Claude really does love you, in his own way.

His first concubine, his true friend among the deceit and ambition that taint the Obelian court. Even his trusted advisor can't rival the solace he finds in your presence. When the governors’ endless quarrels leave him drained, it is your opinion he seeks.

And in your own way, you love him too. He had offered a way out that fateful night—an escape from the Ruby Palace massacre. To turn your back from the blood that soaked the imperial throne and leave, perhaps to a country or two away from him.

Yet you stayed. Looked right past the crimson splattered across his cheek and refused his generosity. Foolish, audacious, and oh-so-benevolent, you’d taken one glance at him and knew what he needed for the sake of his remaining sanity.

Years have passed since then. Five, to be precise. Claude is, for the lack of a better term, surprised to learn you’ve spent them tending to his bastard. Like... Like a parent. He could've forgotten all about her had it not been for your meddling.

“The little terror, hm?” he hums with his cheek resting on your lap. The afternoon sun filters through the trees, casting dappled light across the garden. He had much to say about how the warmth makes you glow, though the compliment died on his tongue when you mentioned Athanasia (again) and... the prospect of acquainting himself with his daughter.

Claude scoffs. "Tis' hopeless. She squeaks like a strangled mouse at the sight of me."

Just the thought of that child threatens to resurface the memories leading up to her birth. Memories he'd long thought he'd buried. How could he even begin to play the role of a father now?