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When she called, Petra would come. She could claim that it was to discuss military tactics, wartime logistics, or any number of political reasons, but soon she would take the younger woman into the inner chambers of her room and the pretense fell away.
In these moments, it was always Petra who would move first and Edelgard who would stand like a statue trembling. Her outer layers were stripped away and she was exposed to the cool night air blowing through the window.
And the future queen would kneel, kissing her way up the emperor and delicately brushing against her scars and calling her beautiful. Edelgard would want so much in that moment that it lumped in her throat such that she couldn’t speak.
Petra was beautiful. She was a comet, visible against the sky for only this brief instant before she moved on and continued her journey deeper into space. And here Edelgard was, trying to bottle starlight.
Was it fair, she wondered, as she held onto tanned arms with a grip that’d leave marks the next morning. When she called, Petra would come without fail, but had there ever been an option for her to turn away? They were four years into the war, but she had lived as a political hostage since she was eleven. Her homeland was a vassal state. And when their late professor had pledged themself to Adrestia’s cause, to Edelgard, all her friends had followed suit. So where could she go? What could she do, except come when called?
“I’m selfish,” Edelgard gasped when it was over. She meant, you deserve more.
“Edelgard,” Petra said, pressing a pale hand against her own chest. “I have faith in your promise. I choose to be standing beside you.”
And Edelgard allowed herself to believe it.