her breath. When they slipped away to the Von Vestra summer manor to plan for the siege, there had been a thousand blossoms planted before her eyes. And when they had sat outside plotting and planning as they always, similar to tonight, they had stared at the gardens of gladiolus. In soft secret, while staring down at the bushes of sword lilies that his servants attended to with intense care, she let her hand graze him at first. Pulling away slightly, then a moment later, his spindly fingers grazed over the back of her hand and slipped over her fingers as they laid plans for rallying troops.
She feels his fingers graze over the back of her hand, curling around her palm. His soft breath is warm against her neck, bending down to meet her body. He had once said that his hands didn’t deserve to touch her, that they were too dirty with blood and sin.
Yet now, she aches to let him touch her. Restraint and control be damned.
“Please me. Gently.” Her voice is soft, barely above a whisper. Tonight she doesn’t wish to arch her back in pleasure, or to feel him inside her and leave further scars on his back and body. The war has already done that to them. Why should they go through it again even if it is in the name of pleasure?
This should be performative, something to wear her out and send her to sleep.
But... this time it would be by each other’s hands, not a Kingdom soldier or a Knight of Seiros or a passing monk. It would be... pleasurable.
Yet, gently being loved by him sounds more pleasing than anything. She doesn’t admit it, but she is certain that he knows of her feelings. She is too proud of a woman to admit them. It will stay that way for as long as it can.
Hubert looks to her. He dares to place a finger under her chin and turn her face to his. For a moment, he simply stares at her and she wonders if she will have to give him an order as his Emperor. But Hubert does not need such a prompt. His lips move to hers, grazing at first as if he is a chaste noble boy and this is his first time.
Of course it is not.
His fingers graze her jaw, her lips parting wider. His kiss intoxicates her with some otherworldly desire. Silence is her friend and enemy now. She cannot think, only the thudding of her heart deafens her. She clings to him tightly, pulling herself closer to him. If she could, she would tether him to her, bind their souls together. But Edelgard knows as well as anyone that Hubert would do that and more , should he only ask.
She turns her body away from him, clutching onto the marble railing tightly. Her hands threaten to shatter the stone. She feels Hubert’s dirty hands graze along her body, from her hip, to her waist, along her aching ribs and to her shoulder blades. Her breath catches in her throat.
Gingerly, he moves her curtain of hair away from the back of her neck, shifting it so that it falls over her shoulder. Edelgard feels his breath on her skin, his cold lips grazing the curve of her neck for a second. A kiss, a small cold one from his lips, is placed at the centre of her exposed heart, and sends a shiver down her spine. Her fingers curl into the railing. Her exposed heart, so fragile underneath thick skin that rivalled armour. His fingers move to the back of her dress, to the nape of her neck and pull at the clasp. It comes free with little sound, the collar of her golden choker coming free.
“Inside?” He whispers in a hoarse and gentle voice. She only nods, both chilled and enticed by her vassal yet again. The french doors to the balcony shut behind them, the candlelight of the room dim in comparison to the moonlight.
Edelgard traces the floor, his fingers tightly in hers. The blinds have all been pulled, the door locked after Hubert returned from Goddess-knows-where. Slowly, with his eyes upon hers, Hubert kneels before her. He looks more like a suitor than a vassal. Edelgard sits upon the bed, the mattress giving beneath her body. He unhooks the latch of her shoe, slipping the boot off with grace before letting it fall to the floor. The next one. His cold fingers trail her legs as she stares at the ceiling and waits.
“What might I do to please you my lady?”
“I am the centre of your world?” Edelgard says. “The apex of everything?
She sees him blush a little; it looks strange on the face of such a pale man. “Yes.” He agrees.
“Then you should know.” She whispers, laying back.
“May I confess something then?”
She nods, eyes upon the swirling colours of the ceiling, flickering with shades and hues. “You may.”
“I am in love with you, Edelgard.”
And his words make her tremble. Her exposed heart aches, fills and swells with worry and joy. She glances down, seeing Hubert kneeling before her. Like a vassal. Like a suitor. She reaches for him, taking his face in her hands, resting it against her knees.
“Then waste not another moment.” She whispers. He slinks up legs, along her hips, her waist, looming over her with adoration, devotion, love. She takes his dirty hands in hers, just as bloodied and raw, and joins her exposed heart with his.