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Chapter Text

Corvo Attano.

Her eyes flickered across the name in slight curiosity. Jessamine leaned back to glance upward at the Ambassador with trepidation. "Forgive me Lord Vicci, but this clause here…"

"Your Majesty?" The Ambassador responded, jolting from his reclined position in the large leather chair before her immense desk. He was a small man for a from Serkonan, but Jessamine suspected he was only a half breed from the renowned island. She had also noticed he was a fidgety man. Since he had first bowed to her he had been nothing but nerves and spasms throughout their meeting. Not so reassuring given the situation, but she trusted his Lordship, Rossini, the current reign of Serkonos. It was disappointing Rossini himself could not come to negotiate their treaty, but duties were duties and she acknowledged his need to be with his people. She would see him later during her trip, to be sure.

It was not an unexpected treaty. The main things were there; the important ones. Between the legal garb of the document there was, in fact, the statement that the pirating of her trade ships would stop given a levy of taxes. The banning of certain exports was also being lifted to the ships along the isles that were in current low economic standing; a move that the upper court nobles and businessmen may tilt their noses at, but would benefit Serkonos and Gristol in the long run.

Then there were the small terms of endearment. Gristol was gifting Serkonos a barrage of new ships for their new trading routes. Donations of food rations and wine for the lower towns suffering in the drought were being offered. And of course, Serkonos could now trade whale oil they harvested themselves.

But Serkonos, as Jessamine began to find out more each day, was a traditional land. Traditional was perhaps not the best word. Superstitious was one. Ritualistic was another.

They were offering her Serkonos steel for her armory. Metal with engravings, and beautiful craftsmanship… steel here was an art form and the gift was appreciated if only a novelty. Dogs were another offering, along with leathers, foods, and spices to accompany the promise of ending the pirating. It's not as if Jessamine expected anything more, or substantial. The promise was all she wanted or cared about. Serkonos was small and many things it offered were things she could have anyway, simply because Gristol and Serkonos had already been joined under one rule; hers.c

Still.

"This clause here Ambassador," She spoke, leaning back to point a long finger down at the printing. Vicci jumped upward, his hands scrambling to fix his lenses down to his eyes and peer at the treaty upside down as she read aloud. "…to be appointed the hand of Corvo Attano…"

"A gift your Majesty, of course." Vicci attested and when he noticed Jessamine's still confused expression, babbled to explain. "A Hand. Or more known in Gristol as an assassin. The finest in all of Serkonos I assure you. Straight from the Gallows."

Jessamine frowned. The Gallows. Serkonos was traditional in many senses. And ritualistic in ways other high class nobles of Gristol would describe as barbaric. Crime being what it was in Gristol, one could only imagine the crime between pirates and shipped-out fugitives stuck on the ripping heat of a cluster of islands. It was rumored that every man had a personal assassin to off his neighbor and take his land. It was further rumored that this was the only way to move up in society. And from what Jessamine had seen herself, this was not far off the mark. Sleight of hand with blades seemed to be the normal handshake. It only seemed a shame that almost every assassin could be bought out from its target.

The Empress sighed aloud. The courtesy of giving her an assassin was not lost on her. But the idea of taking a man from Serkonos would upset her court. Not to mention if the assassins were like anything she knew, he could only be so reliable. Her trust for him was already about as much as she could throw him, and even less since she had never met the man nor heard of him. "I have no need for an assassin Ambassador." She waved, her hands literally gesturing at the treaty dismissively.

Lord Vicci seemed to think differently if his change in expression and huff of dismay was any indication. "Your Majesty, surely there are those you need disposed of with utmost discretion. There is no shame in such services in my land. We extend the same to you."

"I must insist that I cannot accept an assassin whose loyalties I do not know of-

"Your Majesty isn't insisting that she does not trust his Lordship?"

Damn. So that is what this was about. Not a gift, but entrapment. She could not refuse the gift without showing her distrust to the ruler of Serkonos, and yet she would be accepting a possible spy (or backstabber). Jessamine tried not to glare at the stout man and his thick rolling accent.

Perhaps there was another way around this.

"Not at all Ambassador. But I still have no need for an assassin. Perhaps as another personal guard." She smiled regally, being sure to let her eyes gleam in challenge. "Send this assassin to my guard Captain. Surely there is more work to be found in patrolling my Tower."

Vicci didn't seem pleased, but he didn't protest. It was the perfect solution anyhow. She accepted; and there was no chance of the assassin fulfilling spy duties with her Captain keeping a good eye on him. He merely nodded in acquiesce and Jessamine gladly reached for her quill, signing the clean parchment with flourish.

There. No more stray trade ships, more imports and exports coming into Gristol with potential market, and she avoided having a man from Serkonos stab her in the back without appearing ungrateful.

The cries from the dusty courtyard echoed through the narrow alleyways like wind and the rabble only rose with each passing second.

The skins of bare children blurred in the dust as they screamed and shouted. A barrel of sand kicked up in the air as a child fell to his side, his frail malnourished body struggling to lift up from the ground, leaving spots of muddy red blood in his wake. The boy pushed up to stand shakily on his feet from the fall. Other young boys around him began to form a circle, pointing and screaming and yelling in excitement. The blood dripped from his nose like a faucet, dribbling down his chin.

There was an older boy in front of him, his fist caked with the markings of blood. Proof of his debauchery. He prowled around the young boy, raising his fists quickly and pausing to make him flinch. His child's laughter was filled with malice.

The younger boy raised his weak arms before his head, protecting his face in fear of another blow. Tears streaked down his dirty face and he peeked out at the older boy in helplessness. The crowd of ruffians urged the bully on as he beat on the young boy, blood spattering the dirt and the sound of pounded flesh echoing off the small courtyard.

A clod of dirt smashed into the tormentor's head and he shook his scraggy hair and roared out, looking around the crowd for the source of the interruption. There was a yell and another small boy, with long dirty hair and darker skin leaped out, his arm curling around the bully's neck and tumbling them both to the ground.

The boys clashed wildly, shouts being thrown as much as punches. The newest boy with his long hair used the bully's weight to pin him to the ground. His small fists rose to punch him in the eyes, blood pouring from the orifice after a few strikes. He grabbed tight onto the thicker boys arms and rendered them backward. The crowd roared at the snapping sound of bone and the former bully yelled like a pained lamb as his elbow popped backward unnaturally.

A thunderous shout ceased the crowd's cheering. There were sounds of heavy boots approaching and the children scattered like wildfire. The long haired boy rushed off the broken and beaten bully, quickly helping the smaller bruised victim. Whispers of comfort are barely heard from the shouts of a man approaching the courtyard.

"STOP! You bastard boy!" The shouts call. The smallest victim nods with frightful eyes at his savior before running away. The man approaching is dark with a face full of hair and dirt. He spits as he yells, stepping right over the broken bully to snatch the long haired child. "CORVO! You stupid child of a whore!" He accuses. His great large hands yank Corvo's hair, facing him toward the broken bully. "That's the fourth fuckin' time I caught you! Pezzo di merda!"

The gruff man tosses the boy called Corvo to the dirt. He scrambles, his small hands moving to get away and on his feet but it's too late. A boot smashes into his head and drives him back into the ground. "You think it's fuckin funny to break bones!?"

Corvo spits blood onto the dirt and screams back. "He was hurt! He was too small!"

This only angered the man more. "You shit! Proca troia! You don't respect the pecking order! That boy was getting his lesson!"

"It's not fair!"

The boot pulled back from Corvo's tiny head before kicking into his stomach and turning him over. "Nothing's fair in the Gallows boy! You learn and kill, or you die." He leaned down, pulling the boy up by his neck. "There ain't no protecting in this business nor is there disrespect!"

He held Corvo still as he screamed, yanking him about and glaring at him. The bully on the ground some feet away began whining loudly, the pain of his broken arm and beaten face permeating the courtyard. They ignored him. A glint of light flickered from the man's hands and Corvo's small body stilled as a rusted knife peeked out in the sun.

"Now you little shit, you will learn your placen! No need for words in our business and I won't have you squawking with the others in MY Gallows." He hushed, the blade coming to rest on Corvo's cheeks, pressing into skin with a warning. "So you won't be needin' that tongue anymore."

The screaming in the courtyard didn't last long. Not with the amount of blood seeping from Corvo's small mouth.

Captain Morris tossed the papers down on the mahogany surface and wiped his brow on the fine wool of his regiment coat. "Blast this heat." He cursed. He walked around the tiny desk, cluttered as it was already. The small office was nothing like his own back in Gristol, but it made do for temporary services until the Empress herself decided to return. "I'll be glad to get off this island." He sighed, grabbing a perspiring bottle of whiskey and pouring some in a tumbler before turning to glance at the other men in the room. "Does it get hotter than this?"

Small black eyes looked back at him but did not answer.

The Serkonos man was tall. Perhaps not as tall as others he knew, but tall enough in stature and presence. He would probably seem even taller if he didn't hunch his shoulders so. The clothes he wore were naught but black leathers. Layers of clothing that made Morris sweat just looking at them. His skin was dark and tan and he was dirty. Not too surprising or uncommon for Serkonos people… nor was the long greasy hair. "Would you take a drink-uh…?" Morris leaned over to glance at the papers he had just deposited on the desk, "Corvo?"

The man did not reply.

Morris sighed. Assassins. He knew the Empress trusted him with this new assignment, and he had a duty to keep an eye on this man for her safety and the safety of the Realms. She couldn't very well accept him as her own working directly beneath her. He was Serkonan for God's sake, they were barbaric. Still, now it was his problem and he didn't like one bit of it. "We can't very well work without proper introductions, Corvo. You may not be pleased with your regency giving you over to the Empress but that doesn't mean we are to act like upset children."

"H-He's a Mute, sir."

Morris paused, looking over the Serkonos man's shoulder to his guard at the door. He frowned, glancing at the assassin. "What was that?"

"A Mute, sir. No tongue." The guard explained, shifting on his feet awkwardly. "The Ambassador said so in his letter. He signs plenty though."

Morris glanced back at the dark man's face that seemed undisturbed by the obvious conversation about him. Mute, unfortunately, did not mean deaf. No wonder they gave him away. However, a mute spy was still a spy. And tongue cutting was not uncommon in the Realm. Especially after the wars with Morley. Mutes were common folk even in Gristol. City Watch had made it a point to give lessons during training to better understand the sick and the old wandering the city. Not that Morris remembered a lot of it. "Alright Corvo…" He began warily. "Let's just get down to it then shall we? You've been assigned to me. Normally I'd put you straight into the barracks to begin the process of being in city watch… but seeing as we are traveling as security for her Majesty, I'll have to bump you to patrolling. I'll have you double up with some other officers so they can teach you the ropes. Patrols along the outside streets of Her Majesty's compound will be the easiest place to lea-"

Morris paused as Corvo suddenly raised his hands, his fingers sweeping the air before him if winding a clock or tracing a painting. They were deliberate movements that Morris followed closely, even as Corvo kept his own eyes on the Captain.

There was no sound from him, but his 'words' made Morris uneasy. "What about Her Majesty?"

His fingers moved again, a bit slower, but equally as deliberate.

I am her Majesty's hand. Not an officer.

Morris frowned. "So the treaty said. But the Empress has no need for an assassin. She wished you to be a protector instead, under my command."

Then I will be a protector under her command.

"To be frank with you Corvo, I'm not happy about this either. But orders are orders. The Empress has no need for you, so you fall under my authority."

Corvo didn't have to speak for Morris to see how frustrated he was.

"You have a new position now. You will do your duty for the regency under my command. You are no longer part of Serkonos, or their authority. You are under mine and Gristol's control and you will heed the command of Empress Jessamine Kaldwin. Those are where your loyalties now lie." Morris reiterated, hoping to set the assassin straight and break any ties here or thoughts to betray Gristol secrets to Serkonos. "Is that clear?"

Corvo's hard face tightened, his right hand coming out to sign alone in sharp gestures.

I was to be assigned to Jessamine's side.

Captain Morris straightened at the informality, his hand coming behind his back as he looked down on Corvo. "I don't think I should repeat myself again. Her majesty assigned you here. You will respect her by her right title and by doing your job."

Corvo Attano signed again, but this time, the Captain didn't quite catch the very quickness of his hands. No matter what he said, he had a feeling it wasn't very nice or happy. The assassin turned on his heel, storming out of the tiny office with a swift movement passed the nervous guard.

Morris sighed, taking a drink from his whiskey. This was bad news all the way around. A Serkonos assassin would not do well in the company of Gristol officers, let alone a man more than half his men would not be able to understand. He had hoped he would be reliable, cordial even, to grant knowledge of the area around them. But… perhaps not.

They had a month or more on this blasted sweltering island. Perhaps by then Corvo would either fall in place, or the Ambassador would take him back.

Or he would betray them and prove Serkonos a false ally.

Chapter Text

"It gets hotter everyday Your Majesty."

Jessamine turned on her horse to smile at the two other stallions striding up to her. Her hand tipped up her riding hat, shifting the reigns to stall her mare as her Lord Protector and his lieutenant trotted up to her side. "Lord Essen, it's strange to see you out and about Serkonos, let alone on a horse."

"Even in my age Empress, I still have a job to do, no matter how much I trust my soldiers." He smiled. Nicolai Essen was a hardy man. A renowned General and Commander, he had fought in the war and built up his reputation enough for a place in the courts. He had been her Father's favorite soldier and friend, so when the time came to choose a Royal Protector, there hadn't really been a choice. He had always kept an eye on her when she was younger and his organization with her guards had proven time and again very efficient. Especially now that he was at an age where he couldn't always keep up with her appearances.

Jessamine turned her mare about to trot slightly ahead with Nicolai at her right. She lifted her chin, relishing in the slight heat through her tight riding jacket and pants. Although her legs still burned beneath her leather boots and her hair was insulating heat. "It is miserable, but I find the view along the sands beautiful." She commented. Serkonos was unrelenting, but still the Realm's southern desert gem. It was strange how its humble beauty, untouched by iron and industry, sparkled and yet on a second look the cities leaked with scandal, underhanded piracy, and shady dealings.

Nicolai followed her gaze to the ocean, his own strappings and badges of war weighing down his clothing in the heat. "The men here are born for this weather. We all redden and melt like wax, while they darken and harden like steel."

Jessamine chuckled delicately. "Tell me Essen, what news brings you to my side in such weather?"

She heard him sigh behind her before broaching the subject. "I know your Majesty wishes to make appearances to reassure the new treaty with the Serkonos regency… but while the regency wants us here and proves a great ally, they cannot always control their people." He paused and Jessamine turned her eyes on him curiously. "There have been some… reports of unrests near the compound with some citizens. Ruffians, mostly. Ones who obviously don't like Lord Rossini either."

Jessamine frowned. "Gallows men?" She asked.

"We thank the Abbey not!" Essen scoffed. "The Gallows of Serkonos train their assassins from birth. Those men know no love or sympathy. Many of them turn to piracy and many more simply kill so much they kill themselves with naught left to do." He frowned. "I've seen them train those boys like dogs. No… this is mere drunkards and thugs. But we don't want it to be any more than that."

Jessamine's expression pursed and her mare shook its head in the heated wind. "I see."

"You are best protected at home in Gristol your Majesty." Essen reiterated. He pulled out a handkerchief and patted his wrinkled brow and dampened beard. "Especially when you insist on running your Lord Protector rampant around this city." He chuckled.

Jessamine smiled back at him and nodded in understanding. "Soon then. Next week, prepare my ships. But I have to meet with Lord Rossini himself to talk trade one last time. Then I will be fit to depart."

"Very good, Your Majesty."

"He killed three of them, Captain. Faster than I could see-I couldn't have stopped him! I swear it or I would have!"

Morris ground his teeth together. Damn it all to the void. The 3rd time in three weeks, and now he'd killed three at once.

Corvo Attano had proved more than worthy of being a patrol officer. Though he had also proved the biggest problem Captain Morris had ever faced in all his years of being a watchmen. Corvo was stubborn and disrespectful of their organization and his orders. They were constantly reminding him of propriety and conduct. Not to mention the man made gaps in his security every five minutes. Or rather… he pointed out gaps in his security, which surely, were not there before.

Last week they had been able to reduce the number guards on the eastern side of the fence protecting Her Majesty's villa by installing a new tripwire mine system that was foolproof. Or it had been foolproof. Corvo has stormed in with angry hands, gesturing wildly that the minefield was a farce and Morris had shouted at him to leave. Three hours later Corvo returned to dump a handful of mines on his desk, nearly scaring him to death before he learned they were all disarmed. Simply to prove a point. It was a good point, but a ridiculous one. What man would spend that long disarming mines simply to get into one area full of guards and still have to face hours of patrols to get to the Royal Empress?

A man determined to kill her. Corvo had signed.

There was also an officer currently infirm with a broken arm from a brawl that happened in the barracks. But when he had heard the shouting and rushed to break up the fight, there wasn't anything to break up. The officer couldn't testify if Corvo had actually moved and neither could the other dozen witnesses in the room. Apparently the officer had been harassing and demeaning Corvo as Serkonan. He had grabbed Corvo's shoulder to provoke him and was suddenly on the ground. Just like that. No one had seen Corvo move to break his arm. "Maybe he just fell on it when Corvo shrugged him off?" They wagered.

Either way, he couldn't discharge him for lack of evidence. But at least his men would know not to antagonize the Serkonan.

All of that was enough for three weeks of service. If it wasn't for the killings.

The first time it had happened, the patrol officers acting as his guides lost him doing their rounds. They had reported to Morris, who was displeased to say the least. They looked around the compound for a good hour when Corvo suddenly appeared himself, dumping a dead body onto the courtyard.

An assassin. His hands spoke.

Morris could accept that. After all, who better to know and eliminate an assassin but an assassin himself? He had nodded, trustfully if a bit warily, and gave him a "Job well done."

The second time, Corvo had killed a boy.

He had to be no older than 12. This time, a sweeping hand to indicate the word 'assassin' didn't cut it with Morris. They had shouted. Well, Morris had. "You can't just make that call! He's a child! And you have no orders to kill civilians even if they are antagonizing! You will ruin everything between Her Majesty and the Lord Rossini's treaty! Are you mad!?"

Corvo had glared in a reserved fury before ripping out a metallic object from his coat. The guards at the time had all pointed their guns and Morris had nearly thought Corvo meant to attack when instead he threw the object before them. It clattered to the ground noisly, but laid still.

A spring razor.

Corvo had signed slowly, with fingers that held a controlled violence. Strapped to the boy. A Serkonan trick.

Morris had let that one go too. But not without suspending him from patrols for the rest of the week and berating him for an hour about the difference between being a Serkonos assassin and being a Gristol watchmen. He had wanted to detain him, or send him packing to his Ambassador. But that would be an open insult straight to Lord Rossini. Captain Morris was already making plans to talk to the higher ups or send a letter to he Empress herself if he had too. But until they actually left the island for home, Corvo was his responsibility. And they only had a week left, which seemed alright. But Corvo had gone back on patrol today after his suspension.

And now...

He ran along the fence of the compound with his lieutenant leading the way, fearing a slaughter of civilians. The streets were dark and sickly humid and hot. There was yowling of strays beyond the fence. Even close to the coast as Her Majesty's villa was, the stench of the impoverished villages just beyond reeked down the land.

Their steps echoed loudly and shadows began to emerge in the darkness ahead. A fluorescent watch light flickered on at the sense of their movement. The light striking the image of a lean man in patrol clothing standing over dark misshapen shadows. Three of them.

"Fuck it all!" Morris swore, slowing. He half expected Corvo to have run off, but there he was, standing there waiting for them. His lieutenant paused behind him as he stormed up the worn cobblestones to the Serkonan. He allowed himself to look down at dead bodies and nearly sighed out loud in his relief that they were all adult men and not children. His anger still did not subside. "What in the name of hell happened!?"

Corvo's long hair framed his face in darkness. The shadows of the fluorescent watch light hitting the back of his head made his eyes and pupils nearly unreadable in the night. He said nothing.

"We were just making the rounds Sir! Nothing out of the ordinary at all and the shift was nearly through! He was right by my side I swear it!" The lieutenant called again, stepping forward and looking down at the men and shaking his head. "I-I saw them a bit far off near the gates. I figured them for workers, what with their uniforms. I'd seen the servers before last week comin' in and out."

Damn it all. Corvo had slaughtered the Villa's servers. This was a mess.

"Then the mute he- he just took off! I chased him, tried to catch up but they all went down. He barely touched them and they just died, just like that!" As the lieutenant continued, Corvo moved, stepping over the first body and coming to crouch near the second.

"Get away from the bodies Corvo! Not another move!" Morris warned, grabbing the hilt of his blade. The lieutenant stepped backward in shock. "Do you realize what you've done?"

Corvo stopped when he was told and glanced over his shoulder. There was no anger this time. Just a straight seriousness in his dark eyes that made Morris bulk on his threat. Corvo's hand moved, grasping one of the dead man's arms and pushing his sleeve higher. A tattoo emerged into view, ragged and wicked black ink swirling in an intricate design. It looked infected... new. Corvo dropped the arm after Morris got a good look and stood, lifting his own sleeve to show him an identical marking. His was old and faded into his skin, interrupted by scars.

"Gallows men!" His lieutenant shouted. Morris let his hand drop from his hilt, staring at Corvo in slight wonder.

"This... isn't good. That mean's someone has the Empress targeted for a bounty." The Captain sighed, putting a hand to the back of his neck. "Not good at all. She meets with the Ambassador and Lord Rossini himself tomorrow." He cringed. "In town, at his palace."

Corvo stepped forward, his hand moving quickly.

Captain Morris made a face at him. "Blast it all I can't- I can't go that fast man!" He barked, feeling incompetent and irritated with the situation altogether. It was as if his problems were growing bigger in scale every day. Bigger than any he had ever faced. And it was this mute man's fault.

"He says that she mustn't go. Says that she should return to Gristol… tomorrow." The lieutenant supplied. "And he says... ah... says he must be assigned to her side."

Morris glared, stepping forward to point a finger at Corvo. "We had this discussion!" He bit out. Corvo's expression remained steady in his dark eyes and the control of his expression made Morris step back. He lowered his hand but not his scowl or his authority. "Look- I appreciate your skills and your insight. To catch all those men trying to get in here... " He paused, a weary but plaintive look on his face. "I apologize for my assumptions, but you still don't respect command. And while it's good that you caught them, you can't make the call to kill them! They have to be detained for information. You don't respect orders and you don't respect conduct."

Morris didn't even try to read the new words in Corvo's hands, he couldn't argue with him, not now. He ignored them instead, continuing, "The last thing that the Empress will want right now when she finds out that Gallow's men are after her is a Gallow's assassin near her!"

If he made assumptions before that Corvo would attack him during an argument... it was his instincts and the look in Corvo's eyes that made him surer now than ever.

"I'm sorry Corvo. But you were assigned here and Lord Rossini's commands for your position don't hold up under Gristol authority."

It was quiet under the buzzing of the watch light, it's bright shining whiteness the only thing carving them out of the darkness. "Perhaps it's not such a bad idea Captain..." The lieutenant trailed. Morris turned his irritated eyes on the soldier who paused at the look before continuing with genuine concern. "I would have let these men right in. It was enough for me they were wearing uniform and... I would not have known they were Gallows men at all but Corvo... Corvo just knew."

The fact that it was true didn't make his job any easier. It was hard gaining trust in Corvo Attano, with his particular behavior and presence, not to mention his background. But it was even harder coming to terms with trusting him and not supporting him because he knew others wouldn't. Not to mention if he was wrong, it would cost lives. Still, Morris knew a dire situation when he saw one. And the benefits of knowing one's enemy were enough to outweigh a little protocol.

"I'm assigned with a small regiment to her Lord Protector tomorrow during her venture into Karnaca to meet with the Lordship." He looked up, meeting the small black eyes of the assassin. "Come with tomorrow and stay close to my side. We can... keep a better eye on things with you there." He compromised.

Corvo didn't look happy, but he didn't look angry anymore either. The quiet tension of the night was filled with a soft tentative understanding between them as they nodded.

Morris only hoped that he was right to bring him along.

He hoped more that it wouldn't be needed.

Chapter Text

"Why, our dear Empress! You look radiant in the desert sun!"

Jessamine squinted up at the grand stairs, the sunlight slicing her vision in nothing but gold. Her hand rose to shade them and reveal the image of Ambassador Vicci coming down towards her and her entourage. She forced a smile, her gloved hands boiling as much as her body was, garbed in black as it was. Her high collar didn't help either, but such was regal fashion. "Radiant, Ambassador, is not the exact word I would use."

The Ambassador gave his nervous little smile and she distracted him by turning to motion toward Lord Essen. He was still climbing the stairs and sweating as much visibly as she was internally. "You've met my Royal Protector, Lord Nicolai Essen." She introduced again.

The men shook hands and the Ambassador commented on the ridiculous insistence of leather clothing between Dunwall citizens.

Jessamine turned back toward the large palace, baking under midday sun. It was beautiful, if a bit strange. It was fashioned with crème marble, gold filigree along the doors and windows, and statuettes of angels and idols on the very top of its roofing. It was opulent, which is why it was strange to her. Serkonos was humble and traditional. But this seemed modern and new. She wondered if the rumors about the locals hating the new reign and his rulings were true. And not for the first time, she wondered if the natives were unhappy with their alignment to the Realm.

"Your Majesty, his Lordship awaits to greet you in his court." The Ambassador called, beginning to lead her up the stairs. "You'll be announced of course, and I guarantee it is much cooler inside."

"Announced? I was not aware that there was to be an event in my honor." Jessamine commented, pursing her lips. She could feel Essen's unease behind her already.

"Well of course! It was an invitation after all. Did you not see many of our people coming out to catch glimpse of you on your way here, Empress?" Vicci asked. And that was true enough. Essen had mentioned to her that the soldiers were having trouble setting up any sort of moving perimeter. No doubt he was about to have his work cut out for him trying to protect her in a foreign court while she mingled with foreign nobles.

No matter. She would only make her appearance and judge for the last time if his Lordship Rossini was her ally. Then she would sail home to her own palace, Dunwall Tower.

Captain Morris frowned. "A court? They're throwing a party for her and Essen didn't object?" Morris crunched up the note in his hands, shaking his head as he pushed aside the soldier who had delivered it. "Did he not read my report?" He asked no one in particular. The day had already gone hectically. Their entourage of soldiers had to ride ahead to create an efficient pathway for her carriage, which would have been simple if not for the immense traffic of people trying to come and see her procession. Her presence in town was not even supposed to be announced, due to her own protection. But it seemed the regency of Serkonos was insistent upon celebrating their Empress.

Or it was a trap.

Morris sent out some of his men to begin patrols about the new palace. He would need to try and cover all the entrances he could with his own men. At this point he couldn't afford to trust the guards already posted here. They all belonged to Rossini. He would also need men stationed inside. Essen was with the Empress of course, but they needed eyes everywhere in a room full of people all trying to get close to her.

He headed down the hall towards the post where his lieutenants were waiting. Turning the corner he nearly smashed right into someone and he swore, stepping backward and grabbing at his sword. When he recognized who it was, he relaxed only a little. "Dammit Corvo! Now is not the fucking time!"

Corvo's hands rose and began to move, but Morris grit his teeth and pushed passed him. "I frankly don't want to hear it-or see it right now!" He exclaimed, his angry and urgent footsteps echoing on the marble. Corvo's were silent. "I know it's all gone to shit, alright? No one seems to have read my report about the Gallow's men. Or if Essen did, he isn't doing anything about it so we'll have to just make do." He sighed, pausing on his march. "She'll be fine with Essen. I'm more worried about casualties should they sweep in on this blasted party and-" Morris turned to reassure the man, when his eyes widened. "Corvo?"

The lavish gold hall was empty, the marble floors reflecting his image and no one else's.

Shit.

"You adapt well to my weather Majesty."

"Only because your lands are so beautiful, Lordship."

Lord Rossini was an absolute pleasure. The day party itself had been overwhelming. Strange how different Serkonos was, and yet nobles everywhere seemed to be the same. They all laughed and joked, bringing her into their chatting circles to shake her hand and comment to her about their scandals and politics. They spoke of Morley and Tyvia like the friends no one truly liked. The women begged to hear about Gristol fashion and the men wished to boast of Serkonan trade and their unyielding native pride. There were polite nobles who wished her well and others who asked crudely about her plans for the future of her line. Marriage seemed to always be the topic in high society no matter where you went.

Essen was living a nightmare, she could tell. He was at her side like he never had been before. Warning of her not to drink anything he didn't get himself. But after the first hour, she could tell he was beginning to calm. She had seen the soldiers everywhere in their Gristol red and blue coats, watching her every movement. This paranoid her more than it eased her.

But when she finally met Rossini, she felt her anxieties melt away. He was young. Younger than she had expected; perhaps even a few years younger than herself. But he spoke to her in earnest about reforming Serkonos with their treaty. The trading of whale oil would do much to their economy as she knew it would. He wanted to join court at Gristol. He wanted to bring the Serkonos reputation out from the pirates and into the high society so they could flourish financially. She could draw everything together when he spoke of it. His clauses in the treaty and the modern and proud building they stood in. No wonder some of his people were in a state of unrest. He planned to do out with all the illegal doings of the city.

Rossini led her into a parlor, Essen following close behind as he had the entire she had been talking with the Lord. "I had feared you had not enjoyed your stay in Serkonos since I heard you did not leave your Villa often."

Jessamine smiled. "I prefer your coasts to your cities. I rode often along the beach."

"A beautiful sight, no?" He smiled. His tan skin and dark hair looked even more youthful with the expression. "I hope vacations occur more often once things begin to change."

They paused their slow walk and she stood in front of him. He was genuine, she could tell. He shared a look in his eye that she recognized in the mirror when she thought protectively over Gristol. "And I hope to see you more in my own court, Lordship. You are more than welcome and safe there."

The Lord raised his brows at the words that triggered his next sentence. "I had hoped to encourage your safety also! Does my Hand serve you well, Majesty?"

Jessamine looked at him in confusion for a second before the sentence clicked. He meant the assassin of the treaty. She tried to keep her smile, but could not take the apology out of her voice. "It... is reported so. He works for my protection with my Captains."

Rossini frowned thoughtfully, but nodded with an understanding smile. "Don't worry; I realize your apprehension over such an idea as assassination..." He looked her over, this time with concern. "But I assure you. Corvo is a good friend to me and worked for many years with my family before I became Lord. I gift him to you with the assurance that he will do your bidding." He smiled a bit sadly. Had they been closer she imagined he would have patted her hand. "I'm afraid as ruler; I have learned not to shy away from alternative means to war… or doing what is right for my people."

Jessamine nodded her thanks. She didn't have much to say in front of his generosity. But at least he understood their fragile trust so far. Her trip to her Serkonos had proved successful in the face of his true intentions and demeanor. But she could not say the same for the darker shadows that ran through the streets. She did not envy the Lord's rule. Not when she got the feeling that the citizens ran more of the city than he could ever.

Still, she would support him and his want for Gristol influence. Perhaps she would order the Guard Captain to promote the man Rossini had given her... but she could not come to terms with the idea of a personal cutthroat at her beck and call.

"Come now, enough talk of such things. You must tell me how I should fashion myself for my debut in Dunwall high society." He chuckled, his hands reaching to adjust his cravat, printed in exotic Serkonan markings.

Jessamine's expression lightened and she shook her head. "I'm afraid my Lordship, that you will have to acquire more black for your wardrobe."

Morris wished he was back in Gristol. He wished that more than anything.

Well perhaps not as much as he wished he never came to this blasted island in the first place.

Morris rushed down the line of his second squad, searching the faces for the tanned skinned Corvo. He needed to find the man and fast, or else it was his hide. He cursed, glancing down the entrance to his guards posted there before barreling inside the main. He took them two at a time toward the main foyer. Maybe this was it. Maybe this was the entire plan. For the damned mute to get close enough to the Empress to kill her. It would make sense. Why the Lord had chosen a surprise party. Why he had drawn then out to a new place her guards weren't familiar with. It was all coming together. He probably wasn't even fucking mute.

The white marble of the room was covered with all the gowns and expensive silks of its guests. Hats and flowers and free flowing gauze trailed over the stone. The sound of clattering dishes and chatter of the people only made the Captain panic harshly. He leaned over the railing of the stairs leading down to the center of the foyer and scanned for any sign of the Royal Protector and the Empress. Or of Corvo.

With another curse, he pushed away, turning to spot more of his men posted and trying to make out their faces. First things first - he had to report to Nicolai Essen to warn him of the danger and of his own mistakes.

His hand came up to touch his temple, his mind throbbing with the stress that urged him. And with the narrowing of his vision, he suddenly spotted the movement of a shadow in the corner of his eye. Morris slowly grabbed the hilt of his blade.

He turned to slow.

The shadow dropped down from the ceiling, an arm grabbing at his shoulder and yanking him downward before he could draw his weapon. He fell forward onto a blade.

He saw the silver of the dagger more than he felt it. The pain didn't come as quickly as he imagined it would. The surprise deluded him and he tried to piece it together like a sudden dream. His hand lifted to grasp at the metal, feeling where it met the wool of his coat and then the skin of his flesh. His eyes started to blur, and his legs gave way at his knees. But he struggled, blinking up to see the black shadow of the man who stabbed him even as screams began to erupt wildly below.

Gallows men

Corvo had been right.

"No, the rain months in the city don't nearly last as long as one would think. And the spring brings by beautiful sights in the northern-"

The far door of the parlor leading to the foyer slammed open and Jessamine jumped. He mouth snapped shut and Lord Rossini jumped to his feet across from her. She heard Essen curse and knew his hand was upon his sword. Their eyes targeted in on the intruder - a guard. One of Rossini's own.

"My Lord!" He called before his words failed him. He was shaking heavily with sweat and his eyes were wide with fear. "Gallows assassins-"

Essen drew his sword fuller and Rossini shouted for the guard to close and lock the door. The Lord turned to Jessamine with a serious expression. "Your Majesty, I'm afraid our time together is at an end." He said with a sorrowful gaze. "We must get you to safety."

"Is there a place I can take her?" Essen asked and she turned to see his contemplative expression changed to a hard battle gaze for the first time in years.

"What about Your Lordsh-" She began, standing as delicately as she could with her heart beginning to speed up.

He shook his head. "No... they aren't after me." He looked toward Essen and nodded. "Lord Protector, I have an underground passage to the streets in the music room through that door." He directed, pointing towards the end of the room. "I suggest you go through and take Her Majesty back to her villa."

"But we-" Jessamine swallowed heavily, as Rossini quickly came up to her, his hands taking her arm to urge her to the back room. "Please, you must go Your Majesty, you must be safe."

"Quickly Empress, there's no time." Essen motivated.

A gunshot rang throughout the room, woodchips from the door bursting throughout the air. Jessamine cringed, covering her head with a short yell. Her ears began to ring. They all looked up towards the door only to see the guard who had locked it stare blankly back at them with a hole in his chest and blood seeping through his coat. He fell to the floor with a thud and the door slammed open once more.

Three men in dark clothing poured in, their tanned faces wrapped in ragged scarves. Another gunshot rang out and Jessamine fell forward as Essen shoved her out of the way. Her hand quickly grabbed at the carpet, scrambling to get upright once more. She heard a clash of swords and barely registered Rossini dragging her to her feet as she watched her Lord Protector cross arms with the assassins. He swung in angry formation, backing them away from the two regents.

"Essen!" She called out, even as Rossini pulled her to the end of the room.

"Go Empress!" Essen yelled back, not looking at her as he swung forward, stabbing one of them through the shoulder.

"Come quickly! We must get you out of here." Rossini yelled near her ear and she turned away, running with him to the music room. There was so much noise that her heart seemed to pound louder in her ears so she could hear it. Her hands grasped at Rossini as he reached the door and flung it open.

The doorway was engulfed with another man. Clad in black and bearing a sword. His greasy face was marred by a dark and violent looking tattoo. Rossini grabbed at her, shielding her with his arm as the killer took a step forward towards them.

But his hard expression bulked and his eyes seemed to jolt. A sickening sound of torn flesh accompanied the sudden protrusion of a blade through his chest. The assassin's eyes rolled to the back of his head and he fell to the ground, revealing another man behind him.

Jessamine shrunk back, assuming he was another assassin, with his exposed dark face and long hair. But it was his clothing that made her pause. He was wearing the Gristol uniform, blue and red. She glanced to his face as if still expecting a trap, but his gaze softened on her even as his hands yanked free his blade from the dead man's back.

"Corvo!" Rossini called. "Meno male!" Jessamine blinked wildly as Rossini rushed her toward the man and through the doorway. "Your Majesty, Corvo will take you - he will keep you safe." He explained in a hurry, gesturing them into the room. "Take her behind the hidden door in the music room. Take her back to her villa!"

Jessamine turned back to him in panic. "No! Lordship! You and Essen-my Protect-"

"GO!" He yelled back at her. She tried to protest but felt two arms wrap around her waist and rip her backwards.

"Essen!" She shouted again, but Rossini gave a small forced smile before shutting the door once more.

Her heart jumped to her throat, hammering loudly and forcing her to breathe raggedly through her lips. The man holding her forcibly turned her around, her shoes sliding on the tiles. She could barely think, her eyes leaving the closed door with reluctance to stare at her new escort's face. He crossed the room with her towards an ornate fireplace behind a piano. Corvo's grip on her arms lessened as he crouched and reach up into the chimney. A grinding of stone hissed before them and Jessamine watched as the fireplace stones moved to expose a set of stairs leading below ground.

No, she couldn't leave, not without her Protector. Not without Essen, or Rossini for that matter. Corvo began to direct her in but she bulked, whipping her face around to his, her eyes wide and flickering. "No please! I can't leave them I-"

Corvo's mouth parted and she paused for him to speak... but after a quick pause he said nothing and his mouth simply closed again.

He glanced around quickly before looking back at her and simply shook his head. He pushed at her shoulders again, a bit more gently than before, and this time Jessamine went. His silence seemed more hopeless than if he had verbally negated her. She knew she had too; she could only hope that Essen would do his duty and that Rossini was right that they only wanted her.

The stairs were rough stone, and the pathway was narrow and very dark aside from the light streaming in from the room. The dust greedily grabbed onto her clothing as soon as she began downward. She reached flat ground in a few short steps and paused, looking back up to Corvo. His hand traced the wall and suddenly the floor above them began to close shut.

The light grew slimmer and slimmer and soon they were encased in darkness.

Chapter Text

Jessamine gasped audibly, her body tensing. She suddenly felt more vulnerable than she had in the room with the assassins. She tried to focus her eyesight, but could see nothing in the pitch blackness of the passage. She waited for direction, but when she heard none she spoke. "I...I can't lead us I can't-"

A calloused hand grabbed at hers and she jumped in surprise. She tried to pinpoint Corvo's face with no luck. He began tugging them forward, or what she imagined to be forward in the utter void around them. Her hands grasped at his in her anxiety and she slowly grabbed upward until she had hold of his entire elbow for better guidance.

How would they get straight to the Villa? Couldn't they just stay and hide for some time before the men were killed or run off? She wondered if Rossini would try and buy them off their target, or if Essen had slayed them. Her logical mind told her that there would be more. That they couldn't hide in a place from dozens of men and that if she didn't flee now they would certainly try and kill her when she returned. It seemed her stay in Serkonos was at an end.

They ran for a short time before a gleam of light sliced her vision and she looked up to see the sudden forms of the walls around them as light came into view. She could see Corvo's form again and suddenly it clicked; Rossini's recognition of him and the familiar sound of his name. This was the man that had been gifted to her. An assassin from the Gallows. Just like the ones after them now.

Jessamine had the sudden urge to stop, frightened that this may all be a trap. But she remembered Rossini's urging for her safety and her trust of the young Lord. Gallows man or not, this was now her only option.

The light they neared did not grow bigger as they drew closer. And she realized as his hand pulled her towards the ground that they had to crouch through the opening in the wall to exit the corridor. Swallowing, she held on as they emerged in bright daylight. Her eyes had to adjust, barely piecing together the scenery of wooden posts and hay bales before Corvo put his arm around her shoulders and ducked her behind a low wall. A fierce noise erupted around them that she recognized as a horse's whinny. The stables. Her shoulder's relaxed a little and she waited as Corvo looked over the wall and above her head for any danger.

"Horses. We can ride back to the Villa then?" She asked, shifting on her legs beneath his much taller form. He paused, turning to look at her before shaking his head negatively. His hands pulled from hers swiftly to come before her eyes. She jerked back at the motion, staring at them in confusion before looking at his face, "What are you-"

His fingers began to move, tracing his own palm before coming together and forming symbols. They were all specific shapes that were made quickly and deftly. At one point his thumb even reached up to cross his chin before falling back down to his other palm.

Jessamine looked up at his eyes, eyes that stared back at her with such imploring she almost felt embarrassed beneath their gaze. She shook her head. "I don't... " She could see the sudden resigned look in his expression as she continued "I don't understand."

Corvo swallowed, his fingers flexing outward with some reserved feeling she didn't comprehend. Her brow furrowed. "Please, tell me, are we going straight to the Villa? What about Essen and his Lordship? What of-"

His hand lifted to silence her. She complied, pursing her lips and trying to regain her regal composure in their hectic moment. Corvo's cheek twitched and he looked around again, perhaps checking to make sure that for a while, here behind the stables, they were unseen and safe. His dark eyes turned back to regard her and his lips parted slightly. She rose a brow at his strange antics and was about to question him again when he suddenly opened his mouth wide.

Jessamine's hands flew to her mouth, cutting off the soft gasp that escaped her. She pressed her fingers into her face, her wide shocked eyes looking quickly away from his mutilated tongue.

His jaw clicked shut with a snap and he looked over her head again.

It was nearly gone! The pale flesh zigzagged across as if the stubbed muscle had been stitched and healed over onto itself. It looked utterly painful and the strange scarred pink tissue had whitened oddly. She tried to pull herself together, her hands falling away. "For-forgive me I- Are you alright?" She asked instinctively. He looked back down at her with slight confusion, his thick brows drawing together. "Did they... just now?" She asked tentatively.

His mouth twitched and he shook his head. She nodded thankfully, her hands clamping over her chest.

It came together now, why he hadn't said a word to her. And then suddenly she remembered his intricate hands. "You're mute. That's why you…"

She sighed before catching his gaze once more. She shook her head in hopelessness, her own hands splaying outward. "I don't know how to sign or... or read it." She explained. "But I..." Her hand touched his fist held loosely on his knee and she nodded at him. "I trust your judgment Corvo. If his Lordship trusted you than I shall too, with my safety."

It was a big thing to do. Jessamine felt a bit strained at the words as she said them, not knowing how truly she meant them. But she couldn't give any other options in such a dire situation. She had no idea how to get back to her Villa, alone, in the middle of Karnaca. Nor did she know if the assassins still chased her and she had no one but Corvo to defend and lead her. She would have to trust him if it were to be her best option to get home to find out if the others were alright.

Corvo's stern eyes took in her words, his other hand moving to grasp hers as he nodded in acknowledgment. She was about to smile back at him a bit reassuringly, but he stood them up so suddenly she did not get the chance.

They appeared to have come out of the secret passage into the back wall of the stables, on the far end of all the horse stalls. Corvo checked around the corner before leading them both out.

His arm wrapped about her shoulders while the other held fast onto her hand. Their pace was urgent and Jessamine felt each step quickening her heart beat. The stables seemed abandoned as they walked down the shaded housing. The noises of the horses had her as frightened as a bird. She kept expecting each neigh and whinny to be the ripping sound of gunfire or a sword barreling toward them. She tensed at east beast they passed as it nicked it's head at them.

When they emerged from the large building straight out into the open, it was only a simple dirt road to the gates leading out to the streets of the city. Corvo's eyes glanced around, the pause only momentary before he urged them forward to the exit.

But where were the guards? She wondered, seeing no one but themselves as they hurried to the iron fences. Had they all been rushed inside to fight off the assassins? Or had they been dealt with when the intruders snuck in? She had the immediate instinct to ask Corvo, but the question died on her lips when she glanced at his mouth and remembered his disability to answer.

As they neared the gate a smacking sound hit their ears. At first Jessamine had thought it a horse's trot in the dirt, when suddenly Corvo's hand on hers spun her outward. She twisted beneath his arm in a rush, away from the sudden sound of clashing metal. Disorientated she looked up to see Corvo parry a blade away from his face, with a blade of his own drawn so fast she hadn't seen it. She stepped backward quickly as she took in the full view of the new assassin. Her back hit the gates and startled, she turned to shake the wrought iron as if to open it, spotting a lock and chain with panic.

The man was bearing his weight down on their crossed metal and Corvo's jaw clenched in resistance. They fought for dominance for mere seconds until Corvo suddenly released, letting his blade be pushed down toward him. His head moved to the side and he pushed his forearms out, his blade and the attacker's falling through the gap of his arms. His sword twisted back up, digging itself in the assassin's throat. His hand sprang up to grab the assassin's head, shoving his chin further down the steel. The blood poured out until the man's eyes went rolling in the back of his head and Jessamine turned away from the gruesome sight, hearing only the squelching thud when Corvo shoved him off to the ground.

A shot of gunfire rang out from across the grounds and his eyes spotted a few more assassins barreling towards them like bats out of the stables. He rushed back toward Jessamine, his arm wrapping around her slight shoulders once more and pulling her into his body so they could not aim for her. He pulled out his own gun and Jessamine jumped at the bang of it. The metal lock dropped to the ground and Corvo yanked the gates open. His hand grabbed onto her, glancing at the oncoming assailants before running again.

Another gunshot sprang them into a hurried frenzy. Jessamine clutched onto Corvo with sweaty hands. He pulled them directly into the city with no heed to the citizens around them as they all began shouting and running at the sound of guns. She barely caught their yells as the wind ripped past her ears and Corvo suddenly drove them to a sharp right down an alley.

The buildings of Karnaca were a farce. They were all short and made of aged wood, and half attempted stone walling, as if to give off the image of renovation. The bleached stones were covered in layers of dirt that kicked up under their feet. And the large red canvas shadings were tattered and old.

The alley began to narrow. The buildings were always so tightly compacted with little to no land to share. She heard clattering from the entrance of the side street behind them and Jessamine attempted to look back, but Corvo placed a hand between her shoulders and urged her out of the alley onto another road.

They ran deeper into the city, cutting through a growing crowd of people. They must have been getting closer to the central market, Jessamine thought and cringed as people began to push and shove on the narrow streets. Their speed slowed with the throng of people and Corvo drew his arm around her once more to push them through safely. She had never been so thrown from her composure. The smell of flesh, the heat of the sun, coupled with their chasing assassins and her left behind comrades began to bear down on her. Queasiness overtook her stomach that she tried to hold it back with a swallow of saliva.

"Corvo, please, mustn't we find a place to hide?" she couldn't help but insist loudly up at his profile, watching his eyes flickering wildly about their path. His gaze turned down at her briefly, but otherwise he didn't acknowledge her. She turned to glance over her shoulder, but saw nothing of the assassins who had had been so hot on their trail.

Jessamine was trying to keep herself together. But her throat was tight and her hands were gripping the wool of his Gristol coat as if her life depended on it. The nudges and proximity of the people was blurring her mind. Even the loud sounds of shouting people, buzzing chatter, and merchant stalls were muted from her addled brain. She had never been this clustered before. She felt hopeless to their direction. She felt like cattle. "Corvo-" she called again.

His arm reached back to pull her forward, much to her relief, onto the porch of some building. A few other people glanced at them curiously as the loitered on the steps above the mob. She let her chest heave, looking up at the large doors of the building before them. Corvo on the other hand, stared straight at where they came from. The building was pretty, if harshly run down. With faded Serknonan lettering hanging from a wooden sign.

Jessamine had barely turned back in time to catch the sight of the assassins in the river of people before Corvo grabbed her shoulder once more and drove her towards the door of the building, urging her inside.

The coolness of being indoors washed over her instantly. Only a small relief in their predicament. A haze of smoke was level with her eyes and her vision had to adjust to it and the stark blackness of the building from the outside sun. All the windows of the building seemed to be shuttered tightly, with the only light from sun streaming through gaps in the stones and wood. A few flickering candles did little to help.

At first it looked like some sort of housing to her. With a scrounged up set of lounge chairs decorating the front room, and a windowed wall with movement of people beyond it. A few coughs alerted her to a woman leaning against another wall, smoking heavily and staring at them indifferently. Jessamine frowned deeply, staring at the woman's state of dress or lack of it, in her ragged clothing one could barely excuse as a dress.

Corvo walked forward without her and Jessamine hurried after him. He seemed not notice the strangeness of the place or the woman staring at them. A smacking of footsteps began from deeper in the house and a door opened to reveal another just as scantily clad woman. She was dark, Serkonan, and her painted face drew in anger when she spotted Corvo and Jessamine. "No, no! I nostri solo le donne!" She snapped, her hands shaking at them dismissively.

Corvo stepped in front of her and Jessamine watched as his hands flew up, signing quickly. The woman seemed to pause, staring at him as he spoke in silence. His hands repeated a few motions with an urgency even Jessamine recognized as insistence. A plea.

The woman seemed to contemplate whatever he had said to her, closing her eyes in frustration before nodding. "Vai. L'ultima stanza a destra." She waved them toward the door she had come from and Corvo turned back to Jessamine. His hand touched her shoulder gently, pushing her toward the entrance. Jessamine swallowed, her mind reeling with everything that was happening, but she gave the best regal nod she could and let him direct them further into the house.

It wasn't until they were walking down the hall past another woman dressed only in a corset, with a greasy looking native behind her, that Jessamine realized they were in a brothel. It was further proved by some of the open doors along the hall that exposed the lavish and suggestive decorum of a pleasure house. She bulked, but the calloused hands she had grown accustomed to in the time since Rossini's music room urged her onward.

When they came to a door on the end, Corvo pushed it open and gestured her inside.

Thankfully, this appeared to be an office rather than a room. "Are we to hide here?" She asked aloud.

Corvo said nothing, moving past her and further into the room. There was a desk pressed up against the wall, with a chaise on the other side and a nightstand with an oil lantern atop it. It flickered as Corvo moved it and the stand away from the corner wall; with it out of the way he pressed himself against the small space left next to the desk.

It would almost be comical if he were truly suggesting it a hiding place.

But with a thump of his shoulder the wall pushed through and the wood panel opened like a door, revealing another passageway. Her mouth parted in confusion. How had he known that was there...? In this strange building they seemed to have fled into under desperate circumstances? Had the woman told him?

As surprising and convenient as it was, Jessamine didn't look forward to another pitch black and narrow cranny to move through.

He looked up from gazing down the passage's length and caught her gaze. His hands lifted instinctually to shape words, but his fingers merely twitched before lowering.

Jessamine stepped toward him, as if to meet him halfway. "Is this the way out now? Or are we to hide here?" She asked. He seemed to hesitate and she wondered at herself how she expected him to answer in the first place.

He came toward her, hands snatching hers, startling her. She wanted to immediately pull away, but she forced her composure under his close proximity.

Corvo's fingers splayed to press her own flat. He exposed her palm to the ceiling and tapped a few times experimentally. He paused and began a slow, steady tapping upon her hand. Jessamine recognized his intent instantly, but her shoulders dropped and she looked at him with remorse. "I do not know the Naval Morse code either..." She trailed. She imagined he would have cursed, the way his cheeks twitched and his brows drew together. A thought came to her and she pushed her palm at him again. "Draw the letters?" She suggested, her head tilting curtly at him. "If you know our written word…?" His hands hovered for a moment, but he nodded.

She could feel the ripped skin on his fingers, calloused and dirty as they traced shapes on her palm. She forced herself to concentrate, trying to make out the letters one by one. "S." She spoke quietly and he nodded heavily. "E." Her hand twitched upward as his nail scratched into her palm.

She glanced at him as he finished, and caught his lips twitching in movement, as if to whisper the characters to himself in concentration. She looked back down as he began once more. "W."

The shouts of a woman in the Serkonan language erupted from outside the room and they both tensed and snapped their gazes toward the door. Another yell - a man - and Jessamine gasped. Corvo enveloped her immediately, throwing them towards the corner opposite the door. The chaise lounge obscured them from view if they crouched down low enough and Jessamine trembled in Corvo's arms as another scream erupted from the room on the other side of the wall. There was a loud shuffling outside and she breathed harshly in trepidation. Had they found them again so quickly? She looked toward Corvo's still expression. "Is it-"

His finger pressed gently to his lips and he stared at her intently.

The light from the hallway shining through the bottom of the door cut in two as someone's legs appeared before it. Jessamine stared at the silhouette as Corvo watched the door. A few seconds passed like whole minutes.

The door burst open and she jumped, her hands pressing into her mouth to stifle any noise. The man stormed in, heading towards the passageway they had left open. Jessamine only caught a glimpse of him behind the corner of the chaise, but she recognized him as another killer.

The was a clicking noise near her ears and she turned to see Corvo pull back the hammer on his pistol only seconds before it went off like a clap of thunder. She jumped in terror and Corvo leapt out from beside her toward the assassin, who was shouting in pain at the gunshot through his ankle. The cutthroat threw his arms out to push Corvo away from his oncoming lunge, but could not stop the weight tackling him into the wall. Shattering glass flew from the nightstand as they barreled into it. Corvo's arm locked around the man's neck from behind as the wrestled, kicking at the walls and desk. The assassin's hands scrambled desperately to rip at Corvo's arm, his face turning red as he began to lose air.

Jessamine stared in horror from the corner of the chaise. Corvo's hand suddenly loosened, whipping to his side to pull out his pistol once more. The click preceded the awful bang to the side of the man's head in Corvo's arms and blood exploded outward to spatter against the wall. Jessamine gave soft cry, turning her eyes away.

The assassin hit the ground with a thud and Corvo wasted no time in crossing back to close and lock the door this time. Jessamine slid upward to her feet with the help of the wall at her back, her eyes locked on the mutilated head on the ground, bleeding out against the floors.

Corvo glanced at her for a second, the side of his face marred with the blood spatter. Turning back into action, he crouched by the dead assassin and began ripping the dark coat free of his arms. He patted the man's trousers, pilfering some bullets he found. The he began grasping at his own coat, ripping at the Girstol buttons to open them. She stared in cofusion. Had he been wounded? She panicked at the idea. "A-Are you hurt?" She questioned shakily aloud.

He shook his head without turning to her, but continued to shed his officer's coat. He bunched it up, rubbing it over his face to wipe away the blood. Some of it streaked against his hair and cheek. He tossed the bloody Gristol coat to the ground and replaced it with the assassin's leather overcoat. He shifted, looking to examine Jessamine. Her face flushed under his scrutiny despite her shaking nerves, but she made no move from the wall when he stood. He looked about the room before crossing to the shuttered window above the desk to yank one of the curtains off it's hooks. Corvo approached her with it slowly, raising it in his hands as if for her inspection. His eyes looked into hers with the same softness from when he had first seen her. She swallowed, her mind trying to ignore the fact that she had just seen him blow the head off a man.

She touched it the curtain warily, no doubt with a look of puzzlement on her features, for he ignored her hands and instead threw the fabric about her head and shoulders himself. He pulled the hood around her hair and tied the ends loosely on her chest. The action was slow, and almost calming in its simplicity after the attack that just occurred. Jessamine allowed it, if only because she didn't understand the necessity of the fabric and because it eased the shaking in her away.

Either way, he seemed to have intent in his actions and when he looked her over once more he looked satisfied. His hands carefully took hers again, and he walked her backwards toward the passage. She kept her eyes deliberately on him and not the body on the ground. She didn't bother asking him about what they were doing this time. Obviously, there was no time for fumbled communication.

She entered first and just like with Rossini's passageway, Corvo closed this one behind them as well. Luckily they weren't thrown in darkness, something she was entirely grateful by.

Spots of light made from small rectangle shaped gaps in the wall to their right seemed to guide them down the passage. The slots looked man made, not unintentional. As they passed the first hole Jessamine caught sight of movement. On the second she paused to glance inward. She realized abruptly that they were peep holes into the other rooms of the brothel.

"Oh-" she gasped, ashamedly. The embarrassing emotion filled her and took away her shaken-ness from before. A light breath of sound whispered near her head, and she glanced to Corvo behind her. His expression was hard to see, but his eyes looked light and his lips were parted easily. She flushed, facing forward. He had laughed at her.

At the end of the narrow path the light changed to a golden source, a leaking oil lantern dangling from the ceiling. It illuminated the walls around them which seemed to change from the old rotted wood to mismatched bricks and packed dirt. She was so distracted, she nearly fell straight down the sudden drop below the lantern, had Corvo not caught and held her back. Her body tingled with the near weightlessness she had almost encompassed and she breathed shakily. Corvo steadied her and pulled her back toward his side. He squeezed past her to crouch down near the edge of their path, and she watched as he turned around and began to descend down a ladder she had not seen.

He paused, looking straight up at her and raised his hand to motion for her to follow.

They weren't climbing down for long and Jessamine was glad. After a certain point, she felt Corvo's hands suddenly about her waist and was startled right off the ladder. He hoisted her down onto the ground before him and she instantly cringed at the fowl stench that permeated the air. She looked about, the space illuminated by more flickering oil lamps. They stood upon a pathway that curved along a rounded wall, the ceilings doming above them. It was cooler down here, if moist and rancid. There was a grate walkway connecting their path with another across from them, with murky opaque water flowing slowly beneath. The Sewers.

His slow letters on her palm came back to her thoughts and she smiled. She pulled the fabric hood around her to block the stench and wondered at his insight. "So this is for the smell then, Corvo?" She asked.

He had been surveying the pathways in front of them, but turned back to her attention. He shook his head in disagreement, but didn't give any other answers before continuing on their way through the underground.

The sewers seemed to go on forever.

The smell, though unbearable, seemed to be the only dangers to them below ground. They walked at a steady pace and while Corvo still seemed focused and attentive to their direction and her proximity, he did not seem as tense or as rushed to get her away. She wondered constantly how far away they were from the palace and what had become of Essen and Rossini. Jessamine assumed that once she arrived back at the Villa, she would order the rest of her guardsmen, servants, and advisors to pack up and sail back to Gristol. There was no more point in staying and it was obviously no longer safe. But she couldn't help fighting her judgment on whether or not to wait for Essen. He was her Royal Protector after all. But it would be senseless to gather up soldiers and storm back to the palace for him. No... She knew Essen would urge her to leave without him if he was somehow detained.

Perhaps he would be fine in Rossini's care and would meet her back in Dunwall.

A noise alerted her back to the present, looking up from watching her own steps to see a few people ahead of them, sitting against the walls of the sewer. They were tussled together with worn blankets and scattered papers, their dirty hands and feet trying to find warmth in their rags. Homeless.

Poor souls, Jessamine contemplated, thinking of those similar in her own cities, though she had never been so close to them before. Corvo pulled her to his side as they passed them and she couldn't help but glance at their faces from behind his protection as they did.

They saw a few more vagabonds, walking the opposite pathway or sleeping with stacks of boxes and crates under lamplight. Corvo seemed suspicious of everyone. He would always switch sides with her, placing himself between her and all the strangers they passed. It wasn't until they turned another corner and continued some way before he relaxed again.

Finally, weary of her own thoughts on their trek she spoke. "How is it you know exactly where we are headed? The passages all look similar to me." She commented. His attention turned once more on her as her voice broke their silence. She nearly forgot how concentrated his scrutiny was. "Or are we simply abiding time before resurfacing?"

Corvo continued to look down at her, his expression deeply contemplative. Jessamine's shoulders shifted, her hands rising to tug at the fabric he had placed on her. She had never experienced such intense stares. It was almost impolite the way he looked on her, and not because it was lewd... but because he stared with such intensity. She looked away first. "I know you have no means to answer me, but I simply ask because I am... discomforted in my lack of help." She continued, glancing back at him.

This time Corvo immediately looked away from her. But his hand rose, and a finger tapped at his head deliberately. She nodded to herself; he simply knew the sewers very well. She supposed being a Gallows' assassin born and bred would mean he knew Serkonos extremely well. It was almost a silly question now that she thought on it.

Jessamine thought to ask him if he was indeed an assassin from the Gallows, or whether or not he had been born in Serkonos- but her thoughts were interrupted as they turned another corner towards a dead end. She thought them lost, but Corvo continued forward towards the stone walling, and gestured towards a pipe ladder leading towards a metal hatch.

She hurried forward and he motioned for her to follow him up. Jessamine only wished they were indeed rising to the surface. She didn't think she could continue on in the sewers much longer. She watched as his boots climbed before her eyes, hers hands moving to each rung slowly. They paused near the top, and she peered up to watch him crank the handle of the hatch and budge it open. He was cautious, as always, cracking it open slightly to take a view around before pushing it open and hoisting himself out.

Jessamine followed, but as she reached the top and attempted to crawl out, his large hands came down and he assisted her anyway. When her feet touched the ground she adjusted herself, muttering curt thanks even as he looked around.

They were in another alley, along the edge of a street. The buildings surrounding them were much shorter than that of the market square, and it was very quiet with no one walking around save for a stray dog, ragged and weary as it sniffed the stones for food. Corvo touched her shoulder, pulling her out from the shade of the alley into the street and Jessamine regarded the sights with utter surprise. They must have been on the very edge of Karnaca, for the buildings were all sparse and more run down. The street they were on seemed to lead straight towards the coast, as it turned into nothing but a dirt path with only a few shacks speckled here and there on the horizon. As they crossed the empty street she looked backward, and sure enough the silhouette of the palace was some ways in the distance, nearly invisible in the heat waves of her vision.

He led them to what looked like a small grocery hut, with vegetables lining its worn stalls. Parked in front of it was an old horse drawn cart. With the horse dirty and flicking it's tail in the heat and the cart worn and full of sacks. The door to the hut was open and an old Serkonan woman leaned out of it, fanning herself and staring at them as they approached. Corvo paused and lifted his hands to pat the air towards Jessamine. She understood that gesture enough, and stood, waiting patiently in the sun.

She watched with interest as the old Serkonan woman wafted herself and stared at Corvo's hands as they began to move. Did everyone in Serkonos know signing? Jessamine wondered if he was explaining who she was and what they had been through. Or perhaps he was asking her for refuge? She looked about, seeing nothing before the building save for the cart of goods.

The woman spoke, pointing way down the dirt road to the coast, before shouting behind her to the inside of the building. An elderly man emerged and spoke with the woman. Her husband maybe, Jessamine concluded to herself.

The man nodded a few times, before looking at Corvo and then glancing at Jessamine. He stuck out his hand and Corvo approached it, digging coins from his pocket and placing them in the man's palm. Jessamine frowned deeply, but the old Serkonan seemed pleased and motioned to his cart, heading towards the front of it.

Corvo turned towards her, motioning to the cart as well, his hand grasping her shoulder as she drew close enough. She stepped up to him but didn't move. "Did you pay them?" She asked intent that he had not spent money on her account. He simply pressed a finger to his lips and urged her again. She frowned but complied. He led her to the back of the cart and hoisted her onto it next to the sacks of food. Corvo seated himself next to her before smacking the wood with his hand. There was a bustle of reigns, a call from the old man, and then the cart jolted to a start.

Jessamine watched quietly as the old woman saw them off, and the expanse of Karnaca's outskirts began to grow smaller. She swallowed, looking up towards the palace. Only a few hours ago she had watched the same view in the company of her Lord Protector and in the safety of her carriage. Now she swayed on the rickety vegetable cart beside Corvo, taking her back to her Villa. She sighed, looking towards her companion.

Corvo's dark hair shifted in the warm wind, his eyes watching the city as well. She allowed herself to stare beneath her hood now that they seemed to be safe and on their way back.

He was young. Not as young as Lord Rossini, and nowhere near as well-groomed. Corvo looked worn. He had a 5'oclock shadow and strong, prominent features. The cheek exposed to her in his profile sported a light, white scar down to his jaw, not really noticeable at a glance. He turned to glance at her and she faltered, looking for words to excuse her gaze. "We...are returning to the Villa now?" She asked.

He nodded and his hands rose, before falling once more. His cheek twitched, a notion she took as exasperation. It seemed that not only was he mute, but quite reserved in his emotions as well. She allowed herself a small chuckle, their communication truly hopeless. But she raised her palm out to him, pushing it toward his hands as she had back at the brothel. He took it gently, the cart rustling their shoulders together as he settled her hand before him.

Corvo seemed to think for some time at what to write, holding her hand delicately. His finger traced her palm carefully, and she stared down at the shapes with a calmness she could only recognize as oncoming exhaustion. "S." She spoke quietly. She felt him nod, his head bumping gently onto hers. Her shoulders settled and her legs drew up into herself a bit more comfortably, while Corvo's dangled off the cart. "A?" She questioned, his finger sliding awkwardly along her skin under the turbulent road. She thought he nodded before beginning again. "F." Jessamine felt her eyes flicker drowsily and she tried to blink herself back into focus. The heat bearing down on her shoulders and the stress pulling at her consciousness was beginning to make her weary. "E." She finished. Corvo's hands fell away slowly, leaving her palm exposed in the empty air. "Safe." She completed looking up at him, her hand lowering to her own lap. Corvo nodded at her, his expression perhaps the softest she had seen since he had taken her away at the palace.

Safe. The word eased gently into her mind and she nearly forgot what it was supposed to answer in the first place.

As the sand slowly shifted and the city grew smaller, Jessamine felt her head slacken. She closed her eyes to the heat at first...but soon, she drifted to sleep on the broad shoulder next to her.

Chapter Text

It was the softest touch that woke her.

A shifting beneath her head made her mind stir through the deep exhaustion that had overcome her. She drowsed, wondering at the sudden weight upon her shoulder. Her sleep had been lethargic even in its shortness and Jessamine's eyes opened slowly at first, before snapping open in surprise when she realized someone was standing close to her, waking her.

Her fright only lasted a few seconds though, as the face became familiar in her sudden consciousness. Concerned eyes looked at her from a darkened face, flickering about her from head to toe as if to make sure she was alright. "Corvo?" She asked before breathing a sigh of relief. Her hand went to soothe the back of her neck and she scooted away from his close proximity, very much aware of how improper she appeared. Not to mention how unseemly it was for her to fall asleep in the company of another. It was uncouth behavior for an Empress.

Her shame only lasted so long though, as their situation came back to her mind quickly. She looked around warily, seeing that their small vegetable cart had stopped in the middle of the pathways. The dirt lands around them had grown softer.

The air had gotten much cooler. The sun was only a glimmer of bright golden on the horizon, bleeding red into a darkening purple sky. She could feel a slight breeze, warm as it was, playing with her matted hair.

She attempted to push herself from the cart on her own, but Corvo's hands came forward to hoist her down anyway. She would have objected, especially since he had been doing such actions all day. But considering the circumstances she was glad for the attentive gestures even if it was improper and unnecessary.

When she stood on her own feet, she looked up to Corvo to see him staring off beyond the stopped cart. Following his gaze she nearly sighed again in utter relief at the vision of the Villa. Lights from its windows shone in the darkening night, blinking out at them like a safe haven.

She wondered if Essen would already be inside, with some of her other soldiers. Perhaps they had gotten back quicker than she had, considering they had walked nearly the entire way back through the city sewers. She couldn't help to stop the hope beginning to bloom within her at the thought.

Corvo waved to the cart driver as they passed, who began to pull away. He then began his steady escort of Jessamine into the grounds.

A few shadows before the gates appeared and she recognized their forms as her own guards. Despite this, Corvo still moved protectively in front of her as they approached.

"The Villa is closed!" A voice shouted toward them. Corvo paused before the two men, lifting an arm to interrupt their next command. He then moved to expose Jessamine slightly. She could see their apprehensive expressions thrown dramatically as the sun died on the horizon of the coast and the gate lamplights flickered on above them.

"At ease, Guardsmen." She called, her hands rising to pull down the fabric of her makeshift hood. "I am Empress Kaldwin. My entourage in-"

"Majesty!" The first guard shouted, and they both bowed immediately, their sword sheaths clanking as they did so. "Quick! Open the gates for Her Highness." One rushed to the other. The wrought iron gate opened with a resounding clatter and he motioned for her to enter. "Please, get inside, your Majesty, where it is safe! Our Chief Officer awaits you inside. They have been panicking since we got word from Karnaca."

Jessamine frowned. "Has my Royal Protector returned?" She asked a bit urgently. The guardsmen did not straighten from his bow as he answered.

"No, your Majesty. Only a few soldiers came to bring word of the attack."

She nodded, feeling her throat clench with worry. Corvo gently lead her past them towards the entrance of the Villa. When they reached the doors, another guard frantically opened them. He urged them inside at the surprise of a few servants, milling about the foyer. They stared unabashedly at the sudden appearance of the Empress and the strange Serkonan.

No doubt they looked like two rats from the streets, dragged in like poor beggars.

The grand foyer of the Villa was nothing like her own Dunwall Tower. But it was still a beautiful sight for tired eyes. It was styled with traditional Serkonan architecture. Some of the shutters in the second story were open, letting in the warm air from the coast. Jessamine looked toward her escort, nodding to him. He seemed a bit distracted, his eyes tracing the ceiling and walls as If looking for any surprises. "Corvo, if you would mind finding the Officer to—"

"Majesty!" A shout rang out. Jessamine and Corvo turned at the booming sound, the latter tensing immediately. A handful of soldiers poured in from the parlor room, all staring in shock at the two of them. A man in a heavier Gristol coat with a military cap on, who she assumed was the Chief Officer, stepped forward tentatively. His eyes flickered to Corvo in confusion before suddenly he drew his sword. "Step away from our Empress!" He roared. "Arrest him!"

A few screams of servants pierced the room as the handful of soldiers reacted like a gunshot, rushing towards Corvo. The twang of swords lit the air as they all unsheathed their weapons. Corvo stepped backward into her, his hands rising to shield her, but he made no moves for his weapons. "No!" She yelled instinctively.

The surrounded them in a flash and as Jessamine tried to understand the meaning of the situation they grabbed Corvo, dragging him away. He made no attempts to fight them, but his feet and body dragged against them as he tried to stay near her.

"Stop!" Jessamine called in horror, her hands trying to reach toward him when another soldier pulled her away. They pushed Corvo to his knees harshly, cornering him with their steel. The Serkonan went easily, bowing his head low to the floor without resistance.

The Chief Officer stepped before his detained form and Jessamine shouted again, her voice deep in her chest at her outrage. "Stop this! Unhand him!"

All eyes went to her. She pushed against the soldier holding her, ripping her arm away and stepping forward. She stood tall, raising her chin and glaring ice at the Officer and his men. "Release him!" She commanded once more and the soldiers, confused, began to reluctantly lower their weapons.

The Officer stepped toward her. "Your Majesty, I don't understand-?" He tried, his hand motioning towards Corvo as if their actions seemed obvious.

"Of course you don't! He's a guardsman!" She chided, walking over to push past the soldiers around the quietly detained man. They parted quickly for her, with hasty bows and murmured apologies. She pulled Corvo to his feet by his arm, turning to scowl at the Officer. "He's responsible for my safety from the attack at the Lord's palace! You will treat him with respect."

The Officer bowed low, and all the soldiers in the front parlor followed suit. "Forgive me, Empress. I had assumed-"

"Assumed? That he was vile because he was Serkonan?" She accused.

"N-No Empress. Only that... it was Serkonan men that had attacked you today. Or it was reported-"

"No assumption is acceptable. Not when I was under no visible duress." She corrected.

"Of course, Majesty." He complied. The Chief Officer's eyes still looked suspicious, glancing up at Corvo as Jessamine took her stance before him. A motion that indicated he was a higher rank of guardsmen than the rest, with her vulnerable back exposed to him alone.

Jessamine sighed; her tense shoulder's only barely relaxing from her anger. Her sleep upon the cart seemed so long ago, even if it hadn't been truly comfortable, it had been a small escape from the tragedies of the day. The offense was a great one and had they been in Gristol she would have ordered punishment. Suspension. But all current situations called for quicker forgiveness and all the hands she could afford.

"You may rise." She ordered. He and the others all stood at attention at her words. "Please Officer, report to me."

The Chief Officer saluted, his feet drawing tight as he stared politely past her shoulder. His words were not so harsh as his confident commands and she saw his new apprehension at his blunder, even if his eyes scrutinized the mute behind her. "Empress. We received a message three hours ago that the palace had been attacked by natives. A further report confirms the attack to be of Gallows Assassins." He glanced at her for only a second for her approval before continuing. "You were last seen with Lord Protector Essen and his Lordship Rossini. Your whereabouts and status were unknown until now, Majesty. Our regiments here were gathering to send out search teams in the city for you."

"What of Lord Essen and the Lordship Rossini?"

"We have had no word."

Jessamine nodded, her weary eyes forcing her commanding expression. "I am ordering the house for immediate leave. I wish my ships to be ready as soon as they are able for my return to Gristol." She commanded. "I trust that you will be able to secure the safety here until we are ready to depart?"

"It will be done, Empress." He promised, and already she saw the other guardsmen moving into action. Servants motioned to each other frantically. The house would be utter chaos as they all packed and rushed to board the ships in the back of the compound. Jessamine was tired, but there was much to be done. She knew she would be allowed no sleep until they boarded.

The Officer took his leave and the Empress watched him go before she turned to the Serkonan guardsmen behind her. She barely said his name before he was instantly lowering himself to one knee, a pair of fingers signing to his heart and then his hip. She frowned as the formal transition, his head bowed to await his orders. "Corvo?" She asked uncertainly.

"Your Majesty." A soft voice interrupted. She turned to meet the gentle eyes of a woman a bit older than her, dorned in a dark green suit. Clara, her matron. The woman was in charge of all her personal needs, domestic affairs, and the order of her servants in Dunwall, and therefore here. She stepped toward Jessamine through the busy servants and guards. She gave a curtsey while she said, "Would your Majesty like to retire to prepare for the trip?"

Jessamine gave her a thankful, tired smile. "Yes Clara." She agreed. She would need to be assure she herself was in order before she could then oversee preparations and organize her men. Without Essen there, she would have to do rounds until they were ready to set sail.

"You look in need of tending Madam." Clara frowned, coming forward with concern and placing her hand on Jessamine's arm, tugging very gently to lead her to her quarters.

"One moment, Clara." She said, turning to gaze at the Serkonan still at her feet. Now… what to do with him? She feared the suspicious nature of her men, enough to worry about sending him to report for duty to the Chief Officer.

"Please rise, guardsmen." She ordered. Corvo stood with an easy control bred better than some soldiers she'd seen. But unlike others who knew their place, Corvo's eyes locked on hers, awaiting her words as if he'd see them in her irises. "I would have you as my personal guardian and protector until we board the ships." She commanded and he nodded curtly. "It is my intention to have you stationed in Gristol, unless you would stay in Serkonos?"

Corvo, of course, said nothing. His eyes seemed to search her face, as if willing thoughts into the space between them. She imagined he indeed had things to say, by the way his fingers twitched at his sides, but eventually he simply bowed in acquiescence.

For now that was good enough and she could not help but feel comforted.

It wasn't until Jessamine was before the looking glass on her vanity that she realized what the day had done to her. She was visibly caked with dirt and grime. Her eyes appeared sunken on her blotchy skin, amplified by the shadows of the lamplight. She gently pulled the curtain wrapped about her off, folding it mechanically as she stared at her frayed and mussed hair. Where is once had been pulled crisp and pinned, it was now loose and everywhere with the elegant hair pin missing.

Her fine clothes were ruined, and she found a tear in her sleeve that she could not remember the origin of. The dust of Serkonos made the black suit look faded and old, and as she shook her hair she felt more dirt fall from her head and shoulders.

Her mind roamed over the day's events with a blurred clarity. She did not think she had ever been in such a dire situation of her own life before. Never had she been so detached from her own world and thrown into danger. She was still reeling from the idea that on several moments she had almost died. Had it not been for the Serkonon guard gifted to her by Rossini, she would have.

She realized she had not thanked him once.

Clara returned to her from filling a basin with water. There was no time for a bath, unfortunately, but she needed to appear presentable enough to bring her soldiers to order. She washed her hands eagerly as her matron began helping her from her ruined clothing.

She paused, glancing at the door behind her through the mirror. Corvo stood just beyond it. She could see the slivers of his shoes just beneath the cracks. He was an attentive guard, a protective one. That was certain.

"Clara?"

"Yes Empress?"

"Do you speak sign?"

"Sign, Madam?"

Jessamine frowned in thought. "Yes, the signing of a mute or of the deaf."

Clara gathered up the ruined clothes with a shake of her head and an apologetic smile. "I'm afraid not Madam, never had the need in my duties or family."

Jessamine smiled, jerking her chin in dismissal. She glanced at the door again.

Her expressed gratitude, it seemed, would have to wait.

When her ships were prepared with her aboard and ready for sail, Nicolai Essen and his men returned.

They had called for her from the cabins she had barely settled into. She had urgently run out to greet her Royal Protector, much to her new personal guard's apprehension. Her heart had beat wildly, a heaviness in her gut not quite preparing her for the sight of the men coming up the ramps to the sea vessel.

They all looked haggard and worn. Some were adorned with bandages.

They carried Essen on a stretcher up the ramps.

An officer motioned her aside as the men hastened to take Essen's form into the lower decks. He explained that her Royal Protector had been shot through the side. They suspected his ribs had shattered from the blow, and they weren't sure if the bullet was still lodged in him somewhere. He had been unconscious on the trip back but his body was fighting for life against the pain.

Jessamine watched with a hand placed upon her mouth, taking in the information as dutifully as she could.

Lord Rossini survived, her officer explained. The assassins made a point not to kill the man. But near ten of her own soldiers had died, and a few others survived casualties. They counted more than ten assassins at one time and suspected more had been present. Her men had taken none prisoner and had also been unsuccessful killing any.

Nothing was known about the order to take her life.

She could feel Corvo shifting behind her. Though from angry or uneasiness she didn't know, her mind wrapped in worry for Essen.

"The best we can do is pray the Lord Protector lasts until we reach Dunwall, Majesty." The officer bowed to her.

Jessamine's heart clenched as she heard the Captain call out for the ship to leave port. The men around her began bustling with pulling the ramp aboard and releasing the sails. She wordlessly let Corvo take her back to her own private room below.

It would take three days before they reached Dunwall.

Chapter Text

The Royal Protector, Nicolai Essen, did not make it through the night.

Jessamine had not seen him when he passed.

They had escorted her into his quarters to say her goodbyes to her loyal companion and dear friend. He had been the last of the connections to happy days (and the bad days) with her father. She could still remember the times he had watched her at her father's side as she recited cities of Gristol for the soldiers, her just a small girl. He had taught her what each part of the sword was called, and in which order's ranks in the military were received.

He had been one of the few she could speak to in earnest, in trust; a rare luxury in her life of regalia.

They had asked if she wished to have a ceremony at sea, which she denied. He would be buried in Dunwall on the Royal grounds such as he deserved.

She had locked herself away after that. The image of Essen's cold face, older and paler than she ever remembered seeing him, haunted her mind as she walked the seemingly long hallway back to her quarters. She had dismissed whoever had opened the door for her in a haze, requesting quiet privacy and receiving it dutifully.

Jessamine had allowed herself only that; the reprieve from duty aboard the ship. She did not cry. She didn't believe she could even if she allowed herself. Her shoulders simply grew tenser, winding herself tight like a string. She held her chin high as she grieved from a simple longing and remembrance spoken through the sorrow between her brows as she stared out the window towards the seas. She allowed the boat in all its creaking to mourn for her, with each groan and wail of the wood and iron of its making as it barreled back toward Dunwall.

No one called upon her for the rest of the journey.

The waters about the isle of Serkonos had been rough, and even after their path straightened for Dunwall, the skies were grey and it rained on the day they ported.

She had waited until they had taken away his body, before departing from her room.

The Royal Guard met her at the docks, along with Commander Dalen; Essen's acting officer left to lead her City Watch while he had traveled with her to Serkonos. Who now, was a temporary replacement. His expression was grim as he gave his condolences. She had simply waved him off, assuring him she expected him to fulfill his duties to the utmost ability in a time of tragedy.

They had taken her straight to the Tower, escorted deftly from the docks and the returned soldiers shuffling about the boats. She thought nothing of them or the quiet talking about her as she left, or of the Royal Guard arguing away the rest of the accompanying entourage.

Word was sent quickly to her advisers of Parliament at Dunwall Tower. And a session was called immediately for her return. Jessamine had walked into court and presented the grave news. Her mind automatically finding the words she had built during her quiet solace. There were no other words said except her own, and the airs of court were for once, stilled. The benefits of their new treaty and the strength of their Serkonon ally felt unbalanced with the weight of her Lord Protector's death.

The week of Parliament sessions was cancelled.

…

The speakers throughout Dunwall called for a length of silence for Essen's passing on the day of his procession.

Condolences were spoken to her throughout the tower. Servants in mid-curtsy, as she passed the halls, whispered their apologies and watched her leave with pitiful gazes. She ignored them for the most part, her acceptances growing more tired each day.
The funeral was beautiful despite the overcast clouds haunting them from the sea. It was as if the dust of Serkonos was chasing her home, she mused.

The officers draped a flag upon the lacquered wood of his coffin. They wore they're ceremonial uniforms, and Commander Dalen placed Essen's sword upon it, wrapped in the deep teal and gold of the Kaldwin family.
The High Overseer, Wesley, read a passage speaking of the righteous of the living and the memory of the fallen. She didn't hear a lot of it.

Jessamine whispered words of thanks to the carved stone adorning the grave. It wasn't the first time a Protector had died for his charge, she told herself. And to die in valiantly for his duty was not a vain or dishonorable death.

The city mourned for a week and a half. News of the Royal Protectors death brought pity and sorrow. He had been loved by his soldiers and the citizens. Essen had been an honorable man; soldier and fighter for his city in the war. And he had saved their precious Empress from the hands of Serkonos men.

But his death also brought about whispers and puzzled looks. Advisers began meeting to discuss the news. Officers overlooked their positions and everyone waited for more news.

Who would be Lord Protector now?

"It's in bad taste to do something so soon after..."

"Your Majesty it has been two weeks."

"That's not a lot of time."

"Perhaps." The adviser straightened, watching Jessamine's back as she faced the great window overlooking the Tower grounds. Cromwell was Secretary of her Parliament, her Privy Council. He was her official messenger and correspondent for her decrees and decisions, as well as the voice of the advisers council. "But the position is a great one. Not only for your safety, but for the command of your forces..." Cromwell tried again. When the Empress didn't interrupt he continued. "You must begin your choosing. It will take a few months to prepare the new appointed officer and it would not be announced for some time... But you must begin the process now."

Jessamine sighed, her finger reaching to trace the curtain in contemplation. She glanced at the strange reflection of Cromwell in his black suit, shifting on his feet in her office. She supposed they had left her alone for as long as they could. And for her advisers, two weeks was indeed long.

She knew he was right in any case. It didn't matter how close to her Essen had been. He had held a great title, one that needed to be replaced in order for the Kingdom to continue order. To leave the position empty was not just a hazard to her protection and the order of security at her Tower, but it was not proper for her people to go without a Lord Protector in their government, even in name.

There was only so much time for grief in her position. She had learned that from the death of her father.

But Jessamine could spot a box of political intrigue from miles away. And the selection of a new Royal Protector screamed of it.

The Privy Council was made up of eight men, including her Secretary. They were judges, senior politicians, men from the Academy and more importantly, all noble men within her court. They all had things to gain, positions being one of them. Money being the other. She trusted their opinions and their urgency for the factions they supported within her Kingdom, but she did not trust their acknowledgment of each other or the whole of her people.

Still, she would have to begin sifting through it all. She was Empress, after all.

"Has my Lord Protector left behind recommendations for his succession?"

He nearly sighed out loud in relief. He had almost expected a dismissal, but their dear Empress had always been sensible. A trait he was thankful for in times such as these. "Yes, Empress," He nodded, coming forward to place the small stack of papers upon her desk. "I'm afraid that some of them may not be as prepared as others though…" He trailed and looked up to the Regent with analytic eyes. "Ultimately, the decision is yours, Majesty. But your council has nominated candidates as well, they are there too."

Jessamine nodded, tearing her gaze away from the overcast sky and dreary city. She glanced at the new papers on her desk. So it was as she predicted. No doubt none of them wanted her choosing from whatever recommendations Essen had made. They had probably been through them all, already. "Thank you, Cromwell. I will go through them." She dismissed, turning away with false disinterest.

She waited until he was gone before swearing quietly.

She crossed the room quickly, sitting on her chair and reaching to splay the papers before her.

Small cameo portraits accompanied written dossiers of various men. Most of them were Corporals in the City Watch, and one she recognized as Essen's right hand Commander, Dalen. It was immediate what problems were apparent in his evaluations though. They were all great soldiers, high ranked, with awards and special honors.

But none of them were high enough in society. They were middle class, brought up to high stations in the military but not in lineage and hardly in wealth. Which she knew, was an unfortunate must. To hire any old guardsmen from any family would be scandalous. Not only because of the lack of class, but because it showed a degradation in her own station. Not to mention the instant disapproval from all the other houses. Jessamine's lips pursed, ignoring the issue for now.

Experience, of course, was also important. And quietly, she promised herself not to hire another of Essen's generation. She needed a Lord Protector fit for duty. One that was adaptable in a time where change was rapidly occurring in her Kingdom. Something the former Protector had had some trouble with.

Pushing away the top papers, she came to those nominated by her Privy Council, each page tabbed with their wax seals. Such support went only to Naval Officers, which they all were, of course. The Naval force was much more highly respected than the Watch was. Not unrightfully so, but perhaps a little unfairly. Especially since the Naval force gained much more financial and social support from those in the courts. It paid to endorse an Admiral and his fleet unlike a Commander and his guards.

Unfortunately, regardless of which faction she chose from, narrowing her specifications to young, adaptable, experienced and high stationed was very limiting. Not to mention, she had meet none but one.

And loyalty came with a certain amount of acquaintanceship.

A trait she realized, that was perhaps the most important of them all.

Surely they were all trained for devotion to their land... but to their Empress on a level for her safety?

A knock on her door paused her thoughts and she looked up. "Come in."

The door opened to expose one of the guards who had been keeping watch outside her door. "Reports for your Majesty."

She frowned and gestured him inside, his hands full of scrolled parchments, stacked up his chest. "Reports?"

"On Serkonos, Majesty. From Essen's faction."

Oh.

She paused at the idea, but nodded him towards her desk. She had no intention to reread the events at Karnaca, but there they would stay.

He crossed the floor quickly and at her motion to the spot in her desk, he began to try and set them all down at once. They cluttered out of his hands awkwardly, a few escaping to roll over her dossiers and papers. One fell to the floor.

The guardsmen tried to straighten them in embarrassment, trying to stack them on top of each other in vain. Jessamine frowned heavily, her own hands reaching across the mahogany to snatch a stray scroll. "Leave them." She demanded, saving the poor man from further embarrassment by offering him a dismissal.

The officer's eyes flickered to her and back to the mess, glancing at the one that had fallen to the floor.

"That will be all, watchmen." She tried again. He saluted hurriedly, bowing for good measure over his blunder and hurried out the door.

Jessamine watched the door close, tapping her chin with the paper scroll she had caught. Her eyes strayed back to the cameos of all the Naval and Watch officers of different ranks, their quaint little drawings looking back at her stiffly. She placed the scroll idly down, rolling it along the desk beneath her fingers as she read.

Living with an angry court and choosing from her City Watch was something she did not want to do. But the position was not one she was willing to grant to her councilors benefit. She sighed tiredly. Cromwell and the others would just have to wait. There was no way she could narrow her mind by reading through pages of titles and badges.

When it had come time to appoint her Protector years ago when her father had died, she had done so easily. Essen had always been there. There had been no need for interviews or preparations; the man was practically Royal Protector already. And none had questioned his rank or duty, or even his stations. Then again, he had been a Naval Commander, she reminded herself.

And now this? Her fingers twiddled the scrolls on her desk. She stared at it listlessly as she contemplated putting together an evaluation for those applicable for the job.

The scroll rolled a little too far from her fingers, and the lettering above its seal peered out at her.

Corvo Attano.

Jessamine's mind blanked.

A vision of the Serkonos man rushed back to her, his worn and hard face strangely soft as he awaited her orders. Puzzled, she racked her mind at the last time she had seen him. The ship? Perhaps the docks? It had been a haze when they had ported and she could recall having her Royal Guard escorting her away, but not Corvo following about her like a shadow. He must have stayed with the others; the soldiers that he had been positioned with at Serkonos.

Her eyes stared at the name in confusion before flickering to the other rolled parchments on her desk, lying about innocently. Her eyes widened in realization. He must have, for these were the reports from all those soldiers of the actions in Serkonos.

And so… Corvo, too, had written a report.

Jessamine snatched up the paper, crinkling it in her haste. The City Watch seal popped off easily and she unrolled it a bit gentler than her finger's wanted to in their eagerness. She pushed the curl of the paper flat on the mahogany and sure enough, a hand written report stared back at her and her eyes skimmed it greedily.

Corvo's handwriting was shaky with the quill. Not illegible, but obviously the characters were difficult for him to shape. The shakiness of the ink seemed to reflect the quickness in his hands, as if written in haste, or perhaps in frustration. It seemed disappointingly short – nowhere near the length of others had she seen in her rulings. It was also littered with stricken words as if edited by another.

The Captain, no doubt. His fancy cursive hovered above Corvo's crossed out scrawling. It was almost sort of comical, like a tutor fixing a student's error filled scripts.

She began reading slowly, even as her mind longed to whirl through the entire text. Perhaps she would have felt less inclined to read such a thing had her charge not been... addled as he was. She was admittedly curious to hear the words of one who had not spoken to her at all. Especially during the events he had practically carried her through.

For while she had been there herself, the entire goings on had still stirred in her mind like a surreal dream. And since they had arrived at home, she had pushed it from her mind.

Forcibly slowly, she read:

Corvo Attano
Assassin Hand

The first correction lay here. 'Assassin Hand' was stricken. It was replaced with the words, 'City Guard.' Jessamine frowned at the change. It was a true enough error. He was not what he was assigned in the treaty. But had they not told Corvo that? Or did he not accept such a reassignment?

I killed 3 Gallows men the night before the meeting on the compound. I knew they're failure meant they would attack again. I left my post when I learned there was to be a gathering of people not a private meeting. It meant they could come during the day where she was exposed in a crowd. They entered from the roof of the palace where no guards were posted. There were 16 of them. I killed three on the way towards music room to find the Empress. The tattoos on their faces meant they were from Cullero, not Karnaca. They are in esili. Pirates. I took the Empress from his Lordship and used his safe passage in the music room to take her to the stables. I killed a fourth by the gates. We went through the city with another three chasing us. I tried to lose them through the crowd and when it grew too heavy to run I took the Empress to a safe house. Postribolo. They give runaway women rifugio.

Another set of strike outs. She could make out the strange Serkonan words Corvo had written, probably to substitute words he didn't know how to say in their language, but the Captain's replacements were 'exiled,' 'whorehouse' and 'sanctuary.'

I killed a fifth in there. I believe he found us by seeing us from the streets and following so I switched clothing to not be spotted as a Gristol guard. I gave the Empress a cover to hide her face. She does not look Serkonan.

The safe houses in Serkonos lead to the sewers a safer place to run. Cullero men would not know Karnaca sewers. We walked to the end of the city and came up to a trader I know by name. I lied to him that the Empress was my wife and I needed passage to the coast and paid him to take us. The Empress was not physically hurt during our escape.

I killed five men. Bodies will not be found. Gallows men carry their dead back with them.

Jessamine let her fingers trail over the last words. So he had known. Not only had he known that they would come, he had known what for. Pirates... no doubt upset that she had come to stop their business and legally ratify certain trade. They would lose much money, bounty and sea turf.

And of course, they would want to kill her only. Stir war between two nations and frame Rossini? A predictable if feeble plan. Although, she supposed it would have worked smoothly had Essen and Corvo not been there.

The information wasn't exactly the closure she wanted. But it was nice to understand what Essen had been protecting her from.

She traced the page again and again, short as it was, remembering all the details. The small things weren't mentioned. Not Corvo showing her his cut tongue to explain he couldn't speak. Not the attempt to write letters on her hand, or his breathy laugh at her catching an eyeful of brothel patrons. Nor did he mention her falling asleep near the end of their journey.

She didn't expect him to. But she remembered once more that she had yet to thank him despite saving her life more than once that day. Perhaps a bit more than her dear Protector had. She frowned at the thought, but it was true. Besides, Lord Rossini had gifted her Corvo and she had placed him in the Watch with mistrust. Now that she had confidence in the Lord, and even more in Corvo, she could do her best to reward him. Even if it wasn't to appoint him as her Assassin Hand…

She had not even spoken a goodbye to him, or seen to his station upon arrival at Dunwall. With a stab of worry, she wondered if they shipped him back to Serkonos.

She rolled the report back together neatly, placing it in the drawer at her desk side. It wouldn't mean anything to read any others. Corvo's had been the only one she needed.

Jessamine decided that her Privy Council would wait.

She had to see to Corvo.

Chapter Text

"The barracks, Empress? Whatever for?"

Jessamine ignored Cromwell's upset expression as she adjusted the laced front of her coat. The two long tails of the coat brushed against her boots as she crossed the room to Clara, who handed her a few parchments. They were sealed brilliantly with her crest and she placed them carefully inside her coat.

"Your Majesty?" Cromwell tried again.

"I wish to speak with some of the Captains there." She explained and gestured toward him. "Talk with me on my way to my horse if you must." She subtly dismissed, leaving her office in the company of her matron. The guards at the door hastily opened the door for her.

"You're riding to the barracks?" Cromwell exclaimed, his gangly form jumping in aghast. He hurried after her and her house lady, trying to calm the situation. Cromwell's hand gestured wildly as he found a place beside her, imploring her gaze despite it looking straight forward. "It-It's fantastic that Your Majesty is eager to find a new candidate for Lord Protector, but I assure you, Empress, I can summon those you wish to speak to here at the Tower."

"This isn't about the Royal Protector, Secretary." She corrected. They exited towards the main foyer and began down the stairs, the red velvet contrasting brightly against the dark teal accents of her riding jacket. "This is a personal matter I would see to in person."

Cromwell scowled at the ceiling momentarily. His politician's expression showed its disapproval and judgment. Jessamine could imagine it even as she ignored it. "With all due respect Empress, the barracks are not fit for... such high visitations."

"They are my barracks are they not?"

"Yes, but-"

"Then I expect them to be fit for such visitations." She ended turning to her Secretary with scrutiny. "With all your respects paid, Cromwell." She finished. There was no more room for argument in her clipped tone and Cromwell's sharp shoulders visibly deflated.

Her doorman awaited her at the front of the palace, as well as a few familiar guardsmen who would ride with her for protection and direction to the barracks. Cromwell paused on the last step, knowing he had lost and watched her adorn her riding gloves and hat. The Regent Kaldwin would do as she pleased, and he could only hope she would find herself on track for her duties sooner rather than later.

"Very well, Your Majesty." He complied with a bow. "Shall I send forth someone to announce your arrival then?"

Jessamine looked down to the entourage of horses awaiting her and her men for their short trip to the barracks. It was nice weather, and she imagined the horse ride would be enjoyable enough to calm her nerves. "I have already sent word to one of the Captains." She said, much to Cromwell's dismay. No doubt he wished would rather she parade down the streets with the entire City Watch surrounding her.

But this was a discreet matter, one that she wished to remain private. She was nervous enough as it was, despite her station and her authority, which was rare.

She said her goodbyes to her matron, telling her to expect her return at a later hour.

Though... she imagined the conversation would last much shorter than that.

Captain Morris straightened his uniform as best he could with one arm in a sling and a shattered collarbone.

He strode around his desk to look in the vanity for the last time during the pacing of his office. He had been burning a trail in the wood flooring with his constant trek of nerves. Morris regarded his strewn expression before turning his shoulder a bit in its sling. He could feel the bandages high on his chest slip from beneath his arms, and his free hand tried to catch them through the layers of his coat and shift them more comfortably. The damn things could never stay in place beneath the shifting uniform.

He ended up just looking foolish when his lieutenant barged in. "Captain! H-Her Majesty!"

"Yes, yes, open the door!" He urged, straightening his uniform again as he heard the storm of footsteps coming towards his office.

Why the Empress wished to speak with him, he had no idea. Most likely it was about Serkonos. He only hoped that he wasn't about to get fired for being responsible for the outside security. Or whatever it was Corvo fucked up when he disappeared. He had read and edited the reports. It was a nightmare; an insult to the Gristol reputation. An unauthorized Serkonan assassin the only one to escort Her Majesty out - and he had taken her through the public, a whorehouse, and the sewers.

That in itself was enough to get him disbanded. But what happened with Nicolai Essen...

Morris swallowed as two guards filed in, Royal guards, by the look of their much more decorated bright uniforms and the gold shoulder boards. They were followed by a short figured woman in riding regalia, the suddenness of her entrance straightening his posture immediately. Her hair was done up with a pin, clean and crisp under a short riding fedora. It was a strike of color in the earthy toned office, the Kaldwin teal of her jacket cutting her figure out of the soldiers behind her.

Her Majesty's eyes found him immediately and he was struck with the realization that this was the closest he had ever been to her before. Sure he had been a part of security detail for her carriage in Serkonos and had seen her en route to places. But suddenly here she was in his office, staring right at him. He knew her face without truly seeing it, from the portraits on the papers and the coins. And yet now it seemed to render them false, because no drawings or engravings could quite capture the sharpness of her cheeks bones and chin, or the delicate curve of her brows. He had always known that the Empress was beautiful. Everyone knew that. But again... here she was.

She looked richer than anything in his office, including the Tvyian brandy from Alexin on his desk, a fact he was suddenly self-conscious about.

Morris saluted with his good hand fisted on his chest and bowed low. "Your Majesty."

"Captain Morris?" She assumed, stepping into the office and pinning him to his spot with her look.

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"You were the one posted in Serkonos with the rest of my men and... my Royal Protector?"

And so it started. Morris stood straight, but couldn't get his eyes off the floor. "Yes Majesty. My sincerest condolences."

"Thank you." She said quickly. Automatically. There was a pause before she began again. "I understand that you have a Serkonan guardsman by the name of Attano beneath you. He is in your section is he not?"

Shit. "Yes Majesty. He is in my troop." He said and thought to remind her. "He was appointed to me from the treaty of-"

"Yes I know." She interrupted. Her nod was abrupt, but not angry. She smiled very slightly and Morris felt himself relax under the expression. "I'd like to speak with him."

He relaxed too soon. "Majesty?" He questioned without thinking. When she continued to stare at him in expectancy he babbled. "I-he-Corvo is not a fully realized watch men. As his Captain I must apologize for any actions he may have done to offend you, Empress. I take full responsibility for his misconduct."

Jessamine frowned at him. "Misconduct?" She clipped and Morris nearly winced. "He saved my life, Captain."

"Yes and I apologi-" He stopped as her words reached his mind. "I mean, yes of course he did. He... did his duty. Majesty." He trailed, fixing his blunder.

Jessamine continued to stare at him as an awkward silence passed. Had he missed something? Perhaps a message had been received that he had not seen about the context of her visit. Was she looking to speak fire Corvo first? Or… what if she was going to ask Corvo about his misconduct?

Jessamine glanced at her hands, before gazing at him intently and clearing her throat pointedly. Morris jumped, aware of inaction and motioned out of his office. "Oh I- he should be in the east housing-I'll bring him-"

"No need, I'll accompany you."

There was another awkward pause and Morris stared at the Empress even as her personal guards looked at each other in puzzlement behind her. But Jessamine took charge, addressing her men without turning to them. "I wish to accompany the Captain to the halls privately. You will await my return and departure."

If they looked opposing to the order, none of the soldiers said so as she briskly left the office.

Morris escorted Her Majesty across the compound, their pace steady despite his nervousness. She walked with just as much control and authority as some Commander's he had marched with, but she did so with grace and femininity. She kept her hands clasped before her and her riding boots one in front of the other. He glanced at her often, but the Empress seemed preoccupied with looking about the barracks, watching some of the men train and patrol. Her angular face seemed genuinely interested, though she didn't ask him any questions. He only hoped the interest was a good thing, and not one of scrutiny.

They were heading for the smaller encampments. And could only hope that Corvo was where he was supposed to be for once.

"Your arm, were you injured in Serkonos, Captain?" She questioned.

"Ah, yes. One of the assassins shattered my collarbone with his blade." He answered. Jessamine nodded in understanding. "They patched me aboard the ship with the other casualties. It's a rough recovery but, I could have died otherwise."

"Then I thank you for your services to your Empress, Captain Morris." She gave politely. Morris gave a mumbled and out of place thanks in the face of her pleasantries, before falling silent in his inept skills at court talk.

They neared a small concrete building, much less styled like the office had been. There were no Dunwall banners or reliefs along its roof. It served its purpose as a Mess Hall. Morris considered how ill-fitting it was for her presence, but there would be no denying her.

The Captain opened the door for her, and she took in the sight of a few City Watch guards in and out of uniform, occupying themselves with their meals. Morris shifted uncomfortably before holding out his hands to stall her trek inside. "I know your Majesty wishes for casualties... but at least let me clear the room for you to speak in private."

Jessamine nodded at him after a moment. And he imagined that if her straight regal face could allow for nervousness, it would now. She looked a bit unsure of herself, but folded her hands before her like a true lady and averted her eyes to await a proper presentation.

He made his way towards the busy table with about six or so of his men. "Clear Out!" He shouted, catching their attention all at once. "A matter of urgency has come up. Return to your duties or your beds." A flicker of eyes no doubt went to the form of the Empress by the other entrance behind him. Thankfully, Jessamine's riding hat hid most of her face from their view, but Morris could only hope they thought her just a noble. "Exits that way, soldiers." He specified, pointing to the opposite door of the Empress. They stood up noisily, grumbling at the intrusion but not making any public complaints. He could already hear them begin to gossip like court ladies.

Scanning the room quickly as they all stood, his eyes searched through the heads and uniforms for Corvo. He worried that he wasn't here at all and that he may have to go search for the blasted Serk, but he spotting the long dirty hair heading out the door.

He cursed, pushing through the men. "Not you Corvo!" he called.

The Serkonan stopped to turn towards him as the other soldiers glanced around too. Confused faces and sharp whispers broke out and the men moved for Corvo to head to the captain. The mute's expression was hardly ever changing, but he could garner the slight irritation Corvo had for being singled out. No doubt the poor assassin thought he was in trouble again. Not a faraway possibility, Morris noted.

The Captain waited until the soldiers trailed out, not even looking at Corvo until the last man left and the door shut. His head snapped to the assassin, leaning towards him insistently. "Straighten up!" He hushed in an angry whisper before glancing behind his shoulder at the feminine form behind him, politely looking about the room and not at them. "The Empress is here to see you!"

Corvo's head jerked up at the words. His dark eyes ignored Morris completely to stare at the expensively clothed woman with furrowed brows. The Serkonan moved to pass his Captain hurriedly and head straight across the room, but Morris grabbed at his arm in horror. "Fix yourself you fool! Button your coat!" Morris chided, his expression angry as he looked Corvo over. The man was still as dirty has he had been in Serkonos. His long matted hair was about his face like a vagabond, his shirt un-tucked. Even his sleeve cuffs were loose. He didn't need their reputation ruined any more than it was. "It's the Empress for God's sake!"

Corvo glanced once more at the awaiting woman and looked as if he would ignore the instruction, but to Morris's relief, he turned away to hurriedly button his jacket and sleeves. He wiped at his mouth with the corner of his cuffs hastily, before considering his hair, which a hand tried to sweep backward on his skull. Morris sighed as it all fell back in his face fruitlessly. "Please Corvo, don't be the stubborn fuck with her that you are with me." Morris whispered and they both turned back to make their way towards her Majesty.

The Captain smiled towards her, even though her gaze was directly on Corvo. Despite her small frame and delicate face, she was the most intimidating person he had encountered. Even before he had ever met her like this, her speeches, announcements and parliament sessions had always been dictated with her clear and precise voice. It was a sweet tone, but it cut like the ice of Pandyssia. Much like her eyes were doing to the both of them. "Empress, I present city guardsman, Corvo Attano." He announced with fake optimism and ignored Corvo's subtle glare towards him at the title.

"Yes Captain, we've met." She acknowledged, glancing at Morris a bit dismissively. She turned her attention back on Corvo, but continued. "If you would be so kind as to stay and translate as needed?"

Morris gave his agreement with a silent salute, successfully shot down to place with that sharp gaze from Majesty.

He looked the same. She didn't know why she expected any different. Corvo still looked like he had washed up on the wet coasts of his native land and then dried by its beating sun, letting the sand and water seep into his skin and hair. He was rough and worn despite his young features. His expression was changed though, no longer the alert and urgent authority of a bodyguard. His stance; (if looming and hunched) was steady and unyielding like before, but his dark eyes were soft and calmer. And the tenseness in his brows alluded to apprehension.

She herself felt better than she had on their last meeting. She was better dressed, and not in a life threatening panic. She tried to forget that he had seen her at her most vulnerable. Not as an Empress detailing orders and creating a face to represent a kingdom... but a woman who quelled in fear as men sought her blood.

Despite how uneasy his stare was, it still pierced through her like none other. It was impolite; her mind told her at first. But Corvo obviously did not know the unspoken laws of staring and socialites such as not meeting the eyes of those in higher station. It was innocent, and naive, the way he pinned her with his gaze. Like an equal.

She averted her gaze first in embarrassment, the intensity a bit too much for her to match.

"Forgive me, Sir Attano, for surprising you on your duty like this." Jessamine began, her hands clasped before her, stance tall and head bowed as she spoke to him. "I wanted to take responsibility to thank you for your actions in Serkonos. Not only for my personal safety, but on behalf of the city of Dunwall, my lineage, and all of Gristol."

She took the chance to gaze back at him. His expression remained indifferent, so she continued, taking a few steps forward toward his side. Unlike his gaze, his stance did not budge to follow her. She tested it, moving as she spoke. "I can rightfully say that I have never been in such strenuous circumstances before. And I fear what would have become of me and the Kingdom had you not been there."

Corvo shifted on his feet but did not move from his attention stance. His dark shaded pupils looked at her from the corner of his eyes. She held the stare this time, turning towards him once more. He had made no move or interruption, only giving her his full consideration. A perfect soldier… aside from the staring.

When it seemed she had spoken the words she wished to, he finally turned toward her. His lips twitched, a brow furrowing in puzzlement at her antics. The genuine expression of confusion breaking along his face made her suddenly long for privacy. Where she might reach to touch his shoulder and express to him that he had not just saved an Empress' life. But her own.

Corvo's gaze traced the distant expression on her face and Jessamine flushed fully when his eyes suddenly dropped to the floor and he analyzed her from head to toe, quite obviously. She hid her face behind the tip of her hat, looking at the ground to regain her complexion.

No, he very much did not understand the manners of court.

The scrutiny seemed to undo her a bit, the silent actions and subtle exchanges between them not like anything she'd experienced before.

She gave a nervous laugh she hoped Morris didn't hear and her voice slipped from its authority of its own accord. "You must forgive me again. I find myself at a humble disadvantage in your presence as I do not speak so eloquently with my hands as you do." She explained, sounding much more charming than she felt and trying to bring back a sense of casual formality. A distraction.

Corvo's hands lifted immediately. Startled by the sudden spring of action she looked up again, watching intently. His fingers weaved together and apart, motioning to her and then to himself at one point. Knowing she would not understand, she only glanced at his motions briefly before choosing to stare at his gaze instead. His eyes were so dark; she had to judge his expressions by the soft movement of his facial movements. His cheeks pulled in as she did so, and he stared back at her with no apprehension as his hands slowed.

They were still holding each other's gaze when the silence crept between them, Jessamine blinked away, confusedly gathering that she had no idea what he said.

Jessamine and Corvo turned to look at Morris, who had been staring rather ardently at Jessamine in wonder. When their gazes all found each other, Morris jumped in surprise. "Oh- I apologize I- he said ah-"

The Captain turned to see that Corvo had already finished 'speaking' and he had caught none of it. Corvo's dark eyes narrowed at the man, repeating the motion of his hands, this time without the gentle flair from before. "He ah... says it is his disadvantage, as he cannot say thank you out loud."

Her open-mouthed smile was hard to repress, though she tried. She raised her hand to her mouth in a loose fist, as if to wipe the smile from her lips. Corvo bore down the sight with intent eyes.

"Perhaps then, you can show me what it is to say thank you?" She inquired her brow quirking in honest curiosity. She kept her smile tight lipped and quaint. Her hands rose before her, showing him her intent to learn whatever gesture he would show her.

Corvo hesitated, his hands jerking at his sides at the appeal. He seemed to think hard on the idea of showing her the signage and for a moment Jessamine thought perhaps she had offended him. She readied the words to recede her silly request and apologize when suddenly his hand rose to touch his mouth, his fingers flat as they pressed against his lips. He kept his eyes on the Empress, his deliberate motion an obvious demonstration and his gaze something different. Then his hand dropped forward toward her, as if presenting her with the unintentional kiss he had laid on his hand.

He was rewarded with another smile from the Empress; her cheeks coloring as she gently averted her eyes at the strangely intimate motion. Corvo's fists clenched at his sides as he stared at her demure face, hidden by the riding fedora.

The Empress' hands wrung together and she wondered if it would be inappropriate now to return the gesture.

"He said thank you."

Corvo turned to once again glare at the man harshly as Jessamine's spell was broken. She nodded at Morris who was looking a bit confused and lost. "Yes I comprehended that one, Captain."

Jessamine seemed to become more aware of herself and she straightened, shaking away the inklings of the gentile nature Corvo had just witnessed. "I must admit that mere pleasantries were not all that brought me here." She announced, her authority coming back as her gaze landed on Captain Morris. "Corvo Attano is to be transferred to Dunwall Tower as soon as he is able."

The news was shocking to both men. And while Corvo suddenly began addressing the matter immediately with his hands - Morris had his own questions. "Y-Your Majesty? Dunwall Tower?"

Jessamine's delicate brow rose as looked toward Corvo's hands with interest. "I would hear his words Captain." she demanded.

"But-He's-" Morris scrambled between duty and concern before catching her straight and demanding expression. He whipped his head to Corvo and balked at Corvo's motions. "He... he asks if he will be assigned your Assassin Hand?"

Jessamine frowned prettily. Apparently Corvo Attano also had no notion of what were proper and improper questions, especially in the company of others. She supposed his hindrance left him no choice, but she would rather not speak of such important things in front of Morris. (Who was of course staring unabashedly at her for the answer.) She had no intention of taking on an assassin, but even if she openly denied it- Morris would only believe the answer a proper one. And if she ignored it with her own words, it would look like a yes. Damn the controversy of such things. Instead Jessamine looked offended and flicked her eyes and chin at Morris. "Captain." She whispered harshly.

Morris, bless his half-noble heart, did his gentlemanly duty. "Y-You can't ask the Empress such improper things!" He chided Corvo in a whisper he made no hard attempt to go unheard. Corvo, bless his Gallows heart, looking irately confused.

"I intend for Mr. Attano to become a royal guard. I would have him patrol my Tower, not the streets, as a promoted First Officer." She said looking toward the Serkonan. "If you will take the position?" She asked. It was not an actual question. She and Morris knew that.

Corvo apparently did too. He made no sign, besides a curt nod.

Jessamine smiled tightly, pleased. She would take her leave and she nodded to them with intention as such. Her hands unclasped to bid the Captain a farewell, when a calloused hand reached forward and snatched her fingers. Jessamine jumped with a short gasp, her eyes widening as Corvo took hold of her hand, his fingers curling against hers. His eyes didn't meet hers as he dipped forward, his lips pressing gently on the very ends of her fingers as opposed to her knuckles or the back of her hand. His lips were rough, and she could feel a few soft pricks from his unshaven face.

They had been close before, of course. He had held her, carried her, and guided her hands the entire time they had been running in Karnaca. She had even, ashamedly, fallen asleep at his immediate side. But that had been so different. Different in manner and in circumstance. Here, even in the privacy of the empty barracks and not but Morris to witness them, it was scandalous.

Not that kissing hands was improper but... to take hers like that and without a glove on... it was a bit indecent.

Corvo straightened as he let go, his eyes flickering to hers. Intense as always, and completely unaware he had made any faux pas.

Jessamine cleared her throat, her face aflame. "Thank you kindly..." She murmured beneath her lips, as was proper acceptance had the action truly been planned.

Morris, for his part, looked aghast and furious at the same time. And Jessamine hurried to cut him off before he burst into outlandish scolding of Corvo or groveling apologies to her. "See to it Mr. Attano is well treated and well prepared for his immediate promotion and re-location, Captain."

"I-ah-of course."

"I shall take my leave Officers." She nodded. Morris bowed. Corvo did as well, but his right hand signed as he did so. Two fingers pressed upon his chest as if sizing his heart before motioning it to his pocket. Naturally, she didn't understand, but nodded anyway and left quickly.

She needed to collect her thoughts as far away from the barracks as she could get.

"Commander Dalen has the highest-"

"Majesty, he has Morley parentage."

Jessamine's lips pursed together, her hand clenching against the curved wood of her chair arm.

Secretary Cromwell rubbed his thin fingers along his brow; his back slacked against his own leather chair to her direct right. The advisor to her direct left coughed quietly into his hand, and the other six at the long oak table stared anywhere but at the Empress.

The council meeting was not going well.

It was the third deliberation on the same topic; the candidates for the Royal Protector. The entire first and second meeting had seemed like a race for all the advisors at her table to throw in their nominations, trying to get the names (for whatever man would support their needs most, she wagered) into the running. Jessamine was overwhelmed, and whilst she was known for always being level headed, these meetings were beginning to grate down onto her nerves. And by the looks of all her advisors at the table, they noticed.

Cromwell was her Secretary, and while he was a good one when it came to negotiating the advisors wants and opinions with her demands, he had his own agenda. He was forceful and particularly anal on appearances being kept clean and well... wealthy. To a point, Jessamine understood his ways. Keeping her court happy usually meant less headache and dilemmas in the future. But this often led to an inconvenience she would have to tolerate, or the good people of Dunwall bearing more brunt from the higher ups in better places.

Currently, it was the former.

"Dalen was born in Gristol regardless of where his parents were born. He's been through the City Watch, he's earned his keep." Jessamine began again, ignoring the looks tossed around the room and Crowley's lips moving silently to try and cut in. "He's a Commander. Essen's first and right hand man!" She shook her head, tapping at the papers in front of her on the table. "He's the temporary Chief Officer of my forces - he's practically running the position of Royal Protector already!"

"Majesty, please - it doesn't matter how experienced he is. With his background the others will get restless. The blood between Morley and the Empire is still fresh in everyone's minds." He said, jumping in at the chance once she paused.

"What better tactics than to show my faith towards Morley. They will be pleased with the honor and we can all begin showing new faces to each other." She sighed.

One of the advisors near the end of the table spoke up, his hand raising his quill in polite interruption. "If I may your Majesty?" At her nod he continued, his hands gesturing outward towards the other as if to convince them his coming argument. "The Royal Protector must be well practiced in court. In station he must know to show face with Parliament and the houses... military experience alone..." He trailed.

Cromwell began nodding along. "Dalen may be a Commander worthy of protecting and enforcing, Empress, but he knows nothing of relations. And his current military station though high, leaves his court station... lacking." Cromwell's brows suddenly lifted, leaning in towards her more. "Now... someone of say, Toddlin's rank and station, would be most agreeable."

Jessamine looked around the session, seeing the unease on the other's faces as the glanced away from her shamefully. They seemed all in agreement then. It wasn't the first time she had heard the name. They had been pushing her to consider Naval Captain Toddlin for some time. She knew the name well enough. His house was a prominent one in society, and if memory served, they had a lot of money welling in the pockets at court.

But Toddlin was a Naval Captain; high ranking at sea with no ground expertise. No evidence that he understood the ins and outs of commanding her forces within her Tower and the city. Not to mention... "I do not know Toddlin, Secretary, I've said this before. Do not have me repeat it."

Cromwell visibly deflated in frustration. She could hear the silent groan travel down the table as she ignored them, leafing through the papers containing all their nominees. She had refused immediately anyone she had not met herself. It was a stubborn limitation, even Jessamine knew it... but the former Lord Protector had been close to her. It was a position that required the employed to be very personal with her. Perhaps not immensely so if she did not wish it, but more so than her Secretary was. As much as her Matron. Essen had been close simply because he had been nearly family. But his duty had him required to meet and speak with her on a daily basis.

She could not give away the job so easily knowing that this was to be someone she had to trust fully. Someone she had no choice but to depend on, and someone she could hopefully find reprieve in.

Cromwell leaned forward, his fingers threading beneath his chin. An imploring gesture she had seen before on him and loathed to see now. "Empress, please." He began and she sighed. "We all understand your particular standards but... if you continue to limit our choices this way then you may regret it should you come to know those you rebuffed later."

Jessamine's shoulder's straightened as she looked at her Secretary. He was right in this. She knew it was stubborn, but the entire process was hitting to close to her grief and the need to be selfish was swallowing her under it.

"Allow yourself to meet each candidate." He suggested, looking around the table for support. "We can arrange private meetings with them all for your evaluation and judgment."

Jessamine looked away in dismissal, her hand waving curtly. "I will not have men putting on faces for a position that all desperately seek. This will not be a show, Cromwell." She chided. She wanted to keep her search for the new Protector as quiet as possible.

Cromwell stuttered to continue quickly, fearing he was losing his influence. "W-We'll make it public!" He announced, forcing a smile. "We can have a public gathering. A celebration to disguise your chance to meet the nominees."

"It would give her Majesty a chance to see their standing in the court!" An advisor piped up, murmurs of agreement sprouting like weeds.

"A court party with military invited?" Jessamine asked the table with obvious doubts. "How is this not obvious to my true intention?"

"Airs will be put on of course-" Cromwell rushed. "We will announce it your thankfulness for your men after Serkonos. Everyone knows of how close it all came... and with... the passing of the Royal Protector..."

Jessamine nodded quickly for him to go silent. Her hand lifted to press on her mouth as she considered the idea. No doubt everyone would have their guesses at what a party would mean... but it still wasn't a bad idea. She could see how all the officers reacted to court and public settings. And she was getting frustrated enough trying to judge them on their papers, cameos, and the few times she had shaken their hands during some irrelevant routine.

The only shame was how much she hated parties.

Her eyes lifted, meeting the eight pairs of eyes all looking at her beseechingly.

She rose from her chair with a sudden grace and there was a loud clutter as the men at the table all rushed to stand at her honor, chairs scraping and quills clattering to the wood floors. She waited as they bowed their heads, awaiting her words or her departure.

"Secretary Cromwell." She announced, looking toward him once more. This time, his eyes were on the table. "Arrange a court soiree in honor of my highest ranking military and naval men. I wish to give my generosity for those who give so much to keep me and my people safe." She decreed.

Cromwell nodded and there was a silent sigh of relief throughout the room.

"This council is dismissed." She called. A servant rushed forward to pull her chair further out and another opened the doors for her. Jessamine took one last look at the bowing men, before turning on her heel and exiting.

It felt like each step closer to a new Lord Protector was another two steps backward.

And now there would be a great party in celebration of that fact.

Chapter Text

Commander Dalen didn't have time for these kinds of things lately.

The Lord Protector's death had hit him hard. Nicolai Essen had been his General and then Commander during the Morley Insurrection. They had fought on Gristol soil, and then one more midst the Navy near the end of it all. He had been more than an upstanding leader in battle. He had been a strategist, a true battle tactician, and a good man. And he had been like that throughout his duty as Lord Protector as well. He had trusted his men to follow his orders and do their duty and they had.

And now Dalen seemed to have more of it, as the current stand in for the job.

It wasn't as hectic as life had been during the war. This was a subtler job. But that didn't make it any less taxing. The Royal Guard at Dunwall Tower was set on a strict regime that was easy to maintain. Patrols were set in stone, and posts had been established years ago. What he hadn't expected, was the political side to things.

As Essen's right hand man, he had only organized patrols and kept his men's training up. He had worked within the confines of his soldiers. He had never even imagined the sorts of things Essen must have directed himself. The stress riding on him with decisions such as; whether or not to allow outside cooks send in pre-prepared meals for the Empress, or if a certain Senator had permission to seek council with Her Majesty before 9am, or if boats were allowed to dock in the rear of the tower as opposed to the front... was surprisingly excruciating.

Or for example...

What to do with a mute Serkonan ex-Gallows' assassin?

Commander Dalen's matured and hard expression frowned only slightly, the emotion looking more like frustration than confusion. If there was one thing he could say about their beloved Empress, was that she was never routine.

Jessamine Kaldwin was an active monarch. He didn't know much about others for comparison, really. Nor did he know the routines of her late father. But he did know that her schedule changed constantly. She oversaw everything, not just her Privy Council and her private chambers. She rode often, checked into every advisor's department, read the summaries of almost all the court proceedings, held her announcements and audiences on short notice, and almost always added or changed something on the daily agenda.

He admired her of course, but her tenacity sometimes threw him and the Guard for a loop. Essen had ignored it during his position. He had given the Empress a long threshold for privacy and her political activities. While Dalen had the impression that a Lord Protector was responsible for being at the Regent's side at all times, he wasn't surprised to find that wasn't quite possible with Lady Kaldwin. Nor did it seem really necessary or wanted.

And there were also times like these where he really couldn't get into her head.

He stopped then, in his march down the grand stairs of the Tower as they reached the ornate tiled flooring. The guards stationed there saluted him and he curtly waved them off to their duty. "Now, as I said before. The main entrance has its own posts. And each post is changed per week as is each patrol. Assignments of them go on the roster by the end of the weekday and it's each soldier's responsibility to make sure they are where they are expected to be." He directed.

Dalen turned his hard gaze behind him at the long haired Serkonan looking about the main entrance with scrutiny. He had spent the last hour or more touring their new recruit about the Tower. It had been... interesting. And quiet.

"Understood guardsmen?" He urged, his patience wearing thin. There were other things he needed to attend to; other duties than touring around a Serkonan. But this was an order directly from the Empress and therefore top priority. And he had to have the best face for her Majesty… what with the current state of things and the obvious position he now stood the chance of having permanently. Every matter was important, especially orders from her.

The Serk turned, looking at him flatly. Dalen glared. The soldier didn't seem to know his place. Or rather, maybe he did. Her Majesty had, after all, promoted him to First Officer. He had been a regular guardsmen (granted he had saved her life; Dalen had read the report, but still) and suddenly he had jumped four rankings up to First Officer. A position that meant he would be in charge of his own squad of patrolmen within the Tower. It was... unbelievable at first, but he had the document in his jacket with the Empress' flourishing signature and seal to prove it.

"Am I understood?" He urged again. Corvo Attano nodded stiffly, his eyes that should have been lowered in respect of rank meeting Dalen's gaze quite intensely.

There was no movement of hands. No, they established at the beginning that Dalen could not sign. He had learned in training, but that had been years ago, even before the war. He had long since forgotten the otherwise useless talent.

"Good. Now, we'll see to your sleeping arrangements back in the guards housing out at the Waterlock." He turned without considering the man, and continued onward.

The addled speech was more than a problem. As a First Officer he would be expected to lead a group of men. He would have to determine their posts for each week and report back to Dalen himself. How would the man do so without a word? What sort of silence inspired action in others?

Now... there was no real reason to give him a squad. They weren't prepared for such reorganization anyway, Dalen assured himself. And he could presume that there simply weren't any men to be found for a new squad. No need to pull or promote new troops with their patrols already full of working men. They wouldn't have space. There simply wasn't a need for another First Officer. The explanations seemed to roll out easily and they sounded acceptable enough to him for a report to the Empress.

The walk to the guard holdings was of course, quiet. And while they entered, Dalen heavily considered where exactly to put the Serkonan within the dormitories. In any other case - a First Officer would be grouped with the others, in the second level chambers. But considering his new reconsideration of the situation, it may be best to bunk him as a regular guardsmen. It would avoid any conflict later should the Serkonan think himself above station.

They continued down to the lower levels, Dalen waving off the guards milling there as he walked, leading him to one of the further shared rooms.

When he entered the two occupying guardsmen leapt to their feet to salute.

It was a scramble beneath cigar smoke, their coins and cards scattering across the tiny wooden table in the center of the room. Uniforms, helmets, and coats littered the beds on either side, even on the unoccupied third bed shoved in an opposite corner. Dalen waved his hand to clear the air and called out, "At ease men, I'm not here to regulate your off duty hours."

The soldiers glanced at each other before their arms lowered and their shoulders slackened.

The Commander moved inside, his tall frame entering the crammed space to allow Corvo a sight within. "I'm assigning our new recruit to this room with you two." He motioned to Corvo, and the men's faces drew together curiously, staring at the Serkonan with obvious new interest and immediate suspicion.

"Commander?" One asked, his hand reaching to pull his cigar from the grip of his teeth.

"I know its last minute, but Corvo here was recruited from Her Majesty directly." He explained, steadying his authoritative gaze on the two soldiers. "He will be a part of your squad, so I expect you both to help him prepare for his posts."

The room was oddly strenuous, and Dalen glanced at Corvo's indifferent and almost disinterested looking gaze. He was scanning the room, not looking at the soldiers who appeared very wary. Dalen couldn't recall their names precisely, but he had seen them about on their duties. The one fingering his cigar nodded. "Well then... Corvo? It's good to meet you." The sentence sounded as forced as it must have felt as the soldier looked pained with the pleasantry.

Corvo didn't say anything, his even look glancing at Dalen almost pointedly.

The Commander sighed. "Do either of you know Sign?" He urged.

The two looked at each other oddly before the other spoke, clearing his gruff throat sheepishly. "No Sir. We weren't part of the Watch training once we got our assignments for Tower duty."

The other guardsman frowned, quickly glancing at Commander Dalen. "Wait- he's mute Sir?"

Dalen nodded and if their expressions could grow any more upset and distasteful, they did.

Corvo entered the room further, ignoring the soldiers' scrutiny to head to the roughed up cot in the opposite corner. His hand waved the smoke away idly as the other pulled a small rucksack from his shoulder.

One of the guardsmen shook his head at the Commander. "How are we supposed to... talk to him?"

Dalen's shoulders slouched ever so slightly in his exhaustion. He had no time for these things. He had intended to find someone amongst the soldiers who could act as interpreter, but that was a waste of more time and a good soldier. He would not reorganize an entire group of men for one Serkonan. He shook his head and motioned his hand at them, fingers jolting quickly. "Either of you soldiers have a field manual on you?" He asked.

One shook his head, tapping his cigar on the table. The other reached back to his bunk and pulled a worn notebook of training conduct out from his pile of clothes. He handed it to the Commander, who waved it at them before tossing it before Corvo as he organized his things.

"A good soldier doesn't need to say much, Corvo, but if you have anything to report then you write it. Understood?" He directed.

The tanned face stared at the book, picking it up listlessly. With no nod, Dalen shifted impatiently. "You do know our written alphabet don't you?"

Corvo nodded at this, his thumb idly rubbing at the small manual's spine as his dark eyes analyzed the words on the cover.

"Good. There is space in there for notes and you can take the opportunity to read on being a proper Tower guardsman." The Commander turned to the two others with a curt nod. "I shouldn't hear of any problems then."

The two saluted. "No Sir." They echoed.

When the Commander left, silence reigned in the bunk once more.

They glared at the quiet and dark man occupying the corner of the room as they sat and one hushed to the other, "A damn Serkonan?"

The first shook his head, lighting up his Cigar once more before calling out at Corvo across the cramped space. "Are all Serks mute and ugly?"

Their laughter, the clank of chips and worn poker cards was the only response.

She could always recognize a headache before it began beating to life in the back of her skull.

It would start with a simple pinch in her nose, and then a hum in her ears, and before she knew it, it would be thumping a harsh rhythm in her mind.

"Empress, I'm not implying that we should cut spending on rations for the lower sectors but-"

"Yes, Delany, you are." The Empress corrected, her sharp eyes pinning the small rotund man with a glare that began to make him sweat. He looked odd in the tall mahogany chair and he shifted in obvious discomfort. "I had asked only for your report on the spending this month within my Treasury, which you had refused to give to Secretary Cromwell-"

"Only so I may seek audience with you my-"

"-and yet I receive your guidance that I should divert my finances to the state of the courts at Parliament, knowing full well my direction for the past four months have been towered the impoverished houses in the lower sectors." She ended, distractedly signaling her Matron from the corner of the room. The sitting room was much too bright for her growing headache, and she wanted to take preventative measures against an irritable disposition. She still had three more private audiences today.

Clara crossed the plush carpet to her side as the Treasurer hurriedly continued.

"I only mean to bring the court house to your attention, Majesty. Many of the families there have been suffering cutbacks on their salaries. The judges in particular. It has been a hard time for them, and they could use the support of their Regent... I mean no implication that they are… em, priority over the citizens of Dunwall."

Jessamine nodded to her Matron. "Tea, please Clara. Something mild." She looked a bit halfheartedly toward Delany, his large eyes flickering about her as if seeking her attention. "Would you like some Lord Treasurer?"

"No thank you Majesty." He mustered out, fingers gripping at the bright yellow lapels of his suit. Clara bowed delicately, retreating toward the small tea pantry adjacent the sitting room.

"Tell me, Delany, if you do not imply that I cut my charities to my citizens to finance my judges' then where shall these finances come from?" She asked, turning her accusing stare back on him. "As my Treasurer, I trust you must know of a source."

Delany looked slightly annoyed, his rounded shoulders squeezing as he pulled at his coat. "Majesty... Your funds are divided very specifically for any spare funds to go towards... Your Majesty's current directive..." He trailed.

Jessamine's curt head nodded. "Ah, I see, so the implication is there indeed." Jessamine emphasized lightly as Delaney squirmed.

"Empress the families of your judges..." He began and seemed to pause to gather his thoughts.

"I am assured that once my citizens are back on their feet from the harsh economic finances of living costs from last year, they will no doubt be using the courts when they can afford them." It was the ultimate goal of course, and she had learned by watching the rule of her father that wealth, like nurturing a tree, grew from the bottom up. "And once the courts are in use again, I guarantee my judges that their salaries will again be as steady as they were mere months ago."

Delany didn't seem to have anything to add, and the Empress wasn't really looking at him anyway. She seemed to be more focused on the sunlight streaming onto a painting above the mantle on the other side of the room. His audience had gone horribly and he couldn't seem to gain her severe attention. He tried to clear his throat to convince her once more despite the cold feeling of the discussions end.

A short muffled shout erupted from the door to the tea pantry. A rattle of dishes on a tray accompanied it, interrupting the formal tension of the room.

Delany jumped at the sound, pushing the arms of the chair to lift his small height to peer over the Empress at the door, even as Jessamine tensed and turned toward the room. "Clara?" She called, her tone cutting the air with apprehension.

"Matron is everything alright?"

"Y-Yes Mum!" She called back, "Just a guardsman- frightened me."

Jessamine frowned as Delany settled down beside her. "Guardsman?" She questioned quietly.

Clara soon came into the room, rushing forward towards her Madam with a quick glance behind her. "Yes he- I didn't hear him come in, forgive me Madam." She hushed, expertly placing the tray on the small sitting table.

Jessamine glanced up with a deep frown to the sudden appearance of the guard as he followed the Matron out, his face squashed in the helmet of his uniform and the sunlight casting a shadow across his features. Strange... had he been posted in the back of the room? Or inside the pantry itself? She had not seen him enter from the front of the room ... and there were no other entrances. Her eyes cut his form as if to try and carve out his features through the harsh shadows shielding them.

But the purpose was moot and she instead preoccupied herself with the tea brought out. "There are no guards to be posted in my sitting room. I need not remind my own men this, soldier." She reprimanded indirectly, before flicking her chin to the door. "Please see to your Commander about your post."

The guardsman silently began to make his leave and Jessamine didn't bother to watch for his salute. Satisfied, Jessamine reached for her teacup and paused at the sight of Delany. "Wait guardsman." She called, not glancing at him as she held her cup out for Clara to pour in some milk. "Please escort the Lord Treasurer out; as I am sure he will appreciate the courtesy." She commanded.

Delany took his queue for dismissal with a deep frown that seemed to radiate from him as he lifted himself from the chair. He bowed with a sighed out thanks before turning away. He huffed toward the guardsman, brushing him off irritably. They exited in a scuffle of boots and pointed heels.

Jessamine's shoulders lowered favorably in the absence of the Treasurer and her Matron smiled sympathetically at her, replacing the dishware on the table. "It seems the whole Tower is in disarray as of late, Majesty."

Jessamine closed her eyes to the heated fumes of her tea. But it was no use, the pounding had begun. "Hm... I'm afraid it will be so until the end of this month."

Clara frowned. "Is that a date of some announcement, Majesty?"

Jessamine watched the reflective surface of the amber liquid in her tea. "The announcement of Lord Protector."

George rolled the thick cigar to the other corner of his mouth, his tongue wetting and teeth digging into the paper's grain. The taste was relaxing and he sucked in the burning of it before slapping down his pair of cards.

Jacob cursed loudly and a clank of chips filled their bunk space.

They had about an hour left before their second patrol began. And the patrols lately had been ridiculous. The entire Tower seemed to buzz with work for the upcoming party for the military figureheads and the nobles had been attending the Tower nearly every day. The influx of visitors was nothing but more work on the men and it was taking a lot of games for George and Jacob to relax.

He grinned widely, scraping his winnings to his side of the table. Jacob flicked the last one over, already splaying the cards over the table. "Your winning is jus' luck." Jacob grumbled hotly.

The door to their bunk opened and they both glanced from their seats as the tall and dark faced Serk came in.

George hissed against his cigar, looking away frustrated. Jacob huffed and they shared a similar gaze before trying to focus on their game.

Corvo moved to his own corner without a look or a word.

Not that he could, George thought gruffly. The damn dirty Serkonan had been nothing but utter trouble to their stations. He was impossible to speak to - dumb mute that he was - and took orders just as stupidly.

It had only been two weeks and they had been constantly reprimanded on his behalf when he turned up missing for his posts. Or invaded the shifts of others. Their shouting's had done no good and George had to wonder if the wretched man was as deaf as he was mute.

Of course, Corvo hadn't really made any attempts to communicate his reasoning either. Commander Dalen had never come around with any sort of translator and the writing in his field manual rendered their squad Captain, Jacob and himself impatient. He scribbled away answers that only rebelled against his orders and they had all stopped listening.

The Empress's orders be damned, the Serkonan was useless. George pulled his cigar to point at Corvo. "The Captain was lookin' for you." He called across the room, the chair creaking in his weight as he leaned forward. "Said that one of the guys found you up on the third floor in the Royal wing."

Jacob scoffed loudly and they both glared at Corvo's back. "By Her Majesty's rooms eh? Want an audience with the Empress, do ya?" He laughed and glanced at George ruefully. "You gonna scribble at her Serk?"

They chuckled heartily at the imagery, but Corvo made no move to acknowledge them. Usual. George sighed, shaking his head and rubbed a hand on his head. "Fucking foreigners. Waste of a good Gristol man, promoting him." Jacob nodded in agreement.

They both paid no heed to the other man for the rest of their break and pointedly ignored him as he quietly wrote in his manual.

Chapter Text

"Such a wonderful night for celebration, Your Majesty." The words were light and full of a familiar tone for formality and praise. It was only slightly forced.

Jessamine smiled at the woman before her, awaiting her and her husband's low bow before answering. Her glittering hairpieces flashed under the lights of her palace, matching her extravagant neck jewelry. Jessamine found it a bit garish. "It is. But any night is a fine one to honor my men of service."

The woman smiled brilliantly, only just showing some of her teeth. Her husband, a Navy Officer, looked far more nervous than his wife. He was stiff as a board, staring past Jessamine's shoulder with his lips pressed tightly together. He reminded her of the bust of some famous captain that had once sat on her Father's desk. She waited politely for the conversation to continue.

The woman began to look a bit apprehensive, and Jessamine pretended not to notice her pinch her husband hard.

"Majesty." He attempted, flickering his gaze across her face nervously.

She decided to save the poor man. "Chief Officer Brigg, of the second fleet, as I recall."

His wife gave out a polite laugh, dabbing her fingers at the air. "The very same! It should be no surprise you know him. My husband just received a great honor last month. Gold stripes!" She rushed, nudging her husband's shoulders with her own. "Isn't that right darling?"

"Yes-Yes that's right." He nodded. He failed at trying to bring a smile to his lips. His wife's own gilded expression fell.

"My congratulations are extended to you Officer Brigg, a fine pleasure it is to have honorable seamen in my Navy." She said. But Jessamine had had enough of this game and this wasn't the first detached conversation of the evening (nor was it seemingly the last.) She lifted her neck, glancing away from the couple. "If you will excuse me, I have a few others to greet. But please enjoy." They bowed before she even finished her sentence.

She took her leave, moving across the gleaming slate of her foyer. It was everything she hadn't wanted it to be. The evening was in full swing. Her councilmen flittering about like insects preparing their military men with all their cue lines and shining uniforms, begging her to come by and converse with each Captain and Commander.

The women were much worse. They always were. The wives, mistresses, and fiancée's knew how to play the game better than even the most twisted advisor did. They socialized and gossiped, gathering around the tables to devise their own manipulations to oust others and impress a selected supporter. It was a rally, a big show, all put on for her and her dreaded golden scale. She would pass judgment and select which to promote to a title of wealth and status.

She paused beside Secretary Cromwell, who eyed her warily over his glass of wine. She said nothing to him, gazing out onto the foyer and the dancing going on with the noble women and the men in uniform. She had hoped for a casual evaluation, but evidently the ruse of 'celebrating her military' was transparent to the party's true intent. That much was obvious.

They had lit the Tower with lanterns, dimming the flames to gentle warmth. The laughter and chatter only barely matched the set of string musicians pouring music from their place on the middle of her grand staircase like water into a pool of dancing fish. It seemed all so casual and happy. A lie; and a disturbing one in light of the mourning only weeks ago of the one they were all so eager to replace.

"How does the night fare you, Empress?" Cromwell asked.

"Well." She said simply.

Cromwell shifted on his feet, his long fingers adjusting his cravat with slight apprehension. She waited for the coming question. "Have you met Admiral Toddlin yet?"

Of course. "I have."

Toddlin had been what she expected of his noble house lineage; the perfect image of society. He was handsome, only slightly older than her and very charming. He was unmarried and dutiful. He commanded her best fleet, with high marks in his evaluations and reports of valiant actions during conflict at sea. He knew when to let her speak, when to look away, and what to ask. He gave her his sincerest condolences on Essen and congratulations on her established treaty. Toddlin had even managed the nerve to ask her to a dance, which she politely declined.

His uncle was a retired judge in her Privy Council.

It had all been very rehearsed and despite having spoken to him for a good hour of the evening, she still felt she knew nothing about him. It was if he had simply read out his dossier to her with an ample smile. But, hard as it was to admit, he had given the best presentation tonight.

"Toddlin is a good man." Cromwell said quietly.

"He was very polite," Was all she offered. "I had hoped to see more of Commander Dalen, but I suppose someone must do the job while we seek another."

It was a bit bitter to say, but it was her opinion anyway. She didn't necessarily prefer the Commander. She hardly knew him either. But the fact that he had quietly denied the invitation to fulfill his acting duties as stand-in Royal Protector spoke more volumes to her than Toddlin's extensive vocabulary.

Cromwell sighed beside her. "I know this wasn't what we expected. But it is still a chance to see them all in a potential place. Here at court." He tried to reason.

She glanced at him. "I never said it wasn't, Secretary." She hinted and watched his defeated expression with only slight pleasure. As hard as he was trying to drive the choices with the council behind him, she knew the process was no easier for him either. No doubt each advisor was setting fire to his tailcoats hoping to have him persuade their votes. She gave her Secretary a sad smile and looked away to the eastern hallway, leading to her courtyard. "Forgive me Cromwell, I think it's time for a short rest."

He looked a bit put out, but bowed.

"I promise to return shortly." She reassured him even as she dismissed herself. She moved to the outer room to escape any interruptions for more introductions. A few women in a gaggle paused to bow to her as she passed; their heads low and her stride quick.

When she reached the entrance of the hallway she allowed herself to clutch at her stomach gently, a bit overwhelmed with the night. Her dress fluttered around her ankles at the movement, the lace cuffs tickling the back of her hand. She had not intended to make any use of the gauzy black train flowing behind her. Dresses had never been her preference, even when they were the monotonous colors she favored. They far restrained her from patrolling her own tower and riding into the groves when the urge stuck her. But she had wanted to appear less formal to set a tone. Of course, it didn't work and now she was left wary in body and mind.

She paused halfway down the hallway, doubting for a second if it was wise to find a moment of privacy. Perhaps she should simply hold out until it was over. But her mind whispered that she had seen enough. No one would question the Empress' decision to retire. And if they did, it would be done silently. The party had done nothing but further pressure her mind and only reinforced the dilemma of her choices.

There was a shift in the corner of her eye and her hands dropped as her gaze caught movement in the shadows stretched out on the tiles beneath her. She turned around, wondering if someone had come to call her back.

A guardsman paused in his steps toward her, his hands stiffening at his sides. He was closer than she expected, merely a few feet away. How had she not heard him?

"Guardsman?" She acknowledged, awaiting either his message or his bow. Or even a self-dismissal.

He shifted slightly and she peered curiously at him. He wore a patrol man's cap as opposed to a helmet, a small detail that seemed strange now that she pieced it together. It cut close to his brows, shading his eyes darkly in the light of the hallway. Still he said nothing. Perhaps this was his patrol and he had not expected to see her there?

Their training surely covered how to respond to the Empress though. She dismissed him nonetheless. "You may go guardsman. I will be out in the courtyard should the Commander have need of me." She nodded and turned to leave.

Incredulously, he moved after her and she paused again to bring her appalled eyes on him.

"Corvo?" She asked with sudden surprise, his face clicking in recognition as he stepped closer. His dark eyes stared directly back into hers, unsettling her and yet stilling her with its familiarity. No other she had known had dared such disrespect. He nodded to her at his name and she couldn't help the curve of her lips. "Forgive me, I did not recognize you."

He said nothing, but his gaze left for a few seconds to look back towards the doors to the courtyard.

She followed his gaze in confusion before gaining his attention once more. "Is this your assigned patrol for the evening?"

Corvo shook his head, but of course, he offered no explanation to his disagreement. She sighed in slight relief, ignoring the one sided-ness of their transaction. It was almost refreshing in a way. Not having to wait for the right social cues or lay on her heavy formality. "I'm surprised to see you, though I know it was I who had you assigned here at the Tower." She trailed before quirking her brow in honest curiosity. "I take it the transition is smooth?"

She watched as his gaze flickered away once more, his lips parting only slightly. He did not nod nor did he shake his head at the question and she realized he looked a bit uncomfortable. Then again, he looked downright odd in the Gristol colors. The red and deep blue seemed so loud on him, and the cap shoved down on his head almost hid him beneath the silhouette of the uniform, his long unkempt hair rebelling against it.

She clasped her hands before her. It was a bit of a loss to ask him anything, and again she felt strangely inadequate. It wasn't as if Corvo was of a station that she needed to speak to or was signing a learned and sought after skill. But the intensity of his expressions hinted that he had things to say and her mind accused her of not knowing the right tools. Not when she knew his hands moved so intelligently.

Corvo made no nod or move to continue on to his post, looking down at her strangely while she considered the hallway politely.

"Will you accompany me to the courtyard?" She questioned, breaking the tense and utter silence they stood in.

Corvo's eyes found hers once again, staring with a restrained question.

"I plan to get refreshed with the air and it is not befitting that I stray from a party alone." True enough. She would not admit her quiet longing for company that was not actively trying to impress her. Nor anyone gaggling at the mouth with smooth underlying motives. "Besides, with my security at odds I'm sure Commander Dalen would-"

Corvo nodded with such an abruptness she didn't see a need to try and convince him further.

It wasn't cold. The dreary airs of Dunwall were heavy with humidity. And the moistness was pleasantly placid. Her gate was slow and deliberate despite having no thoughts of direction. The courtyard was aligned with hedges along its gravel path that crisscrossed across the grounds towards a set of stairs leading to the gazebo overlooking the harbor.

Corvo followed her steps with consideration. He wasn't quite walking beside her nor was he behind her. His broad shoulders offset her slim ones, his boots following a rhythm he had created from her own steps. All the while he carefully avoided the expensively light fabric of her dress trailing behind her.

They didn't say anything for a while. She let herself breathe easily, watching the lights of the city, of her people, while his own gaze seemed to trace the outline of the Tower and the shadows of the hedges.

As they neared the gazebo, she broke the quiet. "It is my hope that you find the Tower preferable to the Watch." She began, turning to glance at him as she placed her hands behind her back. "I imagine duties are smoother in a smaller faction."

Corvo didn't step up to the gazebo as she did. He stood outside it, watching her enter with no intention in his expression to answer her or follow her.

When she saw his dutiful stance, legs spread and eyes attentive, she nearly sighed. The utter precision of his discipline was admirable, but she found herself a bit tired of regulations. She had not spoken casually with someone since much before her trip to Serkonos and that had been with Essen himself. The need for some sort of escape from such things nagged at her and selfishly she knew Corvo seemed the best candidate. He was a soldier who could not question her and a mute who could not voice his judgments behind her back. And she got the feeling that even if he could…perhaps he wouldn't.

"Please." She gestured, motioning towards her side.

It was a moment before he entered. Again, he didn't quite stand at her side and his head bowed to gaze at the hems of her dress, but she was satisfied.

"Serkonos is never this bereft of its heat, I assume." She started again, looking up at him. He shook his head in what she assumed was agreement and continued. "It surprises me each time I visit. I do not know if I block it from my mind, or if it simply gets hotter while I am away." She mused quietly.

It was a little hopeless and she felt a bit self-centered, speaking to him without his consent to do so, nor his interaction. But the quiet was an easy one. He didn't seem perturbed and already she could feel some of her weariness lift from the stress at having to pick through another's words to read between the lines. Perhaps after a bit more, she could go back inside with a more resolute demeanor. "Have you been to Gristol before?"

Corvo shook his head, his eyes on the harbor with hers. His answer weighed a bit down on her. She had made no attempts to ensure his transition. With any enlisted soldier, it wouldn't matter. But Corvo had not only saved her life... he had been a gift. He was, in all conditions of the treaty, her property not just her soldier. It wasn't the way she wanted to think of it, but she knew that was what Lord Rossini had intended. "Have... you ever left Serkonos before?" She questioned further.

Another quiet shake of his head.

So he had never left Serkonos. He had never been anywhere else and now he was here, assigned to her Tower as an officer when he had been told he would be assigned as her 'Hand.' She felt the strange twinge of guilt settling in her stomach. She shifted, glancing at his face a bit timidly. But Corvo looked indifferent and not at all accusing as his eyes traced the horizon on the dark harbor.

"It must be very different."

Jessamine tried to recall the first time she had traveled from Gristol to another of the continents. But she had been young, impressionable, and directed by the guide of her father and her governess. There hadn't been a strange shock of cultures within the confines of her tutelage. And she could only recall getting used to traveling to the point that it was now, simply a hassle. Lately it was often that she never experienced enough of any culture in between her meetings with ambassadors and lesser regents.

She glanced at him once more, her thin brow creasing lightly in a show of slight concern. "You're adapting fine, Corvo?" She asked.

His dark eyes lingered on hers and she could practically see the contemplation of answers within the shaded black irises. He looked so stern for someone his age (though she could only guess at his age.) His face looked carved from granite. Rough and uneven in some places, and wondrously smooth in others; like the planes of his cheeks and forehead. She noticed his hands sway ever so slightly at his sides, his thumbs running over the pads of his fingers. Thinking of words, perhaps?

He nodded.

If there was one thing Jessamine Kaldwin had become skilled at it was the ability to tell a lie when she saw one. Court life was nothing but veiled smiles, pinning eyes, and deceitful compliments. She knew when her Secretary would go running to plan with her advisors, and she knew when military men's wives did not actually like the colors of her ballroom. And while Corvo was... harder to read, with the subtle jerks of his brow or the twitch of a muscle in his jaw, she saw the hesitation in his chin and the hard determination of a lie in his eyes.

"Corvo," She began, her tone one similar to the one she gave to certain officers questioning a command. "I will not be appeased with half-truths." She accused.

Corvo's hands rose quickly, his brows knitting together with confusion in his eyes. His fingers moved through the air to trace, but he remembered his place and her inability to read him and instead his fingers gripped at the air before him in obvious helplessness.

Jessamine watched as his lips parted as if to deny her with the words he could not use, before he opted to simply shake his head.

She gave him a genuinely wry smile and averted her eyes in slight guilt for harking him. But when she looked at him once more it was with honesty. "Corvo, as your Empress I expect from you only truth." She chided before her tone grew as soft as her eyes. "But, as the one who saved my life I would hope that you would speak frankly with me." She sighed, her own brows furrowing. "I know I am... inadequate to understand you. But I only have the word of my men to trust when it comes to the state of my forces."

She looked away, approaching the edge of the gazebo to look further out onto the lights on the harbor and leaving Corvo to contemplate her words. A slight breeze from the ocean brought up the humidity around them along with the smell of salt. The scent mixed with the flora decorating the greenery around the gazebo, relaxing Jessamine's mind once more. If she tried, she could barely make out the strings from the inside of her court, their song pouring through the cracks in her palace into the night skies.

Corvo moved to stand beside her and it was at this point that his hands finally rose. She turned toward him, surprised and pleased. But instead of signing, they dove at the lapels of his coat. His head turned downward, peering into his uniform as his hands shifted awkwardly about the cloth. She frowned in confusion and was about to question him when he pulled out a small coal pencil and a palm-sized book. He moved a step toward her, lowering the book beneath her eyes as he began flipping through it rapidly.

It appeared to be an instruction manual of some sort and she recognized words and pictures of that of the Tower. A soldiers guide then? But as he turned the pages they were suddenly overwhelmed with scrawling handwritten letters. She recognized the script from his report, the shaky hand filling all the spaces in the book it could. Was he keeping notes? Or was this a means to communicate?

Jessamine waited patiently, glancing at his thoughtful and focused expression as he seemed to try and find something specific he had written. "Was there something you wanted to sho-"

His large frame stepped forward again as he spread the page, bringing it towards her insistently. She flushed at the disregard to her proximity, but allowed it, interested as she was in what he was trying to show her. Her hands touched the spread gently, an entire blank page devoted to nothing but his small writing. His finger pushed at hers, pointing at a paragraph in specific for her to read.

Not enough men on the south entrance. There are five gaps of entry into the third floor from the south side. More than ten windows are left unlocked and unmanned. There is no patrol on the southeast wall. The gardeners on the south exit go unchecked daily.

She paused in her reading, her delicate brows rising as she looked up at him in curiosity. "You're not... happy with security of the southern part of my Tower?" She questioned slowly.

She watched Corvo's throat swallow and was shocked and slightly amused to see a sign in nervousness on him. But his jaw tightened and his brows narrowed, fingers fumbling over hers to turn the pages once more. She smiled politely at his determination and read the next section of a page he tapped at resolutely.

One of the maids stole cutlery. There are 22 maids in total of the kitchen. They do not seem to be checked at the beginning or end of the day. I was able to enter the kitchens and have access to the food being prepared without notice of any of the maids or the cooks. Five cooks. No patrols stationed in the kitchen.

Her lips pursed at the information, glancing around to see that many of Corvo's notes were like this, observations of security. She frowned, looking up at him with slight worry. "Why have you not reported this to my Commander?"

Corvo's brow twitched, eyes shifting to look away from her and glare out on the horizon. His hands dropped, allowing her took hold the book herself.

She recognized the defeated silence he gave. "They aren't listening to you, are they?" She assumed, already turning a page to continue to read.

Six men of the west patrol skip duty. Three hours in total of no patrol on west side. Fence locks on the west entrance go unchecked. Easily broken with a metal plier.

Locked door in West wing prevents quick access to exiting the Tower in case of panic.

Patrol men allowed to leave Waterlock unattended for break?

Wine shipments come in without proper papers.

The amount of information in his notes was incredible. And skimming through the pages she saw small diagrams, and images of her Tower. Her eyes scoured the page, reading of the things going on about her Tower she hadn't an inkling of. Were these things not big problems? Or perhaps Corvo was paranoid of his new station? No... Some of these things should be looked into. She looked up at his profile with wonder. Well, she had asked him to be frank with her. Pointing out the security and detail of her men was horrible was definitely frank.

"Corvo." His eyes found her once more, glancing at his book before waiting for her words. "May I keep this?"

His fingers rose touch the worn spine and his expression seemed... hesitant. But his eyes found hers and he nodded. She watched him signal at her. The same strange signal she had seen him make twice since they met. Two fingers measuring his heart and then placing them at his hip.

"I promise to return it to you, but I would like to read and attend to these matters." He nodded sharply and she gave him another reassuring smile. "Your... avid dedication to Gristol is greatly appreciated and I am very much impressed with your efforts." He looked a bit uncomfortable (shy, maybe?), but made no move besides to stare at her.

"I will see to it that at the end of this week I come to your station to hear your report myself." She ordered. Corvo's attention was severe now; his brows relaxing and his eyes grew large. "You'll report directly to me now."

It was the only way she could assure that he was being well treated. And after he had done so much for her service, she really couldn't think of a better way to continue his loyalties. She closed his book gently, clasping it in her fingers as she considered him. Her initial judgment could not have been more wrong of him. And despite his... conduct she was taken with his devotion to his position. He seemed earnestly hardworking, if inept at court manners. Not to mention his company was soothing. It was the silence, perhaps, which made her slightly guilty, but it was also the informality. He respected her enough to keep his stance as an Officer and yet the liberating feel of someone actually looking directly at her was something she found herself longing for. It was strange how she felt he gave her more attention than any other and yet in doing so he was considered 'rude.'

She motioned toward the Tower once more. Corvo quickly got the notion, straightening his shoulders and taking his lead to escort her back inside.

When they were again in the same hall they had run into each other at, she turned to him fully. "Thank you Corvo. I have found a trust in you for your honesty. Please do not lose that too soon; it is something I would value."

The gold lights of the hallways highlighted his tan skin and she allowed herself to read his expression fully. His face was shaded under the odd captain's hat but she could still see his lashes lower and his dark brows ease. Jessamine could only guess that he looked more relieved than when they had first begun speaking. His eyes flickered from hers, down to his book and she wondered if he waited for orders or for some…action.

She found herself once again glancing to the floor. She seemed to do that a lot when his form loomed in front of her. It was hard to tell if the gruffness of his presence was because he was Serkonan or if it was simply Corvo.

"I have honored you with a station of higher position and yet I still find myself unable to otherwise thank you." She chuckled quietly, her smile demure.

Corvo's hand rose slowly, his rough fingers pressing against his lips before slowly dropping toward her, bare and giving.

Thank you.

Jessamine felt her ears burn, but her smile was wide and happy all the same. "Oh- yes I see, of course." She agreed and before she found it in herself to be proper, lifted her own fingers to press upon her lips and repeat the gesture.

His cheek twitched, the corner of his mouth tugging as if fighting the urge to smile. She could see the unrestrained laughter in his eyes.

They shared the smile and this time when she looked away, he did too.

He continued to escort her into the grand ballroom where she was immediately intercepted by Cromwell and the first judge of her Parliament. Her clipped words and practice speech left her no room to say goodbye and it wasn't until she had moved into two different conversations that the small weight of the field manual in her hands reminded her of the lost company.

She looked around the rest of the night at the men patrolling the party, but she did not spot Corvo again.

Chapter Text

It would be Commander Dalen.

Gristol's clouds were finally roiling back into the sea; leaving Dunwall's early morning skies a pale blank sheet of grey.

Jessamine's fingers curled onto her chin, resting against the skin there as her eyes traced the faded silhouette of her city. They looked like cut paper, or a dab of faded paint; the tiny buildings amassing around the clock tower. Her own clock on the mantle clicked quietly, timing each one of her blinks and pacing her thoughts.

It was much too early to be awake, let alone contemplating deeply. She had tried to urge herself back into sleep after waking at the odd hour of dawn, but it seemed her worries cultivated into insomnia.

It wasn't the first time her inner fears had deprived her of sleep, of course. And she had remembered it happening often to her father as well. She had many memories of bidding him goodnight in a dark single-candle lit office only to wake the next morning and find him in the same clothes and the candle dying its flame into the dish.

She felt she understood him so much more now than she ever had as a child. But perhaps that was the way of things for everyone and their parents, not just Emperor's and their children.

She had contemplated starting her day. Calling upon Clara to wake the house and begin calling for the bills and summoning her audiences early. It wasn't as if anyone would dare complain to her. They were on Jessamine's clock, not their own. But she had too much heart for it and found that the silence might help her active mind.

It was today.

She had to announce the Royal Protector in Parliament today.

She kept reminding herself that it was not a decision that would shake her Kingdom. It wasn't one that the entirety of Gristol's people waited on baited breath for. There were more important matters to decide upon. The growing rate of impoverish being one. She had been dealing with the repercussions of the Insurrection since she had been crowned and the nations began rising against the timid prosperity of her father's rule. The rapid rate of those falling into troubled times were enough to border a depression and Jessamine was trying everything in her power to fight against it.

Those were the things her mind worried on constantly. In comparison, the choice for the Lord Protector should not have lasted this long.

But a small part of her knew that the decision, while not crucial for her people, would affect her the most.

With her Privy Council scrambling arm and leg to gain power through their respective departments and with the nobility buying advisors off for their own interests, she needed to be able to rely on her own men. And relying on her men meant being able to rely on her Protector.

She couldn't recall how many times she had unconsciously thanked the heavens that Essen had been her Protector. He had been close, known, and trustworthy. He would never have skirted her orders in favor of coin. Nor would he have taken the Spymaster's commands instead of hers. Something the man tried to do with the Protector often. No. She needed that reassurance. If she couldn't win her court with her social decisions, or her council with the political ones, she needed to at least have her military defenses and the guard in her pocket.

And so, she had decided on Commander Dalen. The position was already currently filled by him and he had been Essen's right hand man. She knew her Privy Council would be more than a little upset when she announced the decision this afternoon, but she could risk their disapproval for her own reassurance. And hopefully the act would show some small faith in Morley considering the Commander's parentage.

It wasn't as if she particularly cared for the Commander. His brief meeting with her had been curt and informative. But he seemed to know the work well and he had yet to complain or ask for any intervention. The men no doubt knew his authority well. It was a logical fit.

So she didn't understand why she couldn't sleep.

Her fingers pressed soothingly on her cheek as she finally turned away from the morning scenery to contemplate her bed. With the amount of audiences she had today before the grueling deed was done, extra rest would benefit her and she inwardly coached herself to at least attempt sleep. Sighing tiredly, her fingers dove into the loose knot holding her hair on her neck, and dragged the tresses free to relax her skull.

She let her shoulders ease as she carefully sat on the lush covers, the comfort of the bed inviting her in, even as her mind refused. It would still be a few hours before her normal waking hour and so she figured that perhaps a small time struggling for sleep would be sacrificed than staying awake the entire time. Determined to relax herself her hands went for her night stand drawer in search of her hair brush. Peering inside the mahogany she paused at the sight of a small worn pocket manual.

Corvo's field manual.

She had placed it there a few nights before, just after the end of the party. She had retired in earnest, and decided to put the manual away until she could focus her attentions on fixing the issues she had read of it. Jessamine stared at it in thought, her fingers reaching it to bring it into her lap.

She couldn't attend to the matters Corvo had noted now. Not with announcing the Lord Protector today, but she had promised him that she would come for his report at the end of the week.

Jessamine realized with a fret that this was today as well.

She pushed aside the anxiety of it all as she opened the book, her fingers leafing through the printed text to try and find more of the Serkonan's scribbled word. She paused at a few blueprints of the Tower, its schematics detailing the layout of the main floors. The text of the book labeled the foyer, the hallways, offices and even a few closets. But there was new information there. Corvo's pencil smudging some corners as he labeled his own things; all the windows, which doors were locked, where no guards were posted and where some areas were 'blind.' On another page, there were lines drawn on top of the hallways, titled with different times. Patrols maybe? It seemed like he was recording the posts of others and their routine patrols.

Then came the lists she had seen the other night. Notes about the apparent tragedy that was the south side of the Tower's security. She felt herself smile in amusement at his factual and almost offended writing.

Two guards on the south dock. There should be six.

She knew it really wasn't funny and most likely a true issue. But somehow the image of him on the docks scribbling angrily into the small manual amused her. She wondered if he had been as attentive under Rossini's authority. But... then again, he had been Assassin Hand under Rossini, not a guard. Her mood sobered at the thought of Corvo being just as meticulous an assassin as he was an Officer.

She turned to another page to find lists of times and activities and was about to skim past them in assumption that they were his regulatory schedules when a line jumped out at her.

10:34. She retires.

Jessamine realized with a start that the lists of schedules on the spread were hers.

10:00. Tea with the Matron. Matron leaves to attend quarters.
10:48. Office for 2 hours. Two guards posted.
12:22. Lunch on the balcony. One attending servant.
1:00. Meeting with Commander.
2:00. Tailoring. Private Quarters.

She remembered the day, barely a few days before the party. Her meeting with the Commander had been about the guest list and the final number of those attending. There were a few pages of this, but most were just notes on changes in her regular schedule, which he had also written down carefully. The warmth on her cheeks grew hot in mortification. Of course, she gave her appointments and schedules to the guard weekly. It wasn't embarrassing to know that they had to record where she was in order to care for her. But Corvo's attention was more intensive. Not even her Matron knew when to expect her call for a meeting or a tailoring.

A sudden fidgeting came over her as she wondered if he knew her to be awake now.

She almost had mind to check outside her door or down the hall.

Shaking off the feeling, she continued to read the scribing. There were more schedules, more small notes, and even some places where Serkonan words were written. His handwriting was more confident in his own language, swooping quickly and knowingly on the page.

It was strange to hear the voice reading in her head. Corvo was mute, of course, and she had never heard an inkling of what he might sound like. But the words voiced in her mind and off the page seemed calm, assured, and precise. It was as if she could place exactly his tone by the way he had held himself before her and she recalled his gaze meeting hers equally with a new appreciation.

In all honesty, Jessamine realized she could not have asked Serkonos for a better gift to show their loyalty.

She had spent the entire morning reading and memorizing Corvo's manual that she almost didn't notice her Matron come in until the curtains were pulled open to the sunlight.

As she had dressed for the day, she confirmed with Clara that yes; there were exactly 64 house servants in the tower beneath her. Not including the valets or the cooks. (Of which Jessamine now knew there were nearly twenty and five respectively.)

During breakfast she asked the posted guard about the locked door in the west wing, leading to the portrait hall. He answered that it was locked to ensure more safety by lessoning the number of places for an assailant to hide or escape. Jessamine noted while she sipped her tea that such a regulation was a foolish one. She was certain Corvo would agree.

And she had been in the middle of writing out an inquiry to Commander Dalen about the southern security of the Tower when Hiram Burrows was announced into her office.

Jessamine wasn't quite surprised to see the usually elusive Spymaster turn up the day of the new Royal Protector's announcement. But she wasn't… thrilled either. She had been pleased that the man hadn't begun throwing in his own nominations within her Privy Council, but the Royal Spymaster had his own ways of doing things. Usually that meant stirring things within his own department to influence others until she caught word of it.

Hiram Burrows was good at his job though. The reports she received from him about the national security as well as his own suggestions for the tower had always been detailed and intellectual…If a bit overly severe. His concern with the welfare of the rule over the Isles bordered on paranoia at the best of times and outright conspiracy at the worst.

But despite his eccentricity, Jessamine saw his devotion to the Gristol rule. He wanted what was best for the center of the Empire, even if it meant the worst for the rest of the Isles. And while it was a harsh standing, his loyalty to the progression of her Kingdom could not be denied.

"Spymaster." She greeted from her desk, relaxing her writing hand to a stop.

"Empress Kaldwin." He acknowledged, his long and sharp figure bowing gallantly before straightening to his stiff posture. "This day finds you well, I presume." He said. But his expression didn't quite look interested. Social trivialities had never been Burrow's strong suit. No, his remark on the day only pointed out why he was there.

"Yes, it does." She nodded, standing from her desk and motioning to the parchments on her desk. "I find my court and council working soundly."

"No doubt due to the... progress, in Serkonos." Hiram Burrows sniffed, tugging at his stiff cuffs. He looked up towards her with a twist in his features. "Condolences."

"Thank you." Jessamine accepted. The reminder wasn't a kind one, but she had long ago accepted the socialites requiring others to point out her old former Protector's death. She recognized Burrow's tone as well. He had opposed any compromise with Serkonos months ago. He had urged her to detain the ships raiding her whaling vessels to make an example of them. There would be no compromise with pirates, he had said.

Still, he conceded when she overruled him and sailed for Serkonos. The return with the death of her Lord Protector made the success sting a little, but she knew she would repeat the decision if she had to.

"I have heard word that there is search for candidates." Hiram said, straightening his poise and laying on the casualty of his voice thick. Jessamine nearly sighed out loud. Of course he had. He was not Spymaster for nothing. Though she supposed with how rowdy the Privy Council was being it wouldn't be hard to figure out what was going on. And she didn't need to remind herself that today was the day.

"Perhaps." She said vaguely. But she had had enough of the side stepping of the conversation. No doubt Burrows had as well. "Have you come to nominate someone in your department Lord Spymaster?"

"Why of course not, Empress." Hiram scoffed immediately and lifted a hand to gesture dismissively. His sharp features creased even more sharply, as if detesting the idea. "I had considered the notion of recommending my men. I cannot deny that they are all more than capable when it comes to security ... but they are better suited under my authority."

She wasn't sure if she was surprised. Hiram Burrows was usually selective in his efforts to oppose or support certain actions within her government, but it was never without reason. If he was not nominating anyone, she could only imagine it was because he was assured of the current candidates. Or perhaps the position simply didn't affect him or his department.

It only proved to her that the choice would impact her the most.

"I'm sure Your Majesty will choose the one suited most to your needs." He nodded before crossing his arms behind his back. "And be assured that if the sanctity of your Tower is ever tested that you can trust in me and my department. Regardless of whom you choose as your Lord Protector."

Jessamine nodded curtly at him. She had no doubts about that. After all, Hiram had been even more urgent towards matters of inner security than Lord Essen. She had to remind him constantly that his focus was on national matters. Not internal affairs. But the statement was still reassuring. He had her Kingdom in mind, no matter how strictly. "Thank you, the devotion is appreciated."

He nodded, but when he stepped forward and retrieved a primly folded parchment from his breast pocket she realized that the Lord Spymaster was not here to assure her. "I have a document for you, Empress, which will need your immediate attention."

She took the sealed paper from him and instantly recognized his own formal seal as well as a few from her own Privy Council.

"A bill has been drawn up to attest certain inactions against the situation within the... destitute areas of our city." He stated and continued quickly at the sight of Jessamine's pursed frown. "There are many who see a different strategy to amending the problem before it grows." His sharp blue eyes narrowed in a squint. "And we would not want that."

Her thumb smoothed over the Spymaster's seal and she held together her growing impatience. 'Petitions against the inactions with the poor.' Inaction... She was acting. She had been devoting funds straight to the rehabilitation houses and the government rations to help raise her people from poverty. With anger she recalled her meeting with her treasurer. No doubt he and those missing their cuts from her government had something to do with this.

Jessamine targeted her upset glare on the Spymaster, who obviously knew her own Council more than necessary.. "I will look over it when I feel it calls my attention." She nodded to him, flicking her eyes to the door to show him her dismissal.

"Soon then." He assumed and his thin lips quirked downward as his brows shot up. He bowed low before her desk and stood. "I wish you the best on your current affairs Your Majesty. And congratulations to whatever future Lord Protector you decide upon."

Secretary Cromwell shifted in discomfort. The teal blue sash along his shoulders that marked his title and position beside the Empress' side slipped down toward his lap. He tsked, fiddling with the silk on his neck and glancing at Jessamine Kaldwin's sharp face as she waited for the Parliament Caller to finish announcing the matter at hand.

He hated the formal sessions of Parliament as opposed to the more casual advisory sessions of the Privy Council, but there was nothing to be done about that as Secretary of the Lord Regent. The title felt heavy at times and this was one of them.

The past two months had been devastatingly stressful. It seemed even the simplest matters would set the council in a fit. They would all argue about the color of drapes if it were called to attention, so it was no surprise that they reeled like angry maids with the election of a new Lord Protector.

Though, he couldn't deny agreeing with them. It was for appearances sake and for the sake of the guard, who all seemed quietly frustrated in their helplessness of this decision. Looking around the room he spotted Commander Dalen near the large doors, stationed with another two guards. The man looked as tired as he did anxious and Cromwell did not envy him.

The session had gone slowly so far and the advisors all shared an expression of longing for the important announcement and the end of the meeting. They had talked about certain matters within other cities: tax problems in Driscol, and a regulation on exports. But the underlying wait for the announcement of Lord Protector buzzed through the room. He could see a select few judges pat their sweating heads and motion to each other reassuringly. Cromwell grabbed at his own frown, massaging his face and glancing once more, nervously, at the Empress.

Her pale eyes were pinning the announcer to his spot while her petite frame kept completely still. It seemed as if her breath and blinking eyes were timed. And she held no notes in front of her for distraction.

He didn't like that look.

That look usually foreboded the strong stubbornness of the Kaldwin lineage. Something Jessamine held in her a bit more than her Father had. Cromwell wanted to sink through the leather of his chair at that look.

They all stood with her as she did, acknowledging her intention to speak before sitting once more.

Her Majesty's face was set. It looked carved in the most careful fashion on the most pristine of marble. And when she spoke, her voice sounded like the sharp chisel that had cut it. She addressed the court, noting her gratitude to those who advised her. She thanked him specifically and Commander Dalen, for both their efforts to uphold the government's functions during a time of grief and transition. She spoke of the importance of keeping the Empire strong by the powers of allies and loyalty. It was all formality, of course, and he resisted the urge to tap his fingers on the desk in trepidation.

But then Cromwell became worried.

"As the trials of selecting this new position grow within my court, the specifications of the position of Lord Protector came to light. Not only am I selecting one to a higher in office and duty; but I am also accepting them into the long funded trust and devotion of my court. And into my personal favor. This is not only a matter of national import but an internal affair; a near private affair considering the actions in Serkonos dictating the situation."

His eyes darted about the room and he watched the other advisors and judges crinkle their faces in confusion. But he knew how to read the through the lines. She was sidestepping their nominations all together. She was claiming the matter of her exclusive authority because of the closeness with which Lord Protector was meant to commune with her.

Meant to. Cromwell reminded himself. There was a time perhaps, during the Morley Insurrection when the position was made, that the Lord Protector needed to act as the Regent's shadow; a true devotee to the life of the Emperor. But that was a time of war. And perhaps there was even a time where the Lord Protector did not require a great appearance or high standing like the times during her Father's reign. A reign that had been prosperous.

But times were different now in Gristol. Surely, the Empress could see that...

She continued, reiterating her absolute gratification of her advisors and their work on aiding her in this time.

She was going to title Commander Dalen. He could already hear it in his ears. Cromwell shot a look at the man, who seemed to have become as still as a statue at his post. Bastard.

He wanted to put his head in his hands and groan. He should have seen it coming, really. She had argued each step of the way against all the candidates. Especially their torch bearer, Toddlin. No…she would nominate the Morley-bred Commander and they would have to deal with the repercussions. Not that anyone would dare oppose her.

"...and I find myself in a position to do what is best for this Kingdom by way of my rule. I want nothing more than the supreme safety of all kept here. Not just the safety of my life and legacy, but the representation of all that Gristol stands for through that legacy."

He wondered how long it would take before the others sought him out to point their fingers and snarl at him for losing the nomination of Toddlin (and the funding that would have come with it.) He could already spot some in their restless seats glaring at him.

He supposed Dalen wasn't a bad Commander. And this was not the first time Jessamine Kaldwin overruled all advisors urgings.

Still—he was being presumptuous! There was still a chance that Toddlin would be called.

Cromwell felt himself intake air with the rest of the room as Jessamine's blue eyes lifted with her chin.

"So it is by my power and word that… Corvo Attano, be instated as my Lord Protector."

The reigning silence of shock stilled the room.

But the hush only lasted so long before head gestures and whispers began crawling about the table. The men in their heavy suits and adornments shook their heads and peered above each other as if the named man would suddenly show himself.

Any anger was replaced by utter confusion.

Secretary Cromwell's brows furrowed into his baffled frown, his tension and apprehension giving away to blank incomprehension.

He lifted his head from glancing about the room, ignoring the looks shot at his way to instead turn to Jessamine for answers. To her credit, even the Empress herself looked a bit taken aback by her own words. Her lips were parted and she seemed to gaze at none of them after the announcement. But her recovery was quick and her shoulders stiffened once more.

"Official inauguration of the position will be held in three weeks." She continued with the same steady confidence. "I trust in my loyal Privy Council and my Secretary to handle the preparations and affairs as we have all been planning."

The whispers were louder now. And outright questions were being asked between the men. He could feel the rise in distraught disappointment and like him; complete confusion.

"Gentleman." Her voice cut through the rabble.

The dismissal was marked with the announcer smacking the desk with a small gavel and like a gunshot the entire Council scrambled to their feet.

Any chance to inquire the Empress was swept away with her quick and graceful departure from the room.

And she took with her the answer to everyone's question.

Who the hell was Corvo Attano?

Chapter Text

Dunwall's skies poured with rain down upon its streets, and Jessamine glanced at the sight of the thundering droplets as Clara helped her slide her arms into a heavy black coat.

"The valet has drawn up a carriage to take you back to the Tower."

"I wish to see to my people first."

"Of course, Majesty."

Jessamine Kaldwin never missed First Mass. While she was not often seen attending service at the Abbey of Everyman regularly, she always attended at the first of the month.

She would sit in the high pew box and listen to the High Overseer's sermon with the rest of her people before insisting on giving alms to those that gathered after the service. Their Empress was not the most devout of those to rule and many speculated whether or not she practiced the teachings and lifestyle of the Strictures...but all knew their Regent adored her people. And coming to service seemed to be another one of her attempts to connect with them, even if the lower classes were regulated to the floor pews behind the nobles. Many would still amass near the gates to see her off, greet her, and accept her charity coin.

She had been thankful for the routine activity, especially after yesterday, where her announcement had stricken her council speechless. A first and most likely a last.

Today's service itself had been... well in all honesty she had been too busy trying to calm her thoughts and sort out her plans of action concerning her government to remember the theme of today's teachings. It was not as if she did not enjoy the stories and morals taught in the Abbey, nor did she not enjoy attending, she just could never find the time within her active schedule to devote herself to the cause.

She supposed with the amount of sacrifices she already made for her Kingdom, she had none left to give to the Everyman.

Nevertheless, the Abbey was a representative of her people. Or at least it preached so. And many of the common folk held a high faith with the Strictures that made her want to meet them on that level, even if she did not hang her own faith just as high.

Her people meant more to her than her doubts.

A few attending soldiers of the Royal Guard opened the doors from their pew box and she and Clara made their way to the exit of the Abbey.

Or they would have.

High Overseer Wolsey was dressed in his service robes. The stark red of their rich velvet cut through the white marble that made up the hallways of the Abbey as he made his way towards them. The man's gray hair peeked out from his red cap and dusted his frowning face. He bustled toward her quickly with his own Overseers at his sides, looking quite determined. Whatever it was Wolsey wanted audience with her about, she could only imagine.

"High Overseer. Your service today was a great one." She greeted as he bowed before her.

"Thank you, Your Majesty." He acknowledge with a slight cough in his throat. "I know you are headed back to the Tower... but I was hoping for a short word with you." His lips pushed against each other worryingly.

Jessamine's brow rose, but she acquiesced, waving her Matron and the guard away before continuing to walk leisurely toward the large windows of the hall. The High Overseer did not dismiss his own attending masked men.

"I will only have a short word. My people await me and I will not be late for them."

His robes swished as he neared her side, his hands crossing before him and kneading his knuckles in apprehension. Jessamine frowned at the gesture.

The High Overseer hardly ever pursued business with her. She didn't have much of an idea of what the exchanges had been like between Regent and Religion during her father's reign, but she knew it couldn't be any more than what she experienced now. The Abbey of Everyman was... contained. Their practices and regulations had always been slightly (or perhaps subtly) secular from her government. It wasn't really a negative thing. She had no business in the affairs of the Abbey so long as they did not overrule her reign, her laws, or start any wars in her name. And there had been no raids or purges led by the Abbey in a long time, long before the prosperous reign of her father anyway.

And it seemed the Abbey itself wanted little to do with her government as well. The Overseers themselves carried out the authority of the Abbey, and reports were turned into her office containing the monthly treasons and punishments for obstructing the Strictures. It was all very organized and smoothly run. She had never seen a need to intervene and she had not thought the High Overseer would either. So what could...?

"It is under my understanding, Majesty, that you have announced your new Lord Protector."

Jessamine turned her surprised gaze on Wolsey as he continued. He whispered quickly, his lips hardly opening and his small eyes gleaming out at her from his velvet hat. "A certain... Corvo Attano."

Jessamine had answered no audiences after her announcement the day prior. She had denied all the requests for meetings and letters. And there had been many. If this had been a confessional and if Jessamine had been a devotee, she would admit that her announcement had been a surprise to her as well. During the entirety of the Parliament session and her speech, she had practiced announcing Commander Dalen's name in her head. She had full intentions to name Dalen but...

But then she had remembered something else. Something more. The memorized notes in his attentive journal, the even stares that said more than any speech able soldier could, and the arms that had enveloped her in safety back in Serkonos.

When Corvo Attano's name fell through her lips as clear as day, she realized she may have decided a long time ago who she would rather have attending to her protection. She just hadn't known it until the time came.

And after avoiding all possible doubts by evading the audiences yesterday, she realized that this was what she wanted. Corvo was what she wanted. What she needed; a man with no loyalties but to her, one who seemed as extensive in his work as she was in her duties. One who would see the things she missed, direct her instead of manipulate her, and allow her confidentiality and reprieve.

It was a decision she knew she would have to fight for, but she didn't realize she had to fight the Abbey too.

"You are correct High Overseer. I have declared him my Protector as of yesterday." She nodded, trying her best to even her tone and seem utterly immoveable about the subject.

"Empress Kaldwin, it would be a sin to be silent about the dangers of such a choice." Wolsey began, his hands wringing so much his robes rolled up to his elbows. "The Abbey is deeply concerned with this matter."

"Concerned?" Jessamine cut in, turning a glare on him which he ignored by gazing out the window instead of her. "Is the Abbey questioning my authority?"

"Of course not, Majesty! But, you see- it is concern of a spiritual sense, a concern of the welfare of your people." He tried, his brows narrowing harshly at the window. "We-we know nothing of this man."

"It matters not what it known, but only what I decree, High Overseer."

He shifted in such a tizzy that Jessamine raised her brows in surprise. "I-It isn't a question about whether or not you have the authority, Empress!" He shouted in a hushed whisper, and Jessamine felt the other masked Overseers shift behind them. "It's about this man. This-This Serkonan man!"

Serkonan. The word made the problems clicked in her mind. She knew when she retreated yesterday that the fight for Corvo would be a hard one. Given that not only was he low stationed both in court and military position, but also that he was an uncouth, foreign, mute, ex-assassin.

She knew that his being Serkonan would be one of the bigger issues with him, but again, she had forgotten what that meant to the Abbey.

"Majesty, you know of the Serkonan... culture." The High Overseer struggled to spit out the word. As if the culture of the hot islands was more barbaric than what it truly was. "There is no true righteousness there. Not unless you count our own pilgrimages!" He shuffled heatedly, before continuing. "There is not but witchery, criminals and..." He paused, his expression crinkling deeply and his eyes glancing hesitantly towards Empress. "...dark worship."

Jessamine could feel her shoulders tense at the direct accusation. The offense was a high one, or it would have been if Corvo Attano was a Gristol man. But as of now, he had no bearing or reputation to ruin. Still, it was her judgment and her nominated man. Therefore it was her offense. "High Overseer, are you accusing the Lord Protector of Outsider worship?"

Wolsey seemed to backtrack quickly when he realized his mistake, but the anger and insistence didn't leave his expression. "No Majesty! I only wish to bring to your attention t-the... potential consequences!" He hurried, his fingers lifted to grab at his collared robe self-consciously and his voice went down to a low whisper again. "The Abbey is only concerned for the influences made upon your Kingdom and you should be as well."

"I can promise you that Corvo Attano is a reputable man." She assured impatiently. This issue was not something she had expected to deal with and was definitely not tolerated.

Wolsey huffed, "Yes, but is he of the Everyman?"

There would be no avoiding this. Jessamine looked back out toward the rain once more, contemplating her options. She knew that Wolsey was attesting Corvo altogether, but she would not back down simply on a case of spirituality. Not when that had no effect on Corvo's expertise as a Lord Protector. She had been more worried about his muteness than his religious practice when it came to potential hindrances.

"If the Abbey is so concerned, then Corvo will take vows to the Strictures before he is inaugurated."

Wolsey didn't seem to expect that. His mouth opened and closed in readiness to object, but said nothing. She knew if any had their way, Corvo wouldn't be inaugurated at all, but is seemed that at least the Abbey could not complain so long as Corvo was of the Everyman.

One step at a time then.

She felt her lips curve into a smug smile that she trained into a demure one. "It is settled. I will arrange for Corvo to attend confession. He can then take his vows before you, High Overseer, and commit himself to the Strictures."

Wolsey's firm frown grew deeper and his hands continued to wring themselves, but again, he simply nodded in appeasement. "Very well, Empress."

It wasn't long in the day before the second protest came.

"Secretary Cromwell, the decision has been made and my decree announced." Jessamine's tone clipped over her desk, eyes glaring daggers into the Secretary across her.

Cromwell's hair was ruffled and his tie askew as he rubbed the heel of his palms into his eyes and resisted the urge to groan aloud at her defense. "Please, Empress…. Please! You must consider the circumstances and the consequences of this choice!"

Jessamine openly huffed, turning her gaze dismissively from him to consider the papers on her desk instead. "I have, Secretary, which is why the verdict has been made."

"Majesty the council is beside themselves." Cromwell pleaded, leaning toward her in earnest. After the confusion had settled the day before it didn't take long for the Privy Council to scrounge up the measly dossier that belonged to one Corvo Attano. And it wasn't long after when the anger came again. "They are asking for a recall on advisement meetings. They have decided to extend the deadline for a decision as you first requested."

"No, Secretary." Jessamine said, barely looking at him from the papers.

"Please- t-they have all come to compromise that e-even Commander Dalen-!"

"I do not appreciate the high judgments to my choice!" She snapped, her posture straightening up to glare at Cromwell, who visibly shrunk. She relaxed at the sight of his tired and worn form. No doubt she had set fire to the Council, and her Secretary was mere kindling in their rage. She sighed, shaking her head. "No Cromwell. I will not be recalling my decree. Corvo Attano was responsible for saving my life in Serkonos. I could not think of a better Lord Protector."

Cromwell deflated, but his sunken eyes still tried to reach her. "No better man to save you, Majesty, but a better man for such a high position?"

"If I recall the choice, what will Serkonos think?" Jessamine argued. "No doubt the honor for them has already been leaked. It will be a high offense to simply take it back."

Cromwell winced, looking away before trying again. "But he's-he's mute!"

Jessamine sighed. It had only been a day and already the fight was beginning to wear down on her. "Yes, I know."

"A mute man in high office! How will he give his commands? His reports? His announcements to the court? His vows that I heard you so easily arranged."

Jessamine glared at him. Cromwell stared back in genuine concern and doubt. His hands moved to emphasize his next words. "You are asking a lot of your court Empress. And this man is... not prepared for the circumstances you are throwing him under."

Her lips parted at those words and she looked away quickly. She had not thought of that. What if Corvo didn't want such a station? It… wasn't something she had considered. In fact, it wasn't something she really should consider. No personal preference should matter in the face of an order by the Regent. It shouldn't matter whether or not Corvo agreed with his promotion.

But suddenly she realized he was in a controversial enough position that this would be more than just a premonition. This would put him in direct judgment of everyone.

Jessamine frowned and her hand pressed at her stomach as she considered the gravity of the responsibility. She had thought only of herself and how the decision would not affect her court or her people greatly - but her. It would affect her the most.

And, she realized, Corvo himself.

Still, she was right. Calling back the choice would not only be a great offense to the newly formed alliance with Serkonos, but it would make her appear weak. And she could not afford to appear easily manipulated by her court or her council.

No, she had made the decision, and despite her doubts she still felt at ease with Corvo's name under the title of Lord Protector.

"Then you will need to prepare him, Secretary."

"Which is why- me?" Cromwell shifted, his expression falling as he leaned back in his chair.

"I am declaring you the responsibility of our new Lord Protector. Make sure he is guided through the preparations for the position and ready for inauguration."

"What? Me? Majesty I can't-"

"I would not have any other do the job Cromwell, when I know others would rather he fail." She said, and looked at him evenly. "I know you will do your best to make sure appearances are kept and standards met."

Cromwell shook his head, looking all the more flustered than when he come in. "E-even if I can, how am I supposed to...to talk with him!?"

"I suggest you hire a signing translator, Secretary." Jessamine suggested with a soft chuckle, feeling more at ease to return to the papers upon her desk. She paused, looking up at him with a thought. "In fact... I am also putting you in charge of hiring a signing tutor; the best you can find in Dunwall that would accept a full time position here at the Tower."

"For your Privy Council, Majesty?"

"No, Secretary, for me."

George snubbed the short cigar down on the wood table, scraping the black ash from the end on the scratched surface. The movement jostled Jacob next to him, who looked at him with an odd expression in between his bites of soup.

"What's the matter with you now, eh?" Jacob asked, the spoon on his bowl scraping loudly and adding to the cacophony of noise in the mess hall. The month's new assignments had been today and the scramble for new positions and new posts had been hectic and grueling. The entirety of the Royal Guard had been rotated for new security walks and patrols. End of the months reports and quotas had to be turned in.

George continued to rub his cigar butt into the wood until the paper withered away underneath his fingers. His lips twisted in irritation. "That fuckin' Serk is the matter." George hissed.

Jacob harrumphed into his spoon, nodding in agreement.

The Serk in question had ruined their chances at a better post this month and they were now stuck on Waterlock duty. He hadn't shown up for post assignment and without the whole squad there they had been reprimanded and punished.

"And it's gonna fuckin' rain for the rest of this blasted month!" George snarled, brushing his fingers on the table to scatter ash across it. The guards across from him paused in their eating to stare at his outburst and he pointed at them. "That damned stupid mute doesn't belong here. He's always fuckin around and not doin his job. And we get the blame! Why?!" He shouted, his shoulder bumping into Jacob's.

"Hey!" Jacob whined, his soup bowl sloshing at the table. The soldiers among the other tables began to look around the mess hall, searching for the shouts and the noise louder than all the chatter. The rowdiness began to quiet as the hall listened for George's shouts.

"I don't fuckin' care what honors or promotions he's got, he shouldn't be here! He's a fuckin waste of a Gristol guardsman!" He shouted again. Jacob nodded in agreement and a few of the soldiers at their table whispered similar sentiments. "It's a damn shame and nothing but a pity job for a mute!"

The soft rise in understanding suddenly quieted and heads turned wildly to another side of the mess hall.

George breathed harshly after his yell. He glanced down at Jacob, who was looking across the room with the others. He followed the gaze, and the mess hall went still as Corvo entered softly.

The Serkonan gently removed the Captain's hat from his head, stepping soundlessly forward in the aisle of tables. His dark eyes glanced around warily as the soldiers all stared back at him and his fingers rubbed against the cloth of his hat hesitantly. His brow drew together in obvious confusion, and he flicked his gaze along all the soldier's faces before simply beginning to walk past them for the farther, unoccupied tables.

George raged at the sight of him and he shoved himself up from the long table, scattering a fork and spoon across the surface onto the floor. "You! Bloody Serk!" He shouted, making Corvo pause and all the sets of eyes in the hall flicker back and forth between them.

"Do you know what you did today, eh!? Do you know you fuckin' missed your damned post again and shot our assignments down the shitter!?" He accused and stepped out of the seats to face the mute head on.

Corvo shifted warily, his brown eyes sizing George up from head to toe as if wondering if the soldier would charge at him. Other guards began to rise from their tables, peering over each other to watch.

"And where the fuck were you, eh?! Out writing out your sad sob stories in your fuckin' book!? Off snitching to the Commander? Don't think I don't know you were lookin' for him yesterday!" He accused, stepping forward.

Corvo's face hardened, but he made no move. His expression drew tight and his dark eyes looked back and forth between George's bare hands.

A few shouts around the room erupted, guards standing and drawing in closer to the confrontation. Yells of urging echoed through the hall.

"I'm sick of this shit, Serk! And some good Gristol man should teach you a lesson!"

The noise exploded and George charged down the aisle toward Corvo with a fist raised.

Corvo took one step back and dropped his captain's hat.

"I'm... sorry to interrupt the duties Commander." Cromwell apologized quietly, following Commander Dalen's quick stride down the offices of the guard. It was more than a little awkward to have come calling on the man right after yesterday's announcement. Cromwell felt a huge sympathy for the man whom he had not vouched for during the choosing of the new Royal Protector, but now wished he could have.

Dalen, for his part, didn't look as put-out as he did tired. "It's alright Secretary." He nodded, directing them down the stairs to the lower barracks. "It's the first of the month, so we are busy with assignments and reports. The men get a bit antsy at getting the better posts, so there's a lot to deal with."

Cromwell looked around a bit distastefully at the bustling soldiers filing down the hallway as Cromwell continued, "So as you can imagine, I have yet to make any announcement following yesterday."

"Has he not been informed?"

"No."

Cromwell frowned, but again, he couldn't blame the Commander. Not when the announcement had come as a surprise to them all (and the man who replaced Dalen's would-be promotion was a much lower station than his own.)

"Attano didn't show up to re-assignment or his post today. But he should be back from wherever he was now. Most likely he's in the mess for dinner."

"Didn't show up?" Cromwell queried, his brows rising.

Dalen paused to look back at him with a dull and knowing expression. "He doesn't usually."

Cromwell sighed as they continued onwards toward the mess hall. Nothing he heard of the man the Empress had chosen sounded promising thus far. As they paused before the great doors the posted soldiers began to open, the Secretary began again, "Well, he won't be your problem anymore Commander. Her Majesty has ordered his immediate preparation and move to the Royal Protect-"

The noise from the mess hall drowned out Cromwell's voice and he and the Commander took in the rampaging sight with shock.

The soldiers were shouting and chanting, circled about one of the middle tables in a rabble. They clamored over each other in yells, standing on the wood surfaces to try to see into the center. There was movement between them and the unmistakable sound of someone yelling in a tussle.

Commander Dalen roared, calling for a halt, but only a few soldiers heard him and hurried away at the sight. "What in seven hells is going on here!? Back away! Attention!"

The guards that had been escorting them rushed forward to pull the men away from the circle and just as they did a body crashed on top of the table, scattering plates and food and splintering the wood. Shouts erupted again, and another man lunged for the one on the table, grabbing his coat and pulling him to his feet.

"Corvo!?" Commander Dalen shouted, spotting him as another soldier - George - began to pull the Serkonan into a choke hold that made him let go of the other. Another soldier stepped forward as if to punch at Corvo, but was stopped at a hard kick to the stomach. George wrestled his arms around him, but Corvo had put up a hand beside his neck, stopping the pressure from squeezing at his esophagus. Still, George was shouting at others to hit him as he held him still and others were shouting back encouragements.

"Stop this!" Dalen yelled, even as Cromwell came up to his side with an appalled expression.

"This is how your men are regulated, Commander?" The Secretary barbed and Dalen's face grew red in anger, pushing past him toward the two wrestling men to reach out and grab at George's shoulder. But before he could, Corvo's hands snaked up through the hold, grasping George's entire head and yanking his whole body over his shoulder.

George's yell ripped through the hall as he flipped in Corvo's hands and smashed onto the table in front of them, breaking the already splintered surface and smacking his head on the bench. Corvo twisted his arm, turning his wrist in the air in an awkward position before pinning George's neck with his knee.

"ENOUGH!" The Commander boomed.

It went silent aside from George's short shouts of pain. It was then that the Secretary stepped forward and the soldiers all seemed to recognize the garb he wore that indicated his Royal position. "Unhand him!" Cromwell ordered.

Corvo immediately let go of George, raising his hands in quiet surrender as the other guard's grabbed hold of his arms and shoulders to drag him away. The others rushed around George to get him back on his feet. "C-Com-Commander!" George coughed. His face was swollen and purple from his disorientating flip and the knee that had pressed down on his neck. He favored his left arm while the other pointed at Corvo. "The bastard mute atta-"

"Not you!" The Commander yelled. "You be silent!"

"Stupid fool!" Cromwell reprimanded. "Do you have any idea what you have done?" He chastised.

George looked confused and his angry expression twisted as he tried to point to Corvo once more. "But-"

"That is your new Lord Protector, you imbecile!"

The silence was deafening. All heads turned to snap their gaze at the Serkonan.

Corvo's dark eyes flickered hastily about all the pairs staring at him. The soldiers, George, the Commander, and the Royal Secretary… and slowly the hands holding him back let go. He eased slightly, still breathing a bit hard from the brawl, and took step forward.

His stare was inquiring and he seemed to look around for the one who would give him answers. His eyes found Cromwell and while his hands twitched at his sides, his lips parted with a short breath of air as if to ask with words he couldn't use.

The Secretary stared back at the man who had given him nothing but trouble since he first heard his name before gathering himself stiffly.

"Corvo Attano." He decreed. " By order of the Empress of the Isles, Jessamine Kaldwin the First, you are hereby titled as Royal Protector to the crown and to all of Dunwall."

Chapter Text

Her fingers twisted delicately, slowly and achingly.

"J...E...S...S...A...M... I-I find it difficult to even shape the letters."

"It's only because your fingers are not used to having to be so flexible, Majesty. It is much like playing an instrument that way."

It had taken Secretary Cromwell only a handful of days before he procured Jessamine a tutor.

Madame Jeanine Bonet was not from the Academy, nor any high standing school or trade house. The elderly woman with her prim grey hair tied sharply at her neck explained that she had learned sign as a nurse when she was young. She had attended the deaf and the disabled veterans from the war before becoming a translator at the Dunwall Asylum. She was a widow of ten years now, adorned in a matronly dress that cut her neck tightly. When introduced to the Empress, she did not small talk or babble. The Madame has simply bowed and asked how much the Empress already knew, all the while signing quickly along with her own spoken words. Jessamine knew immediately that she liked her.

It was only their second lesson, but the arrangement had been clear. Jessamine had drawn up the contract herself. Madame Bonet was to live in quarters made for her at the Tower, while she tutored the Empress every morning for a few hours. It was tentative, but it was also intended for the Madame to be on hand as the official teacher to any Royal who sought to learn sign.

After Jessamine mastered it first, of course.

Her fingers were already straining under the motions. The skill was a much harder one to learn than she originally imagined. And while the alphabet at times seemed easy; changing letters as quickly as she watched Madame Bonet doing so was challenging. Especially with letters like K or M; Which made her own name much too difficult for a beginner. They sat across from each other in Jessamine's parlor, the tea before had been forgotten in the light of their exchange.

To begin their lessons, Madame Bonet had given the Empress a simple pamphlet of etchings depicting the hand shapes for each letter and they would practice them all to memory.

Her brow furrowed, watching her fingers jerk strangely at her forceful use of them.

"Remember Empress, it is my understanding that you need only be able read the motions. Not make them." Madame Bonet reassured. She repeated Jessamine's name a few times for the Empress to watch. Her fingers moved deliberately slowly. They were precise, transforming into different shaped fists before tracing some elegant gesture in the air.

It was true. Corvo was mute, not deaf. She didn't actually have to learn or even use the articulated motions. But she was stubborn and intrigued. Not to mention she had a new appreciation for her Lord Protector. She recalled all the conversations she had seen him sign, his deft fingers quick and agile, flipping through the language like another blade in his hands.

Thoughtfully, she glanced at the chart of symbols and letters Bonet had given her. Her eyes found C, O, R and V quickly, and she realized with a huff of unfairness that Corvo's name was actually very easy to sign.

"Isn't there something done about names that are much too long? It seems such a hassle to spell out each letter in casual conversation."

Bonet considered her question as she lowered her hands, opting to take a break and have a sip of her tea. The morning light streamed through the window, highlighting the woman's taut features. "Short abbreviations are used for times like that. Nicknames, if you will. A symbol is used to represent a person." The elder woman carefully drank her cup, before raising only one of her hands. She then began signing her own long name. Jeanine Bonet. "Instead of all this, I am called Jeanine in this way." Her pointer finger lifted sharply before tapping straight on her chin. "It is the Sign for 'serious.'"

Jessamine watched in earnest fascination. "You mean to say that another word is your nickname?" She queried. The Madame nodded. "How does one go about choosing a sign?"

"You do not choose a sign. It has to be given to you by another. Declaring yourself a sign is not... grammatically correct. It needs to make conversational sense." The Madame sniffed her nose. "The symbol has to have meaning. It's almost personal."

She deflated a bit at the explanation. In some way it made sense. After all, one did not choose their own name either. But the charming idea of choosing a symbol she liked was dashed away. "I see."

"It should be of no issue to you Majesty, because no one would call you by your first name. They would only address you as Your Majesty or Empress. No?"

That was true, but not any less disappointing. The rest of her quiet fascination with names slithered away. She wouldn't need one. "Of course." She reaffirmed, brushing aside her own dissatisfaction. Quirking a brow, she asked, "What exactly is that motion? My title?"

Madame Bonet's fingers measured her heart, before crossing over to her hip. And suddenly, all the times that Corvo had done that very gesture came to her mind.

Your Majesty.

It was almost as if she were filling in his voice from the gaps of his silence in her memories. As if he had been whispering before, and now he was loud and clear. He had been hailing her each time. It made obvious sense…so much sense that she felt a bit ridiculous for not realizing it before.

"We should continue with the alphabet. As convenient as signing is, everything is based on finger spelling the letters. So long as you can read that, you should be able to communicate. Very slowly of course, but that's still something." The Madame explained.

Jessamine nodded. "Yes, please continue."

"Dear heavens, your handwriting is atrocious."

Corvo didn't look very pleased at the comment.

Cromwell glanced up from the paper he had slid toward him on the table and frowned at his dour expression. "I am only remarking on it because it will be another thing we have to work on." He chided.

The Serkonan didn't seem to like that either, if the heavy furrow in his brow was any indication.

"The Secretary is right; you can't turn in reports like that." Commander Dalen commented, leaning over Cromwell's shoulder and chair to review the accused script. Cromwell resisted the urge to roll eyes childishly, but allowed himself a hopeless puff of air through his lips. The Commander continued to peer rudely over his shoulder and the Secretary sunk a little away from him.

Corvo's hands rose, briskly moving even though the two men weren't watching.

"He says... it's because he writes better in Serkonan."

Cromwell and Dalen looked up to Captain Morris, who translated Corvo's sign from the seat next to him.

When it came time for Cromwell to begin training Corvo after they moved him from the barracks to his new Tower quarters (which, considering the previous circumstances, had to be done so immediately), a translator was one of the first things that had to be recruited. Cromwell had thought to find someone in Court to suit the job, but as it turns out, nobility isn't really skilled in such things. His second thought had been to use the same tutor he had found for Her Majesty. But that would monopolize the time the Empress wanted for herself. So when the Secretary had conferred the issue with Corvo himself, the Serkonan had written out a note that there had been one Captain in the Watch who could read his sign. The arrangements had been made and the said Captain had been reassigned.

Morris leaned back in the lacquered chair, pushing up his cap to look down toward the Commander and the Secretary. "That is a crock of shit by the way, because they have the same letters."

Corvo signed with an irritated expression, but Morris waved him off. "Just admit that you have piss-all writing Corvo."

"Captain Morris, some propriety, please." Cromwell scoffed, reviewing the written hand again as he continued with a grumble. "At this rate he will be no closer to a proper Lord than I will to a vacation."

The preparations were going... slow. Cromwell had arranged everything for Her Majesty's own requests easily enough, but carrying out the circumstances needed for tutoring Corvo was much more difficult. Not only because the job was a little out of Cromwell's expertise (and interest), but also because of Corvo's own setbacks. The incident at the barracks seemed to have set the tone for Corvo's continued behavior. The men he had fought with had been reprimanded and put on leave... but Corvo couldn't actually be reprimanded. He was Lord Protector now; He held a higher station than the Commander...and the Secretary.

Not that Corvo really knew that.

Whatever the Serkonan's thoughts were on the sudden promotion, Cromwell didn't know for sure. He had yet to protest, or at least Cromwell hadn't seen any sort of fit from the man's hands on the issue. And while he seemed frustrated and confused with all the new duties that had been assigned for him to learn, he was actually trying to achieve them.

Cromwell was finding it difficult to compromise with the mute man. While he respected Corvo for trying, Corvo wasn't making his job at molding him into the appearance of a well-to-do Lord Protector any easier. He had been trying thus far to reassure Corvo that a ceremony was needed before he could actually attain the job. (Not true, by all means the man already had the job.) And that he needed to know and do all these things for appearances sake in order to appease the Empress. (Half true.)

So he had complied with Corvo's request for Captain Morris' presence, as unpleasant as it was turning out to be.

And in a turn of events, Cromwell was pleasantly surprised at the aid of Commander Dalen.

After the unseemly brawl at the barracks, Dalen had offered his full responsibility for preparing Corvo alongside the Secretary, who hadn't expected it of the Commander at all. Especially with Corvo being the surprise choice for a job Dalen had been most likely to get. Cromwell wasn't sure if the Commander was doing it because he wanted to save face from the new Lord Protector, or because he was actually concerned for the newcomer... but either way it worked out for everyone.

Dalen had only mentioned he wanted the Tower in good hands.

Good, signing hands, Cromwell reminded himself.

So they spent the mornings reviewing court formalities until the early afternoon where Corvo attended Commander Dalen's side to watch him carry out his duties. The latter was the more successful of the two.

Corvo had proved himself more than capable of understanding exits, entrances, posts, and patrols better than any that Cromwell would compare to. Even Commander Dalen had lightened toward the Serkonan when the two conferred with each other on their patrols. Corvo had shed light on weakness on patrol. And Commander Dalen had explained certain formations that had to be taken do to protocols.

He could obviously fight too, being the former Gallows man that he was... However, understanding the legal garb of a report letter, why it's not proper to ask a woman her age, or attain cease and desist warrant before breaking a bone was a much more difficult concept for the Serkonan to grasp.

Every lesson in introduction was proven moot by Corvo's handicap. Demonstrations in escorting a lady by the arm were laughable, and always ended in an argument with Corvo not understanding why he couldn't just do his job in security. They had sat through dinner together to teach the Serkonan proper meal arrangement, which seemed to go well until the middle courses, where the silverware began changing. Cromwell could only imagine with a cringe what soiree's with the Protector would be like.

Not to mention...

"It's Restless Hands and Roaming Feet Corvo, not Restless Feet." Cromwell sighed, sliding the paper back to the Serkonan.

"Roaming Hands." Morris chuckled from the far end, earning a glare from the Commander and the Secretary.

"I do hope you will reign in your amusement during Corvo's vows next week. You will, after all, be translating his confession." Cromwell chided. The Captain sobered at that and the Commander had his own laugh.

Corvo's hands made new words in the air and Morris sighed at his side, "Because the Empress orders it Corvo." He replied, not bothering to translate for the others.

"Do you mind Captain?"

"He's asking why he needs to be sworn into the religion of the Everyman."

Cromwell turned his attention back on Corvo, whose expression seemed more than a little frustrated. Black, unamused eyes stared back at the Secretary, who rubbed his temples. "The Abbey wants to be assured that the Royal Protector's...moral standing is aligned with their...teachings." Cromwell explained hesitantly, not exactly wanting to spell out the Abbey's prejudice of Serkonos people. He understood the concern, anyway. Not that he believed that all Serkonan's were witches and dark worshippers... but having a non-religious foreign man in a Royal position was controversial at best. Even he himself attended mass, if only for the benefits of not being questioned. "And the Empress has commanded it of you, so you will do it for her too."

Corvo's annoyed expression eased somewhat. He pulled the practiced written scriptures back, eyeing them carefully.

The tanned hands lifted again, signing slowly as Corvo's eyes reviewed the books of Strictures laid open before him. The three of them watched quietly, waiting for the end of his words so Morris could translate. The Captain's face seemed to draw in confusion as he began, "Corvo asks why hands that kill are considered restless."

The question wasn't one Cromwell expected. And the Secretary exchanged baffled looks with Commander Dalen, whose own usually stoic face seemed lost.

Morris cringed. "Can't we just send him to Morning school with the children?" He drawled, looking toward Corvo and catching him with a dubious eye. "It doesn't matter what the Strictures truly mean. You just have to know them. Everyone's supposed to just... figure them out on their own anyway. Slef-Enlightenment."

Cromwell gave Morris a deadpanned look at the not-true-at-all statement.

Corvo's hair fell across his face as he reread the Stricture in front of him. He continued to sign.

"He says... 'why does the Stricture say that farm labor is more productive than killing?'" Morris sighed. "Really Corvo?"

Commander Dalen's hand brushed against his chin. "I always interpreted it as; being restless could lead one to kill." He said quietly, considering the question honestly.

Corvo continued to gesture his thoughts to Morris' displeasure. "He asks, 'Then what about those who do not kill but do not work.'"

Cromwell groaned, his fingers pushing at his temples. Were they all really delving into the theology of the Strictures? They would be here all day! His voice snapped between all of them at the large desk, "I think perhaps that is enough of the Everyman for today." He clipped. "We still have plenty of time to remember the Strictures and teachings, but we don't have time to go over your all actions within court."

At the mention of court etiquette, Corvo's expression turned impossibly darker.

Since finally deciding on a Lord Protector, Jessamine felt much more at ease.

While the morning lessons were new, her ritual more or less returned to what it was before her trip to Serkonos. She was able to focus on the dire issues…issues of her city, her Empire and her people.

The Empire of Isles had been prosperous under her father. He had been tenacious, resourceful, and ambitious. Emperor Euhorn Kaldwin the II had employed countless work on building within Gristol itself. Kaldwin's Bridge, Coldridge Prison, and the Clock tower had all been commissioned and overseen by him. Even the Waterlock to Dunwall Tower had been his renovation. They had given the Gristol people pride, unity, and strength as the center of the Isles. It had worked to maintain their glory after the Insurrection, and reassure the Isles the fortitude that was the center of the government. He had been personable, close to his citizens, and fair. Even court had adored him.

Jessamine was fighting hard to maintain inklings of him. But... very simply, there was no more money for such things.

The Insurrection had been long. And while Gristol had come out in all its glory when Morley finally fell back, Morley and the other Isles had no such wealth. The others had struggled in their own Depression. And her father had sought to cut them off, fearful that resourcing anything from Gristol would amount to Morley regrouping, and fighting once more. It was a reasonable decision at the time. But now they were paying for it. Depression even for one Isle would mean it for the others. And prices on imports rose enough to make the poor in Gristol poorer. Soon they were being dragged under without the balance of the others. Especially after the immense spending beneath her father.

But Jessamine couldn't let it happen. She had to remain strong, even in appearance; for her people and for all the Empire. They could not risk another Insurrection. Or worse, a civil war within Gristol itself.

She was trying to uphold her fairness to her people, the connection with them that her father had. But she felt like she was losing her inner government in the process. Her people loved her, but her court was turning sour.

She stared down at bill on her desk that Hiram Burrows had written in junction with the other council members. Her fingers scratched another blank page beside it, as she considered her decree to refute the bill.

The office door opened, and her matron came in, bowing slowly with a tray of dinner in her hands. "Majesty."

"Set it here, Clara. I will have no time to move to the table."

Clara frowned knowingly from across the room, but approached and did as she was told. She carefully moved the tea before Jessamine, before setting out the smaller dishes of soup and cut bread.

"Tonight it is… em... C..a...u...-Cauliflower, ma'am." Clara said and Jessamine looked up in time to watch the matron spell out the words on her fingers. Her hand was shaky, but there was a smile on her face that Jessamine met.

"Ah- the 'F' to the 'L' looks difficult." She chuckled beneath her breath.

Clara nodded. "I have not learned it all as quick as you, Majesty. And I'm afraid there is no sign for Cauliflower that I know of but..." She paused, both hands raising and motioning before the Empress.

Dinner is soup, tea, bread, and salt.

"Salt?" Jessamine questioned.

"I just wanted to show that I knew the word, ma'am."

"Well I guess it shows that I know it too."

They shared pleased smiles with each other before Clara bowed herself out. The office door closed quietly and the silence was suddenly overbearing.

The ease that came with having settled on a Lord Protector seemed to fly away at the sight of Burrow's bill. She frowned once more, lying down her quill on the desk to lean back in her chair with a sigh.

From her window, she could see Wrenhaven river, glittering in the dying sunset of the evening. And quietly her hands signed the letters. W-R-E-N-H-A-V-E-N. She had to pause to remember the word for river, but it came, and then boat. Whale. Whale Oil. Window. Curtain. Desk. Quill.

She tried to imagine Corvo doing the words instead, because eventually, she would only be reading his words. Not making them.

He would be inaugurated at the end of the week. Her speech for the ceremony was already written.

She had not seen him since the night of the party weeks ago, before she had ever decided on him. She had also seen very little of her Secretary or Commander Dalen for that matter. And when Cromwell did show his face, it was usually haggard and tired during Privy Council sessions. So she could only guess that Corvo's guidance and training was doing well.

While there had been many countless letters of protest and inquiry since Corvo's announcement, she still had not changed her mind. And Cromwell had made no mention of failure.

He was appointed to take his vows at the Abbey tomorrow.

Her mind drifted to imagining the ordeal. Corvo would be in his roughed attire, standing in the pristine Abbey before the High Overseer's pursed and distasteful face. It would be utterly silent as Corvo signed, explaining his sins against the Strictures before his rebirth as an Everyman. Cromwell would be there, looking bored but also nervous, shifting on his feet and coughing each time Corvo looked to make a mistake.

Jessamine wondered if he would confess of the men's murders back in Serkonos. Of the ones she had seen him kill. She closed her eyes, remembering his rigid face as he brought a pistol to an assassin's head and blew his skull outward in a shower of red.

It reminded her that he was first and foremost, a Gallows Assassin. An effective one from what she had experienced.

Swallowing, Jessamine realized she was not quite at ease as she had first thought.

And glancing at Burrow's bill and her dinner, she realized she was also not hungry.

"...'I have killed people for others.'" Morris translated.

His throat felt heavy. He didn't really want to do this. Before Serkonos he had been a simple Captain with a decent squad of men. They had been on their way up. Recognized and selected by the Royal Protector himself to accompany the Empress on a Diplomatic trip to Serkonos as security detail.

Morris liked drinking after a long night. He liked hearing a good joke over a brew with some of his men at a pub. He enjoyed a fresh uniform and sleeping early.

He didn't like sign translating... and he didn't like talking about religion.

High Overseer Wolsey's brows curved inward, staring down at Corvo's hunched form.

The Serkonan was kneeling on a velvet pad in the center of the Abbey's sermon podium, the pews behind him empty but for Cromwell and Commander Dalen. The latter was at the doors, stationed like a true soldier ready to excuse any from interrupting the private affair. Cromwell was seated stiffly at the front pew, his face looking upset and fretful. The wiry Secretary had his long legs jittering on the tiles of the abbey, his heels clapping on the floor and echoing through the high ceilings.

Morris was standing between Corvo and the High Overseer, staring down at the kneeling Serk and feeling very, very uncomfortable. Normally, confession was done privately in isolated boxes, before reciting the Strictures and being accepted into the Abbey. But seeing as that would be impossible with Corvo's addled tongue, here they all were; waiting to hear the man's dirty secrets.

They had all known this wasn't going to go as well as it could. After the first few days of trying to tutor Corvo, that much had been certain.

But this was more than a little awkward.

The High Overseer seemed to wait for the would-be Lord Protector to continue and breathed loudly when he didn't. Corvo's face was unflinching and his dark eyes stared back at Wolsey unrelentingly. Wolsey huffed, turning in his ornate robes and shaking the Stricture book in his hands as he glared at Morris. "Is that all he will confess?!" He asked, aghast.

"No- he, he has more!" Cromwell called from his spot, looking like he wanted to run over and shake Corvo senseless. Morris felt similar.

"Corvo... you have to explain." Morris tried with clenched teeth and the Serk seemed to consider this.

They all breathed a sigh of relief as he began signing again.

But Morris didn't like the words he had to say.

"... 'I don't know how many I have killed. Or who they were.'" That's just fucking great, Morris mused.

Wolsey's face contorted at the short and direct answer. Morris couldn't tell if he didn't like it because it was so vile, or because it was said so plainly. "Why don't we make this more... organized." He suggested, a hand lifting to adjust his red velvet hat. "I will recite each Stricture, and you will confess actions you have taken against the practice up until this time of your life. Hm?" He tittered.

Corvo said nothing. Morris wished he knew how to curse at him in sign.

"I think that would be best!" Cromwell called from his pew.

"Good. Now..." Wolsey's wrinkles eased, his hands crossing upon his book as he considered the Serkonan carefully. "An Everyman knows to restrict his Wandering Gaze. What have you to confess?"

There was a pause. Corvo said nothing. Morris slowly turned wide eyes over the Serk's head at Cromwell who seemed to cringe and sink in the pew, while it became apparent that Corvo would not say anything at all.

Wolsey's face began to redden. "The Wandering Gaze is akin to greed and superficial wants. What have you to confess of wanting?"

Corvo hesitated before raising his hands once more. This time his expression was unsure and his steady gaze was instead staring at his own hands as they moved.

"...'A bed, clothes...'"

Wolsey sighed, his brows lifting and emphasizing the lines in his forehead. "I don't think you quite understand Corvo." He shook his head, looking frustrated.

Cromwell stood quickly, his hands clapping together to call attention from the High Overseer. "Might I suggest we have him simply recite the Strictures? Isn't it already unfair that this is all so public for our new Lord Protector?"

Wolsey turned a displeased expression on Cromwell. "I will not bend the Strictures for you Secretary."

Cromwell glared back, his thin face challenging the Overseer's round one. "I am not asking you to, but-"

"Ah- Corvo says-" Morris interrupted, watching the tanned hands move quickly.

"... 'I feel regret for not trying to live. To let live.'" Morris paused, and both Wolsey and Cromwell turned to watch the Serkonan's tight features and softened eyes. He looked at his own signing as he continued, "'I killed many without knowing why or who, for no coin, but because I was told to. I regret not stopping the new children. I regret accepting what was ordered of me because I was hungry.'"

Corvo's hands slowed as he seemed to consider his next words. The Abbey seemed immensely quiet now and Morris looked up briefly, catching Cromwell and Wolsey glancing at each other warily.

"...'my gaze did not wander at all. I did not question. I did not care. My tongue did not lie but it did not speak. My hands were not restless but they did not resist. My feet roved under command. I had no want for flesh but took it anyway. My errant mind was blank and my hunger fed so I could keep living without any want to. I regret.'"

The Abby stilled as Morris ended his translation, and Corvo's hands lowered to his sides, running his thumbs over his fingers. Morris swallowed, watching the Serkonan in the weight of the silence. He had known that Corvo was an assassin, of course, but...

"The Abbey accepts... all lost children into its doors so that these... discrepancies can be repented." Wolsey nodded. But his normal tone seemed shaky and he looked toward Morris in affirmation, not Corvo.

The rest of the small ordeal went smoothly enough. Captain Morris did not have to translate any further, and the Overseer recited all the Strictures in his sermon accepting the new soul into the Abbey. Cromwell coughed a few times during the speech as if to speed up the entire process.

They left the Abbey as quickly as they had come, and told Corvo that he would have the rest of the day off from training. He attended Commander Dalen's side anyway.

This was nearly it; one of the last things in Corvo's preparations before he was inducted as the new Royal Protector.

And not for the first time since the three had taken on the tutoring, Morris wondered on what it was that had led the Empress to such a decision with a man such as Corvo Attano.

Chapter Text

Cromwell's tight leather shoes clicked loudly on the bleached stone as he made his way to the lower pavilion of the outside Tower.

It was tomorrow and no one was ready.

The inauguration for the new Lord Protector was tomorrow. Up until this point since Corvo's conversion into the Everyman he and the others had drilled him nonstop. They had gone over protocols within the job plenty of times. The week had been a montage of going over things he should have known had he been a fully trained Gristol officer. They went over the expected numbers for quota arrests, the amount of judges needed to permit seizing possessions, the monthly changes in schedule, and so on and so on. Not to mention all the ways in which to avoid offending anyone in court. The former had been Cromwell's focus and Corvo's flaws.

Corvo was trying though, even Cromwell could see that. But the man was addled. Not only in tongue but in society. He simply didn't know (or perhaps care) about the complexities of court life. Cromwell could only hope the interactions with nobility would not be frequent.

Technically, Corvo did not have to address anyone but the Empress, unless some major event caused him otherwise. But the Secretary worried about the if's and when's. Should there ever be a need, he did not want to have to clean up the mess afterward.

Not to mention the Privy Council members were still trying to corner him in hallways and interrogate him about Her Majesty's lowly choice.

And now Corvo had gone missing.

It wasn't the first time since they had started preparations. At times they would simply not find him in his quarters and would consequently spend the first few hours looking for him. When he did show up on his own terms, he would explain he was on 'patrol' or some such nonsense. At first Cromwell had seriously doubted him. He assumed the man had wandered off for some time to dally, drink or smoke. But after the coming weeks and the obvious devotion Corvo had for commands given to him, the Secretary wondered if he did work overtime.

As admirable as that was, as Lord Protector it wasn't necessary.

And it was also annoying when Cromwell couldn't find him.

He stalked into the lower pavilion where the soldiers grouped for training during their time off patrol hours, giving an irritated expression as he scanned the area. A few of the guards noticed the Secretary with surprised and confused faces, but he ignored them, sticking up his nose and moving toward the outer training courtyard.

"Secretary." A voice called, "You look flustered." Cromwell turned with a dour expression to find Captain Morris leaning on a wall with a fat cigar locked in his teeth.

"Flustered! Captain I have been looking for you for an hour." He snapped, striding toward the man. "That I even had to come down to this rabble was flustering."

"For me? Why are you looking for me?"

"For Corvo! You two were supposed to be up in the library this morning!" Cromwell urged and glared when the Captain simply shrugged. The Secretary's hands gripped on his own jacket lapels to keep from strangling the Captain.

"The Commander took him around to show him the outer perimeter and the docks." Morris explained casually.

Of course he had.

If they had begun to get along after the first few days of training, they were absolutely chums together now. Corvo and the Commander seemed to think similarly in terms of security and separating the job from its more social responsibilities. Dalen's presence had never been abundant in society; the man had always opted for going 'above and beyond' by overseeing the security of court events instead of attending them like Protector Essen had. The influence of such thinking on Corvo was not lost on Cromwell. It would mean an even more foreign and less favorable Protector for the people and the Council.

Cromwell's frown increased. "And where are they now?"

"Well see," The Captain began, gripping the cigar out of his mouth and blowing a large cloud of smoke, making the Secretary's face wrinkle in distaste. "We were all talking about guns-"

"I don't care what you were talking about! Where are they? The inauguration is tomor-"

"I'm getting to it!" The Captain argued back with a frown, puffing one more time before smiling wryly in thought of the story. "We were talking about guns and Corvo made the argument that nothing could substitute being fast with a sword."

Morris ignored the deadpanned glare coming from the other man as he continued, "Which, in my opinion, is true. But the Commander argued that a faster aim could trump anything, especially when one has the advantage of distance. A fair point, I'd say."

When the Captain stopped and fidgeted his shoulder more comfortably on the wall, Cromwell raised his brows, waiting for him to continue. Morris noticed the Secretary staring and raised his own brows when he didn't seem to catch on. "So naturally, they made a bet!"

"What do you mean a bet?"

"I mean, Dalen bet that Corvo couldn't disarm a man with a gun under a certain distance." He explained tiredly.

"What do you mean disarm a gunned man!? He's going to order shots at the Royal Protector?"

Morris frowned at Cromwell. "Look, it's a man's bet." He explained as if it were obvious, rolling the cigar in his finger at the Secretary.

Cromwell fumed. His long and skinny body began to shake with contempt. "Must you thugs always find excuses to hit each other around like animals?"

"Don't worry so much Secretary, they'll be along in a moment to settle this. They went to grab dummy guns." He chuckled, brushing off the man's frantic expression.

"Dummy guns?"

"Wax bullets." He explained, the words jumbled around his cigar. Cromwell shifted haughtily next to the Captain, pointedly ignoring him and his cigar smoke as they waited. Soon enough, the Commander rounded the corner into the pavilion with Corvo behind him. A few of the other idling guards looked up at the sight and the Commander motioned a few forward.

The Secretary watched in apprehension as the Commander handed out the pistols in his grip to three of his soldiers. He directed them to stand a bit farther away towards the wall, saying fewer words of warning than Cromwell would have liked.

Dalen's expression was an obvious restrain of his excitement. Corvo himself looked composed and indifferent.

"Now, the bet is simple. Disarm each pistol from our fine men here, from a far starting distance, and you win." The Commander explained, loud enough for the entire pavilion to hear, drawing in the other soldiers from their benches and wooden tables as they relaxed.

"Men, be ready to uphold your training and stop Corvo from disarming you." He said toward the stationed soldiers.

"Commander please, this is not an opportunity for fisticuffs." Cromwell called out from the sidelines, stepping forward.

"It's a gun draw Secretary, not a fist fight. This is a gentleman's bet." The Commander corrected with a patronizing smile.

"Gentlemen don't use guns to settle their bets, they use money and politics." Cromwell said, crossing his arms and raising his chin with dignity.

"Corvo's askin' what we're betting for!" Morris interrupted loudly. And indeed, Corvo's hands had been raised to sign, fingers drifting in the air to match his perplexed expression. Cromwell groaned loudly.

"If you win, I'll buy you a drink. And if you lose, you get shot with wax." The Commander offered, his thin lips twisting up at his own jest.

Corvo began signing again.

"He says if he wins, he wants more guards posted on the south perimeter." Morris translated, chuckling at the request; one that had been some subject of disagreement for some time.

Dalen frowned in dissatisfaction, but his rigid shoulders didn't falter. "Alright Corvo. Deal." The commander moved to the side, giving Corvo enough room and distance between him and the other soldier at the wall. The other guards gathered around, chatting lowly as they watched. "Now, you can always change your mind Corvo. It's alright to admit that under these circumstances a gun is more effective than a sword or combat skill."

Corvo made no movement of his hands and the Commander crossed his arms, his shoulders shrugging lightly. "Well I gave you the chance."

"Commander Dalen this is absolutely gratuitous." Cromwell tried for the last time, taking his steps to the Commander's side to show him his upset expression. "I would have this ended at once!"

"Whenever you're ready Corvo."

There was a loud scuff of a boot and Cromwell barely turned around in time to watch Corvo lunge forward. The Serkonan man's body lurched with a sprinting speed that jolted everyone to immediate attention. The men began shouting instantly, yelling in support of Corvo or against him.

Cromwell's eyes widened as he watched in horror as Corvo bulleted toward the armed soldiers through the racket.

The first shot went off when he was halfway toward them. But if Corvo was hit, he didn't show it, nor did his speed slacken. The three men stationed in a line by the wall aimed their guns and began shooting collectively even as Corvo dove toward the middle. His body slid, legs bending beneath him as his left arm shot out low on the ground. He skidded on his knees before the middle guard and his hand snapped up, grasping the man's fists and the gun he held. He yanked hard and the man fell forward toward Corvo, who twisted up at the same time. Still gripping the man's hands he twisted them, pulling the guard's body around and holding it against his own as shield.

The two other soldiers stepped backward with wide faces, pointing their guns at Corvo and their comrade.

Seconds of a stalemate passed between the four of them. The guards eyed each other warily, before staring back into the struggling face of the hostage and Corvo's own calm dark eyes.

Another shot rang out, a ping of a wax bullet pelting the captive guard's shoulder. He yelled in pain and surprise when Corvo suddenly lifted him up by his arms and bent low, rolling the man's body over his back to the ground and taking the other two by surprise as his hand shot out to grab their uniforms and pull them toward himself. He yanked them about, whirling them around his body with his strength as they shot out wildly at the air before letting them go. Their body weight tipped them over, the momentum of Corvo's force spinning them into the stones of the ground like useless heaps.

But not before Corvo's deft hands ripped their guns from their own as they fell.

The skirmish ended with two pistols in the Serk's hands, pointing at the heads of the two soldiers and the other discarded across the ground.

The rabble and yelling of encouragement quieted when it ended and everyone turned to look on Commander Dalen, whose expression was as the Secretaries beside him. Captain Morris didn't seem to notice that his cigar was on the ground.

Dalen shifted, "W-well." He began, pulling together his trained disposition, eyeing Corvo's quiet and waiting expression.

Cromwell wondered at the twitch on Corvo's face and if the Serk was hiding his triumphant and knowing smile or if he was awaiting a command to kill the men for their uselessness.

"Well you can't argue about pistols and then end up with them as the advantage Corvo!" Dalen chided.

Corvo tossed the weapons to the ground and began signing.

Morris was too busy laughing in his surprise and mirth to translate, though, and the words Corvo was signing went unheeded. The disarmed men rose from the ground, complaining and dusting off their uniforms. Other guards came forward to help them and to whisper their astonishment.

"You should post those guards, Commander." Morris laughed, nudging Dalen in the shoulder.

"We should get back to work." The Commander suggested, avoiding the topic and turning to Cromwell. "I'm sure the Secretary has work for Corvo to do."

The tenseness of Corvo's demonstration lifted and the Secretary was thankful for it.

He nearly puffed his chest in defiance. "Yes, if you all are quite finished, the inauguration is tomorrow. Not that any of you seem to find it very important."

"Bah! Corvo's ready. We went over the whole thing already." Morris brushed off, patting Cromwell's back, who pushed the man's hand away dismissively. "The Herald does some talking, Corvo kneels, Her Majesty knights him, he escorts her down and greets all the well-to-do, and it's over with a much deserved drink. There's not much more we can prepare him for between now and tomorrow."

"Are you seriously suggesting that Corvo be presented to her Majesty like that?" Cromwell argued, his hands gesturing toward the tanned skin man.

Their gazes drew to Corvo as he approached the three of them. The Serkonan's brows quirked upward, frowning deeply as they scrutinized him. His hands unintentionally grasped at his own dirty and torn uniform, long dark hair brushing along a cheek that was smudged with dust from the squabble.

"He looks as if we pulled him from the sewers!" Cromwell huffed.

Corvo frowned.

"You have a point Secretary Cromwell." Dalen agreed, with Morris chuckling beside him.

The whispers of the court nobles were loud, considering they were whispering.

Commander Dalen cleared his throat, trying to distract himself from the hustle and bustle of the crowd below.

The majestic entrance of Dunwall Tower had been refit for a Royal Audience. Her Majesty's throne had been brought out to the plush landing of the grand staircase, its gilded gold arms contrasting brightly with the Kaldwin blue drapery beneath it, leading down the steps to the huge ground below.

The nobility all dabbled there, amassed to see the induction of the controversial Lord Protector.

He remembered Nicolai Essen's induction too, even if he had been much younger. It had seemed much smaller than this, even if the process had been the same. The Empress had been young as well and her advisers had guided her through the short ceremony. It had seemed lighthearted, easier, and hopeful. There hadn't been a tense air like there was now. And it had not been regarded as scandalous Almost none of the Privy Council had been present either, least of all any of the nobles.

But gossip and intrigue brewed crowds. Dalen sighed.

"Shh!" Cromwell hushed him and the Commander considered the small and paranoid fellow with another sigh.

He and the Secretary were stationed beside the empty throne on the landing, with the official Herald across from them, looking still as a statue. Morris stood beside the Herald, somehow looking bored and anxious at the same time.

Dalen realized that between the sea of faces below and the officials on the landing, Corvo was the only one who seemed calm.

The Serkonan was kneeling exactly where he should be; on the velvet cushion before the empty throne, awaiting Her Majesty.

Dalen noted the collected aura of him. A trait he had grown appreciative of over the last few weeks of training.

He had thought to oversee the guidance of the Serk, with the admitted hope of watching him fail. Even if he had been hopeful for taking the honor, he had not been expectant. There were other much more fit men to serve from Her Majesty's Royal Navy. Or ones whose parents did not still have strong sentiments against the Empire like his did.

But he hadn't been expecting Corvo. No one had. And the thought of being replaced by an incapable Serk had rubbed him the wrong way. But...

Instead, here they were, with the Commander feeling a sense of sympathy and camaraderie with the foreigner. Corvo was a good man. Dalen had learned that much. Maybe not good in a conventional way or a way regarding the strengths of a soldier. He had heard of Corvo's background, and he knew that the Serkonan wasn't a pure, honest man.

But he was devoted. Hardworking. And he seemed to be unfazed by all of Gristol's strange tendencies so long as he did his duty.

He had honor.

These were the things you couldn't teach a soldier.

No… he wouldn't mind taking orders from the man.

"Attention for the Empress of the Isles, Jessamine Kaldwin the first!" The Herald's voice abruptly boomed through the hall, and Morris jumped visibly at the sound.

The rabble below quieted and there was a collective shift as everyone including the Commander turned to watch the Empress descend from the second level in all her glory.

She was wearing her family's colors. Brilliant gold clasps aligning a teal bodice, with pale blue skirts enveloping her as she stepped down. It was rare to see the Empress so richly adorned in drapery. Normally their queen chose to represent Gristol's strength more than it's beauty, though she was always beautiful. Still, to see her traditionally garbed brought out a sense of pride in his job. This is what it all amounted to. Making sure she was there to carry the voice of their people.

Her chin was high and her hair drawn tightly up as always, with her strong gaze cast out along the crowds. A true monarch's authority in her eyes and grace in her steps.

She was lovely.

Dalen bowed his head low in humbled politeness as she drew nearer, listening instead to the rustle of her skirts as she passed them by. A few of the Royal guard followed her, stationing themselves at her side just as he had instructed them to do hours before.

Dalen watched as she ignored Corvo completely, seating herself formally at her rightful chair.

It wasn't until she nodded at the Herald to continue that her light eyes looked down at the kneeling mute at her feet.

…

She almost didn't recognize him.

The Herald snapped his feet, turning out to the crowd. He began announcing the event; informing the court of import the day and the man being presented to the Empress and all of Gristol as their new Protector.

Her fingers curled in the familiar groves of the armrests and slowly she used her her experience e to drown out sound of the decree and the view of the staring faces from below.

Jessamine still couldn't quite see Corvo fully at this angle. His head was too low and his gaze was on the ends of her large dress.

They had put him in uniform.

It wasn't a uniform she recognized. Essen had worn a brighter blue aligned with red, something louder and more regal.

This navy blue wool looked freshly tailored, with bright gold trim shining in the light and buttons lining down his chest. It was dark in contrast to the white marble and blue carpet of her stairs, and his rigid form cut her vision sharply. It suited him. His hair was slicked back too, drawn tight in a tail on the back of his neck, exposing his smooth forehead and rough cheeks for the first time.

She hadn't seen him in nearly a month. Long before she had even considered him for the place he was now at. Not since she had spoken quietly to his silence and they had shared a moment of small gestures in her hall. She remembered his attentive nature then as much as she did during his time protecting her in Serkonos.

And not for the first time that day she wondered at his thoughts on the matter. On all this.

On anything at all.

But the Serkonan looked at ease before her, from what she could see. With his shoulder's loose and his fingers curly lightly on his bent knee.

The Herald's sudden silence called her attention back to the crowd.

"The Court and Council bear witness to the rise of Corvo Attano." The Herald boomed.

Jessamine could feel the eyes boring into her from below, the mass of arranged nobles staring up at her seated form.

But their faces were blocked by Corvo. His broad shoulders were a wall of navy standing between her and them. It softened the nerves she might have had otherwise.

She stood and Commander Dalen stepped forward with her, presenting a military rapier to her in a humble bow. Her hands grasped the cool metal hilt, pulling the shiny blade from its ornamental sheath easily.

It was light, lighter than she remembered it being from other knighthoods she had directed.

She kept her eyes on Corvo's drawn shoulders instead of the loud silence emanating from the crowd below. Her hand outstretched tautly, the metal lowering delicately on his left shoulder before moving swiftly above his head to the other.

The act was 'a show of violence held in restraint because of utter respect.' As her father had once explained. 'It meant to hold one's life in their complete authority.' It was about trust. And she realized that if Corvo had been nothing more than gifted property as Serkonos had intended, now he was property sworn to her until the day she died.

When she finished, the sword was handed off again and Dalen retreated as Cromwell stepped forward.

"Rise Lord Attano, Royal Protector." She spoke, her own voice lifted to address him and the crowd.

She stilled in surprise as he stood, his tall form looming above her just like she remembered.

But he was clean-shaven. And his hair was pulled back so tightly that she could see every inch of his face. His eyes connected with hers immediately, as they always had. The familiar surprise of it made her pause and absorb his expression, and she felt her shoulders ease unconsciously at the sight of it.

He looked determined. His lips were even and straight, matching his dark and focused eyes. As if she had finally given him commands he was sworn to carry. The expression was something like what she had seen on his face when they had been in Serkonos. When Gallows men had chased her life and blood had smeared his hands

S-A-F-E. She remembered; the letters drawn softly into her palm.

Cromwell's hands outstretched beside her, presenting her with the Kaldwin family crest to be pinned on his uniform.

She took the brooch and stepped forward, breaking her gaze to look to his lapel instead. He seemed to go rigid as she neared, fingers landing on the soft new wool of his coat. The ornamentation was heavy on her fingertips, and she tried to focus her eyes only on the familiar swans within the crest as she fiddled with the clasp in the back of it.

Jessamine could feel Corvo staring above her head, the shuffling of the officials at her side and an entire audience of royals waiting below. The moment seemed to drag as her nails kept slipping along the needle. Her teeth clenched, and Corvo's chin twitched above her as if to check on her trouble.

The needle slipped once more and when the sharp end pricked her tender fingertip, her shoulder flinched. Corvo's hand raised beside her hesitantly, as if to aid her, but the sharp point slipped into its notched back and her fingers pulled away.

"I am honored to instate you Lord Attano, and look forward to your dedicated service." She spoke neatly, taking the chance to exhale her nerves at the interaction. Her hands folded delicately, squeezing the inane throbbing in her finger. She tried to smile reassuringly at him.

Corvo's eyes considered her and the moment passed a bit longer than she expected.

He was supposed to bow.

Cromwell coughed loudly and the Commander shifted noticeably.

He didn't.

Jessamine glanced away, weighing on whether she should whisper to him direction. She caught the Herald standing confusedly.

When Corvo still made no move, she reached out her hand to him instead, jumping past the mix-up completely. Thankfully, The Herald caught on and shouted for dismissal and the crowd below began to part.

Corvo seemed to trigger himself into motion at the sight of her hand, and she knew she had to thank her Secretary for tutoring the man in the process of this whole tradition.

He took her hand gently, letting her curl her fingers on his as he stepped her down each step to the crowd. Jessamine focused on the shifting skirts of her dress on the steps instead of his face.

And now came the hard part. They paused at the bottom step and the many faces of the Court stared back at them evenly.

"Presenting her Majesty and the Royal Protector."

The crowd burst into applause and Jessamine forced herself not to think of the whispers happening behind each set of hands.

She gave her best demure smile and it began.

"A pleasure Majesty, and congratulations Lord Protector."

Jessamine tried to keep her smile up as she nodded to one of her Judges, his thick hand coming forward to shake Corvo's.

"You have been quite the buzz around Court lately Corvo, it's nice to put a face to a name." The Judge chuckled heavily, his large face scrutinizing the Serkonan with beady eyes. He tried to laugh more heartily, but Corvo made no notion to laugh with him. The judge hummed quietly.

"I look forward to your lecture next week." Jessamine distracted. "I am told it is to be of Academy caliber."

"Oh, yes, yes." He obliged, immediately turning his attention to the Empress instead. From the corner of her eye, she watched Corvo's shoulder ease. "I am sure you will find the topic interesting Majesty, it's to do with our judicial system in relation to its history and our change in morality through this age."

"Invigorating." She replied, nodding curtly. The man excused himself sometime after, but the rest of the hour went much the same.

The Court did not seem to know what to make of their new Lord Protector. Jessamine could feel the whispers blaring around her. Mute. Foreign. Low-class. Disreputable background.

Rumor would already begin stirring tomorrow about a harsh and undignified Empress, hiring an assassin to kill off her court like a pirate lord. Their noses were all raised particularly high today, she could hear it through their gay smiles and drawling praises. Especially when their teeth grit with false praise as they shook his hand.

Perhaps the interactions that hurt the most were the other officers and military men. The uniformed Sirs did not smile much, nor did they even remember to say congratulations when they greeted the new Lord. It was a tense air she didn't care for.

Corvo himself seemed more and more apprehensive as the hour dragged on. His rigid stance never faltered, but she caught his fingers curling and unfurling at his sides often, while his eyes gazed quickly around the hall with worried brows. She didn't blame him. The poor Serkonan probably wanted to be alone rather than center stage in a room full of bustling, insulting high-class.

She felt much the same actually, and a bit envious that he did not have to carry on conversing with them.

She had already dismissed his translator, Morris, to save him from having to sign to them.

And when the time came that she herself could take no more, she waved for her Herald to announce her dismissal.

The crowd one more applauded before the line dispersed to greet her, and instead they mingled on the marble.

Jessamine cast her eyes directly at Corvo's own gaze for the first time in the hour.

She longed to speak with him in private. She wanted to reassure him, or herself, about his position. She wanted to aid him in any questions that her Secretary may not have been able to answer. But she repressed the desire. The want to give her poor new Protector the reprieve he no doubt longed for was greater than her own.

So instead she gave her last, actual genuine, smile and curtsied at her knees formally. "Congratulations Corvo. I hope the rest of the evening will be nothing but praise for you."

Corvo's dark brows furrowed in confusion at the statement, but his hands rose quickly to return the gesture in his own way.

Thank you, your Majesty.

Her smile widened further, chin ducking. "I wish to speak again soon, before your duties begin to take up your time and it is another sad month before we exchange words."

Corvo's hands rose, hesitating in the air before falling to his sides. She watched his jaw work worriedly, wondering if was going to protest at something.

He seemed to look distractedly over her head before looking out about the crowd; searching for something or someone.

Jessamine took his distraction as a good time to part, pulling herself away before she was tempted to drag the man for a much-needed conversation. No, there would be plenty of time for that now that he was her Lord Protector.

She turned away, heading up the stairs to retire.

…

When Cromwell saw the Serkonan begin to follow the Empress up the first few steps he bolted forward, grasping the man's shoulder. "No-No- you've been dismissed." He hushed quietly. He steered him away with a bit of trouble, trying to laugh off the frightening sight of Corvo's glaring eyes. The man did not look pleased, but he walked through the crowd with the Secretary anyway.

He was signing quickly, and Cromwell sighed tiredly at the sight. The damned man knew he couldn't understand. "Where is that blasted Captain?" He wondered out loud. "And don't look at me like that. I'm not the one who forgot to bow today." He chided and then began again, "Where's Morris? We still have a lot to do, newly instated or not."

As the Royal Secretary fluttered his arms about the crowd searching for the Captain, Corvo watched the Empress ascend the stairs to her quarters, accompanied by her matron and a pair of guards.

He watched until she couldn't be seen anymore, his thumb running across his fingers in his ever silent contemplation.

Chapter Text

The Royal Protector's quarters were on the same floor of the Tower that the Empress's own quarters were. It was across one large main hall, adjacent to the portrait gallery. This was due to the time the position had been first instated, back during a time when unrest and war threatened the monarchy. Back then the Lord Protector had been a figurehead of safety and security.

But that was also during a time when the Spymaster's position had been a confidential one. And now that figurehead of safety and security for the public had been passed to him, Hiram Burrows.

The former Lord Protector Essen had forgone these quarters and had lived in his own inherited estate instead. It had been the proper thing to do. But now that man had been replaced and his successor was not wealthy enough to have his own suitable estate.

So here they were.

His thumbs curled into the lapels of his coat, fingering the gold trim as he and one of his own men followed a Royal guard down the hall toward the quarters in question. His agent bumbled behind him, carrying a large weighted object. They approached the large double doors and the guard looked back questioningly at the Spymaster who glared harshly at him.

"Knock on the door then, boy."

"Lord Spymaster, it's barely dawn, Lord Attano was only instated yesterday-"

"Did you not hear me?" He demanded again, his lip curling around the words angrily.

The guard's uneasy expression only grew, but nonetheless his fist raised and knocked timidly on the door. It barely made a sound. Hiram scoffed loudly at the action and motioned dismissively at the useless guard. "Go back to your post. If you cannot do your job correctly then you shan't have the privilege to do it at all."

"My Lord I am ordered to-"

The large silver doorknob clanked and one of the doors creaked open slowly. The dim light from the hallway streamed inside the dark quarters and highlighted the occupant's confused and wary expression.

"Lord Protector, excuse the disturbance but... the Royal Spymaster is here to see you." The guard said, looking at the floor in discomfort as he explained. The Serkonan's face drew further in puzzlement, his dark brows furrowed as he looked from the guard to Hiram Burrows, and to the agent behind holding the large covered parcel.

"Lord Attano, I presume." Hiram began, his hand flicking out at the guard's shoulder to dismiss him. The man backed away quickly and Hiram was suddenly directly before the open door. "I have come to give congratulations to your rise in position." Hiram smiled. His thin lips stretched across his gritted teeth, making the sharpness of his nose more prominent. His voice was loud in the quiet morning of the dark hall. Loud and piercing. "I wasn't at your inauguration yesterday, I'm afraid." He continued, a hand shooting out to clasp the other doorknob, clicking the other closed door open to give him full access to the room.

Burrows strode inside the Royal Protector's quarters, not acknowledging the man's agitated and baffled expression.

"Ah! I see you're making yourself at home." Burrows chimed, his smile faltering in distraction as he looked about the space. It was hardly moved into. Everything was exactly untouched and unused, as it had been before the Serkonan had even been a thought in the Empress's head. There was no sight of unpacked luggage or strewn clothes. Granted, Corvo had only been instated yesterday afternoon and it was only dawn. But even the bed looked un-slept in, with nothing but a knapsack and a captain's hat lying on its sheets. "The quarters are lovely aren't they?"

He turned his tight and forceful smile back on the Serkonan, who seemed to be the uncomfortable one in his own quarters. Corvo shifted on his feet, his narrowed eyes pinning the Royal Spymaster with questions. His hands raised, and his fingers began to twirl and sign.

Hiram pretended not to see the action, turning away to his own accompanied soldier and motioned him inside. "I have a gift for you Lord Protector."

The agent strode in, his arms heaving the large object. The black velvet cover upon it shifted as he set it down with some difficulty on the writing desk. It clanked obnoxiously.

He watched with a thin, pleasured smile and Hiram could see Corvo signing continually out of the corner of his eyes. He continued to ignore him. He would not give the disabled man the satisfaction of sinking so low, nor was the weakness his problem.

This was not a meeting of pleasantries, after all.

Hiram Burrows was here to make things quite clear between him and the new Lord Protector. Such things were not necessary between him and Nicolai Essen, but then again Essen had not been something to be concerned about.

When the Serk had been announced a near month ago, Hiram wasn't exactly surprised. He hardly ever understood what sort of thoughts ran rampant in their dear Majesty's head already, so trying to understand what made her make such preposterous decisions as these was pointless.

To say the man was unfit for office was obvious. And Hiram's growing distaste for the situation was intensified when he learned of the Serk's addled tongue.

A Gallows man. The thought would have been laughable if it was not already worrying. Her Majesty had always been much too trustworthy. She threw her faith in directions that risked the state of the Kingdom. Something Hiram could not sit well with.

But patience was the key. A situation like this would only run itself dry. A careful nudge or two in the right direction and things would fall into place as they should. It would only be a matter of time before Corvo Attano ran out his own time and the Empress came to her senses to send him back to the heated islands of Serkonos.

That he was most sure of.

"I'm sure this will be quite useful to you Corvo. I may call you Corvo, yes?" He inquired, his brows lifting with the inflection of his voice as he gestured to the thing.

Corvo signed and Hiram lifted his chin with a tighter smile. He ignored him even as he looked him in the eyes. "Splendid."

The Serkonan's expression darkened instantly at the obvious intent in the Spymasters own gaze.

Corvo seemed to suddenly understand the intrusion, his hands lowering to fist gently at his sides. The two men shared their glares, Corvo's dark one accusatory and Hiram's carefully ignorant between his smile.

When Corvo intently stepped forward, Burrows decided to take his leave. He stepped away, lifting a hand to consider his clean and clipped fingernails.

"I wish you the very best in your duties to come." His hands gestured regally at him, almost mockingly. An afterthought. "Goodness knows that our dear Empress needs all the security she can receive in such hectic times." He motioned impatiently to his agent, and followed him to the door.

Corvo continued to pin his narrowed eyes on the reedy Spymaster. He followed him out, hand gripping the thick door to close it after him.

"And just keep in mind Corvo, that if you ever need aid, I am more than willing to extend it." Hiram nodded, hands crossing behind him and shoulders drawing tight. "The Spymaster has been a position long before the Lord Protector ever was. So I know may have a further reach to help benefit you."

Corvo said nothing, nor did he try to sign. His shaded gaze was a shadow of warning, one that didn't need to be spoken between either man.

"Good day." Hiram didn't bow, nor did he wait for such trivialities from the Serkonan. He turned on his heel with a snap, and he and his agent left.

Corvo clicked the door harshly on itself, locking it with a snap and retreating back into the room.

The dawn light was beginning to slither into the lush quarters behind the curtains and while he looked at his bed contemplatively, instead he strode to the writing desk.

The large object sat with a looming form on the wood, the black velvet cover hiding the bulkiness of his 'gift.' With a sharp yank, the velvet fell away to reveal shiny green and black metal, glinting in the in dimness. It looked brand new and freshly polished.

It was an audiograph player.

Clara snapped the white linen sharply in the air, pulling the small dining sheet taut before meeting the corners together and folding it on her chest.

The tension in the air that had been stirring for months had finally seemed to dissipate after yesterday's ceremony. She had felt it ease away even as she had readied the Empress for her sign lesson early in the morning, and even more so hours after when she had set brunch.

They had returned to having light conversations today. Jessamine had inquired about frivolities such as fashion and weather for the first time since she had left for Serkonos. Clara had been happy to hear it, and was glad for the return to somewhat normality.

It pleased her to see the woman take even small comforts between her responsibilities to the crown.

Her hands stacked the napkins on the dining sheet with a jovial lightness of the bright mid-morning. She arranged the dirty plates and cups along the silver tray, intent on whisking them away so she could more quickly return to fetch whatever the Empress may need during her hour at the office.

As she hoisted the tray to her balanced hand, there was a knock on the sitting room door.

Clara frowned and paused hesitantly. There weren't any audiences that she knew of scheduled for today.

She set the tray back down worriedly, before heading toward the door and opening it fully.

"Lord Protector."

She curtsied immediately, lifting her head after she did so to look on the man's stern face.

She recognized him instantly. Though recognizing Corvo Attano was not hard to do, when no other Serkonan occupied the Tower. Not to mention the man had striking features; a prominent brow and jaw, with sharp dark cheeks and an austere set of lips. Thankfully, he looked much more like the Officer she saw promoted yesterday than the ruffian she had remembered the night he had appeared with Jessamine back in Serkonos.

"May I help you, my Lord?" She asked a bit timidly. He was a relatively tall man, something she had not noticed from far away. Perhaps not as tall as Commander Dalen, even if it felt like it with him standing directly in front of her.

Corvo said nothing, standing like a statue that had been carved from bronzed marble and placed before the door.

Clara suddenly realized her blunder. How was she expecting him to answer her? Her nerves suddenly racked as she realized she may have to sign, or read his. She had been tutored, as Jessamine had ordered. But should she not be able to keep up? Or what if she made a mistake?

She looked up a bit worriedly, glancing at the man to see if he was attempting to answer. Corvo's brows drew together, his cheek shifting as his jaw worked beneath his closed mouth. His eyes, on the other hand, were not even looking at her. They searched beyond the Matron's short head to the empty sitting room beyond.

"The Empress has retired to her office for work." She informed when she noticed where his attentions lied. "Shall I announce your presence?"

Corvo's eyes found hers again and Clara looked away intently. The dark man was slightly more intimidating than she remembered, despite his unassuming expression. Perhaps it was the regal-ness of his form in the new uniform. Or maybe it was the unintentional silence.

She saw him nod above her though, and moved so the man could enter.

He didn't stride in like the Secretary or other official's often did. Nor did he march so, like the Commander or the guards.

No, Corvo walked in slowly and deliberately, his eyes tracing the room entirely, a quiet and candid interest crossing his features as he took in the room. He looked more at ease in the quaint room, coming to stand by the unoccupied tea table and it's left over dishes from brunch. The light streaming in from the open windows made his uniform appear bluer than it did black and the change allowed Clara to appreciate his appearance free from his intimidating presence.

"Just a moment my Lord, I'll announce you."

Corvo turned to nod sharply at her and she nearly froze as his hands rose, but he seemed to abandon the gesture, hands dropping to his side. Clara took the action as nervousness more than protest and quickly made her way to the adjacent doors. She knocked briefly before opening it.

The office inside was much darker than the bright and easy sitting room. The curtains were drawn from the nice weather's distraction and there were no noises of the wind and river through the shut windows.

Jessamine was scrawling upon a parchment before looking up at the entrance, an obvious wary expression at having been interrupted.

"Forgive me, Majesty, but the Lord Protector is here to see you."

The pen in her hands dropped to the paper distractedly and Jessamine made to stand. "Corvo?" She questioned, thin brows drawing together and her hand smoothing her blouse.

"Yes Ma'am. Shall I tell him to make an appointed audience instead?"

"No, no." Jessamine hurried with a shake of her head, leaving her desk and coming out to meet her matron. "I will meet with him."

Clara felt the anxiety from before come back. But this time it felt more timid than before. She smiled easily at her Madam as if to subtle help ease any of the woman's uneasiness.

Jessamine shared the smile, but said nothing. She flicked her chin toward the door and Clara took the dismissal, pulling the door wider to allow her Majesty entrance. She closed the office gently once more and turned to watch as Jessamine strode in toward the Lord with the trained grace she was known for.

While her regal face and posture was restrained and calm in her authority, Clara recognized the trademark nervous purse of her lips, and the curling of her fingers.

The Lord Protector turned at the sound of them and his head immediately lowered with his form as he bowed. Clara's brows rose as he even went to one knee, his once intimidating form reducing to a humble silhouette on the plush carpet. Jessamine seemed surprised as well, frowning at the extreme formality of the action.

The awkward silence grew within the once cheery room until the Empress cleared her throat pointedly and glanced at Clara.

"Excuse me!" Clara immediately announced, embarrassed at her lack of dismissal. She curtsied quickly and crossed the room to leave her Queen and the Lord in private.

Jessamine watched the Matron's petite form disappear and the door close with a click after her. She turned her attention back on the Royal Protector at her feet with a frown, shifting rigidly in her own stance.

"Corvo, please, there's no need for such formality any longer." She hushed.

She almost regretted saying it when he stood, catching his direct gaze with hers. How could she forget that intensity?

She let her features ease beneath it anyway, forcing reassurance even as his expression faltered into a wary apprehension.

They were quiet, both gazing at each other's faces as if waiting for indication for the other to speak. She wondered if he came to make better acquaintance with her. Or maybe he came to see to his new duties, or ask her about specific requests he needed to better suit his position.

She swallowed. Maybe he came to insist on his retreat from the burden she had thrown at him.

"Please, sit." She gestured, indicating the empty chairs beside the tea table.

Corvo glanced distractedly at the furniture, his hands fisting at his sides. But he didn't move.

When it was apparent that he would not, she shifted uneasily and tried to move on, taking initiative.

"I'm glad for your timing." She began for him, breaking the strange pause between them. "I know the past few weeks for you must have been... strenuous. There was little time for us to speak to one another." She smiled gently at his reserved expression. "I had hoped that the process would be easier for you. I know that much has changed since you've been assigned to my service from Lord Rossini. It… wasn't fair of me to move you about so incessantly."

Jessamine's fingers twined together and she waited for a few seconds to see if he would speak.

She glanced at his idle hands and continued when he didn't. "My Secretary has reassured me that he and the Commander have informed you of all your new responsibilities." She looked away, taking a few steps toward the open window to gaze out to the calm and scenic view. "And I am confident myself that you can perform them impressively."

She heard him shift behind her and turned to smile at him again. "Your devotion to my commands and your insight into this position is what makes me so sure."

Corvo followed her steps to draw nearer and the glare on his face from the sun made his dark eyes appear very light. A near golden. But his tightly drawn brows and clenched jaw did not ease and she frowned worriedly at his look.

"I know it may seem there is a lot to be done." She began, looking away once more. The one-sided conversation made her very much aware of the sound of her own voice filling the space between them like a broken dam. "I have made it clear to the Commander and your… Captain Morris, as I recall? I have made it clear to them both that they are to assist you in any way possible. Cromwell included, since he is familiar with all duties assigned to the positions as court."

"I want everything to be simple for you. Feel free to direct them to your desire, I am sure they will heed your orders well and if they do not, then I can find suitable replacements."

Those golden brown eyes were tracing her face with that same vexed look.

"Please, Corvo." She began. "I wish to hear whatever thoughts or words you may have." She urged. His normally collected and determined presence shaded by this new anxious one was making her self-conscious. Had he come with complaints? Was he upset and spiteful to her for giving him such a heavy position? "I want you to understand that in my presence you are free to speak your mind."

Corvo began to shake his head slowly with an even more down turned expression.

Jessamine hurried to encourage him again. "You are Royal Protector now. And as such you need no consent to do or say what you think is best." She pursed her lips in thought. "You must know... that no other has authority over your own. And I only expect reports from your decisions, not permission to make them. I trust you to carry out whatever you deem necessary for your duty."

Corvo nodded quietly as she stopped; some, but not all of his anxiousness easing away.

"I also hope that I could come to rely on your words and judgment personally, Corvo." She urged again, peering at his direct gaze with a subtle hint. "And hear your opinions."

The confusion was back and his hands finally raised with a snap, grasping at the air pointedly at her before dropping. The act was such a vehemently contained reaction that Jessamine placed a hand on her abdomen in surprise. Corvo looked away from her, lips parting as he glared about the room.

And that's when it dawned on her. "Has... my Secretary not informed you?" She questioned slowly. The inquiry grabbed his attention again and Jessamine slowly raised her own hands, fingers unsteadily moving along with her next words. "I...would...speak...with you."

The movements were a little shaky, and she felt her cheeks flush a little at finally using the skill for the direct purpose she had learned it for. Corvo's eyes traced the gestures, an intense focus in his face as he watched her fingers move. His shoulders fell away and his eyes seemed to take in the action little by little before snapping back to her face. His lips moved as his brows lifted and she almost believed he would actually speak out loud in his surprise.

They gazed at each other for bare seconds as she lowered her hands. And she wondered briefly if she had made a mistake in one of the motions.

His hands rose slowly, and began their quiet trace of the language, delicate and slightly unsure.

'You know how to sign?'

Jessamine glanced to the ground before them, pushing away at her nervous smile. "I would think it irresponsible not to learn how to speak with my new Lord Protector."

Corvo took a quick step toward her, making her jerk in attention. His hands rose, snapping at his forehead and mouth quickly.

'I was not told.'

"It must have slipped Cromwell's mind between his rambling of office procedure." She chuckled wryly, Corvo's own expression lightened. "I would only ask that you are... slow with me. I must admit that the more complex vocabulary escapes me. And my own fingers ache with letter spelling." She raised her chin in her honest guilt of inadequacy. "It has only been a few weeks of lessons."

'It takes time.'

"And more patience than an Empress can hold, I'm afraid." She chuckled again, catching his quickly relaxing expression. She watched in reserved joy as the corner of his mouth twitched and his eyes creased. He didn't have to watch his own hands as they moved. He was meticulously and deliberately measured for her. His fingers curled with stern calculation and the transitions between signs and letters were even more careful than Madame Bonet's tutoring hands were.

In her mind, it felt like his voice was pleasingly quiet. Like a chuckled statement beneath his breath.

'You do not have to spell letters for me. You need only read mine.'

"Then you are a savior to my fingers, Lord Attano." She laughed thankfully, letting her smile widen.

The air in the room felt weightless as they shared a relaxed and comforting pause. The sharp constraint of worry within her was gone, and she could hear his voice within her head for the first time since he had guided her through the darkened tunnel in Serkonos. He looked more reassured himself, with the muscles of his face laced into a thoughtful expression.

She was thankful his hair was still pulled back as it had been the day before, so she could fully appreciate the look of him. Seeing him so calm, in his new uniform and standing casually in her sitting room as if he had belonged, made her realize again that the choice she had made was not one to be regretted.

At least, not now.

"My statement still stands. I want you to know where your authority lies. I know the promotion was quite sudden… and I know that this position was not what Lord Rossini assigned for you."

'He assigned me to be your Hand.'

Jessamine frowned timidly. "I... understand. But that is not a position common within Gristol society. It should be clear that I have no need for... such extents of service." she said, wanting to make it known that she did not want bloodshed in her name. She didn't want to offend him though, nor did she want to impolitely bring up the act of murdering others. "Serkonos may have traditions of…assassin jobs-"

'A Hand is not an assassin.' He interrupted, his brows drawn with shake of his head. 'A Hand is what a Lord wants it to be. A part of your own hand itself. I am to do whatever you demand.'

Corvo paused, his fingers hesitating with preconceived thoughts and an honest hard look before continuing.

'Rossini had me kill often. But I will only kill if you ask it of me.'

Jessamine nodded slowly at the explanation, waiting quietly as the larger words were carefully spelled out for her to understand.

"I see. Well, 'Lord Protector' makes it more official in Dunwall, then. So I suppose you have been finally placed where you were intended to be." She carefully chose to avoid his second statement.

Corvo paused at that. His face relaxed at the corners of his eyes and he nodded.

'Thank you, Your Majesty.'

Jessamine smiled at the combined gesture. The signs were more familiar than any other, and she felt an inkling of intimacy to them that made her look on him fondly as he presented the touch of his mouth to her and then measured his heart to his pocket.

'I will be honored to carry out your orders.'

She glanced at the floor at his humility. The effect made her humble. She was not used to such rare cases of genuine speech within her own court. "I too, look forward to having you at my side."

She cleared her throat distractedly.

"Was there something in particular you wished to speak with me about?" She finally inquired, leaning the conversation to a more formal nature. "I don't want to distract you from any issues you might have with me."

She sighed with slightly heaved shoulders before letting him answer. "I know it's been a struggle. And I apologize for the long process and the reports I received about some of the protocols you've been through. If there is anything at all you had concern with or need me to attend to, please feel free to let me know." Her expression became assertive once more. "I will not have you thinking you do not have the authority or my extreme influence to act out your rightful position."

When he didn't interrupt, Jessamine nervously twisted her fingers before ending with, "Is there anything you'd like to concern me with?"

Corvo seemed to consider her words carefully and she watched as his thoughtful and troubled expression slowly eased into a contented gaze at her. He shook his head, a shadow of a quirked smile in his eyes.

'Not anymore.'

The quiet answer passed that comfort into her and they shared another air of understanding together.

Staring into a gaze that met hers equally and yet cast humbly from the stance of a loyal Protector, Jessamine realized that this was a company she could finally depend on.

She allowed herself the stray thought of hope.

A hope for another she could come to confide in.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

My actions against my land, my home, and my empire were committed a long time ago;
A time in which my loyalties remained with my ancestors, who would push a young boy to trade secrets for their pride.
I was young, foolish, and eager to please those who fed me and raised me.

The blood of the soldiers I killed still haunts me. I murdered them out of panic when I realized my consequences had dawned on me. And my relatives were too far away in Morley to care for my sacrifices.

But I am old now; old, imprisoned and wiser from the loneliness of my cell walls.

I ask only for the fair beacon of hope that is my dear Empress to hear me and my plea.

I want to be pardoned for my young mistakes, and only she could be so gentle as to grant them.

Gallus Canavan

Jessamine skimmed her eyes over the name, also reading the list of Parliament and Council members' seals stamped along the bottom of the Coldridge marked paper.

She sighed, leaning back in her chair with a dis-satisfied glare. 'Fair beacon of gentle hope' indeed. She wondered if the man thought she would delicately forgive him like some martyr because she was a woman in the crown.

The words seemed genuine. Her fingers curled on the paper, and folded it in thought, pressing the crease hard before tossing the thing to her desk. Any words were genuine from one who really wanted something, regardless if they were true or not.

Jessamine shook her head quietly to herself, leaving her desk determinedly. She would not debate any longer on the issue. There was nothing to be done now, the audience for Canavan had already been arranged for the following day and there would be no stopping it with the amount of supporters he had for his plea.

She would have to determine his fate after his audience tomorrow, from the throne and before her court.

For now, she had other things to attend to.

She left the dimness of her office, escaping into the daylight of the brightly lit hallway of her quarters. After a quick interrogation of the guards posted there and a direct dismissal of any escorts, she headed to the west staircase. The Tower was mostly quiet in the bright afternoon, aside from the bustling servants ever cleaning and ever preparing. They gave their curtsies and bows as she passed, and Jessamine continually had to hold a declining hand up to all the eager guards seeing her without escort.

As she ascended the western stairs with barely a light clicking of her shoes, she came upon another set of guards posted at the entrance to her grand library. Her appearance had obviously surprised them and their casual conversation was cut off with a tight salute.

"I have been told that the Lord Protector is inside?" She questioned, not bothering to wait as she headed for the doors.

One of them hurried to open them for her. "Yes Majesty, shall we ta-"

"No thank you, keep your post."

The library reminded her of her office, with most of its heavy drapery covering the high windows and blocking out the careless brightness of the sun. A few that had been left open spotted bright light along the standing shelves, striking the teal carpets like hot sun on the ocean. The silence bore no life that she could see aside from the dust wafting in the stagnant air and for a brief moment, the Empress allowed herself to breath in relief. It was not often she found herself so alone and so released from a current duty.

She walked down the main egress slowly, glancing to each side of her path along the large towering shelves as if to spot the silent Serkonan she searched for. She frowned as she reached the end to no avail and glanced curiously toward the upper landing that held her conference table. But a shifting of movement drew her eyes back down to the shelves beneath the landing and the tables at the far end of the dark reading room.

Passing through to the alcove, Jessamine made out the hunched form of her Lord Protector at a corner table. He sat quietly, with a few books and papers spread messily in front of him, engrossed in the dark of the corner. Her brows lifted with small concern and puzzlement.

She had meant to come and speak with him about his misconducts, but now, before his humble silhouette and his quiet nature she found herself hesitating.

The Pendleton's had sent a very angry letter demanding a public apology. She had been surprised at their outright ignorance. Under no circumstances did one ask an Empress for her apology. Even if she completely disagreed with her Lord Protector's overreaction and treatment of her new Parliament representatives, she could not voice it. And she still had more dignity and noble standing than the Pendletons.

They were young fools. But while they could be easily ignored, Corvo's actions couldn't be. The night of she had let it pass, but had resolved to reprimand him on the behavior she expected from him. Especially since this wasn't the first scandal he had caused in his first two months of the title.

But two days after the dinner incident with the twins, something amazing happened.

Her nobles stopped disagreeing with her.

The council meeting the day before had been quick and efficient. No one dared to vote against her. Documents that had been missing out of spite had suddenly showed up. There were no interruptions while she spoke. And while the entire time they all could not seem to reach her gaze, her government officials all made sure to be on their very best behavior.

Ruling by fear didn't sit well with Jessamine, but she'd be lying if she said she was not relieved in the sudden change in attitude and she was smart enough to know that the change was because of Corvo's showmanship. And since she had stayed strongly and outwardly supportive of him, her court no doubt thought she had hardened.

It was an uneasy situation for her… But perhaps this is what her government needed right now. A strong leader to force them to behave like a mother would her child. A mother knows best what good for their children. And they were indeed all acting like toddlers.

But she was worried about how long this quiet fear would last before they grew spiteful.

Corvo didn't seem to notice her as she watched him, contemplating what exactly it was she wanted to say to him while he contemplated the turning pages.

When she began toward him again, her mind was as steady as her gaze.

Jessamine made to clear her throat as she closed in on the table, but the clack of her shoes must have given her away, because Corvo's face snapped up toward her suddenly, his entire body jolting up in his seat.

His hands jerked to his sides, but stiffened as his eyes grew in recognition. The chair's legs squealed as he stood hastily, hands straightening his unbuttoned uniform.

"Lord Protector." She announced, watching him look around in confusion or anxiety, she couldn't tell which. His hair was once again loose, untied and framing his face. His shadowed beard was coming in again too. Since he had been inaugurated she had noticed him trying to keep up his groomed look, though he must have been too busy now to manage it.

'Majesty.'

His fingers signed easily, and his jaw straightened for orders.

She tried to smile at him as she kept moving forward, coming to stand at the chair across from his and placing her hands on its back. "Forgive me, I did not mean to disturb your peace."

'Never.' He paused then, his analytical gaze glancing about them once more. 'You are not with an escort.'

She pointedly ignored that observation. Her eyes scanned the surface and the books laying open on it. She had never pegged her Serkonan Lord Protector as a reader... but the shame of that came to her quickly. Of course he would, when speaking was denied to him.

"May I ask what it is you are reading?"

His hands smoothed out the wool of his coat as he looked down at the open pages himself. He seemed to think on it, before looking back at her. He signed a word that she didn't understand, but before she could shake her head in confusion he caught on and began letter-spelling it for her.

'Memoirs.'

She frowned at the answer, not exactly what she had expected. Knowing what little she knew of Corvo, she had suspected something more like war tactics or security detail, maybe the original blueprints of her Tower. Memoirs seemed a little too romantic for someone who seemed to only think on his current duty. But then again... she couldn't really claim she knew Corvo on a personal level.

"Of whom?" She asked, moving to round the table toward his side, to better look at the journals lying open there.

The Serkonan quickly moved from the spot, pulling his chair out for her so she could sit herself. He signed as she neared: fingers moving and wrists crossing.

'Lord Protectors.'

Now, that sounded more like him.

She sat carefully, craning her neck to read the labeling of the pages. "Sir Bolton Tethers," Her brows furrowed at the name elegantly written near the bottom of an entry. It was a familiar name that her mind raced to put together as she continued to scan the words on the page. It clicked and she glanced at the Serkonan's face above her. "He was the first Protector, killed after his Lord Regent was assassinated."

Corvo said nothing, and she continued to think out loud as she turned back a few pages. "During the Insurrection there were numerous attempts on the Regents life. Commander Tethers became the first Protector to fight against such attacks but they were both murdered in the end."

Corvo's hands flicked beside her and she turned to watch his words.

'He was with the Regent at every hour.'

Jessamine shook her head with knowing. "Not in the last one." She murmured, her fingers tracing the sketchy handwriting.

After a contemplative pause between them there in the study, she stood and Corvo allowed her more space between him and the desk. Her face transfixed itself back into the resolute authority of an Empress and her words were at specific as her mind picked them.

"I have been meaning to come and speak to you on recent events, Lord Protector."

Corvo's brows twitched, his expression concerned if reserved. Jessamine hesitated once more.

"Perhaps that is the wrong way to start…" She said, quieter now as she thought of his actions with the twins. "Rather… I should thank you for what you did the other night. You upheld my dignity, even if a bit overzealously." She tried to smile to him to express her gratitude, but found a stirring of embarrassment welling in her stomach at the thought of bringing up the offense. "Insults are not something an Empress can risk acknowledging. Usually, I uphold a strict policy of ignorance to such things… but, I am… extremely grateful to you for acting upon chivalry."

His eye softened as he confronted her hesitating gaze, lips tensing in thought on the disrespectful event. His hands rotated at his wrists as he thought of his words, and when they came they were slow.

'Words can have the same meaning as a dagger. I will seek to protect you from both.'

The answer reminded her that Corvo's words were never ones to take for granted, as silent and rare as they were.

"Thank you." Jessamine said with an easier face and a quiet encouragement in the confidence of her Protector. "Admittedly, I have been having some… reservations about some of the actions you've taken in your new position."

Corvo seemed to strand straighter at this, his eyes glancing at her face as if to guess what exactly she had been doubtful of.

"Gristol moves more slowly than Serkonos. I have no doubt you've noticed… so actions taken swiftly here are held in a more critical light than they would be there." She explained, avoiding his furrowed gaze. It seemed harder to berate him than she had imagined, especially when his decisions had been effective and beneficial regardless of the spite they caused. "I must be mindful of every decision I make in order to please both my people and the houses that represent them. And since you are a decision of mine, I must be mindful of the choices you make as well."

Corvo's eyes creased and the shake of his head was subtle.

'Gristol moves just as fast as Serkonos, they are just better at hiding it.'

Jessamine frowned at him and the comparison to the more brutish continent, but she couldn't quite argue with him.

'The only difference is that words are used to kill instead of Hands.'

"I will only ask you to be more… considerate of the delicate hiding that they do then, at least in the coming season." She amended, and gave him a look of finality. "I'm sad to say they are not used to foreigners changing the rules they love so much."

Corvo nodded, his hand grasped on his chest as a small salute to her request. She was thankful of his seemingly easy understanding of the issue and hoped that he would indeed reign in his behavior.

"It will at least be a relief to Secretary Cromwell." She chuckled beneath her breath.

'Nothing will relieve that man.' The signs were sharp and quick, and Corvo's eyes behind them just as gleeful.

She tried to restrain her mirth at Cromwell's expense even as she added, "He titters often, doesn't he?"

'Like a tiny bird.'

She wasn't sure if it was the actual joke, or the motion of Corvo imitating a beak on his deadpanned face that made her laugh so loudly. Her hands tried to physically grasp her mouth to stop the sound, catching Corvo's gaze as he seemed to laugh along with her with a puff of air from his lips.

They shared that warm stillness for a few moments.

He took a step toward her eventually. There was an uneasiness in the way her moved that told her he had something to ask and she let him stew for a bit, glancing at the books on the table before finally saving him.

"Was there something you wanted to ask of me Lord Protector?"

There was a moment of strange shifts on his expression before he finally spoke.

'I am…concerned with your security.'

Jessamine frowned, but waited patiently for him to continue. She was torn between watching the restless expression on his face and trying to read his fingers as they moved, hearing the slightly unsure voice deeply rolling in her mind's ears.

'I have done all that I can for the safety of the Tower.' His speech was slow as he spelled some things. 'I have seen to position the best men, and new posts for better results. I am now confident in the reinforcement of your guards and forces. But I am concerned in the lack of guards on your Majesty.'

"On me?"

He nodded, his hand flicking a yes as his face became more determined.

'I would like to resume the duties of the first Lord Protector.'

It took a few moments before Jessamine realized what exactly Corvo was pursuing. She glanced quickly at Tether's memoirs of paranoid guarding and overbearing conduct. Corvo meant to act as such. A constant escort.

"That isn't necessary." She immediately denied. "You must understand that our dear Commander here was instated during a time of open war."

'I am not nearly as present as he was. And he failed.'

"That is quite different. Morley assassins crawled the city streets for the Regent's life every day. There are no such dangers in my reign, Corvo."

The former Gallows man disagreed with only one hand.

'There were nineteen men after your life in Serkonos.'

Jessamine scoffed, turning away from the mute. "That was an exception to the record of the Kaldwin family." She declared, vehemently denying that ruffians and thugs counted for political warfare. "Times are different now. There's no need for such strict measures. It will only unease my people."

She directed her gaze back on him, giving him the weight of a Regent's stare. "They will wonder why their Empress fears for her life so much that she clings to the presence of her Lord Protector."

Corvo's rough face deepened the intensity of his concern, but he didn't argue. The warm mirth from before had transformed into something heavier. She was a bit beside herself, having someone challenge her so fully. Staring right at her and not releasing into a bow. It was slightly infuriating. And also slightly refreshing and new.

She waited for the quiet signing of his fingers, but when they didn't come she spoke first. "Should any threats arise you are, of course, responsible for taking the expected measure to ensure my safety." Corvo looked a bit more relieved to hear that, so she was quick to end with, "But until then, I will require no such services."

His hands rose, fingers clenching in his fist before crossing his palm.

'And tomorrow?'

She had nearly forgotten. Her brows drew together at the thought of Gallus Canavan's audience with her and the Privy Council.

She didn't trust any criminal sentenced for treason against her government, but she couldn't believe that such an event would be dangerous. The man was to be escorted from Coldridge Prison to her Tower by the warden and his own men. There would be no harm in assigning her own Royal guard, though she expected they would already be required to arm the hearing chamber.

But Corvo wasn't asking about the security detail. He was asking if he would be stationed there himself.

"As Lord Protector, you are intended to be at my side."

'I would prefer to secure the criminal myself.'

"He's a prisoner of over fifteen years Corvo, not a newly captured threat."

He looked as frustrated as she felt and suddenly she realized that she had elected a Royal Protector as stubborn as she was. And with his foreign background, he did not seem to care that he was protesting royal authority.

It was in remembrance of her gratitude to his previous actions and the reason why she had come to visit him that she decided to compromise with him. "Assign your best man for added measures on Canavan." She paused, considering his stern expression before adding softly, "But I would feel the most comfortable with your attention at my right hand."

It was a bit manipulative, and she felt bad for the trick of her tone and gentle prodding. But the Serkonon nodded, mute hands signing his hail of her as he bowed.

Her breath came easier at the action. After the dinner with Parliament having gone so awry and the Council so intolerably disrespectful, having Corvo's constant and unwavering dependability refresh her mind was liberating.

The doubts she had suffered at the beginning of the month regarding his behavior seemed to dissipate. He was still the choice she would select over and over given the chance. Despite the grudging murmurs in the nobility, Corvo was becoming an asset she would never have realized she needed.

Jessamine allowed herself one last genuine smile before leaving him to the memoirs, making a mental note to review them herself to be sure that the old Commander's weren't giving her Lord Protector too many ideas.

Court never suited Jessamine well.

Considering that the last time she had addressed the people of high society had been at Corvo Attano's induction to Lord Protector, she couldn't say that she fared court well either.

However, after the incident with the Pendletons, the gossip and whispered rebelling against her crown was thankfully missing.

The judges on the other hand, seemed to be brewing beneath this audience with Gallus Canavan.

It made her uneasy.

Anytime there was an obvious opportunity for her Privy Council politicians to make personal profit by uniting under support of some bill or movement was always enough to make her worry. And there had been many, many endorsements and royal seals on Canavan's plea.

It didn't take long for her to figure out why. Canavan's house was as wealthy and old as it was empty and waiting. He had been in prison a long time, but before he had been put away he had been at the height of society during the age of her prosperous father. He had been young and without a family to claim his properties and she could only imagine that her officials thought themselves smart by supporting his want for probation. It would mean favors returned and a new benefactor to call on.

But that didn't negate that Canavan had been a traitor to the crown. He had killed Gristol blood and sold out their first naval fleet to an awaiting ambush. Many had died, and the Morley Insurrection had roared afterward, with Canavan's allies cheering his name across the water.

His written statement to her office had sounded genuine enough. And her advisers had been optimistic even as her councilmen had stamped their approval. Quietly, she wished she had conferred the dilemma with Corvo yesterday. If any man knew the honesty of former murderer, it would be him.

Should she deny his proposal, he would be executed on the morrow.

Jessamine's Father would have had him beheaded before a crowd. She could picture his stern voice in her mind, commanding it as if he stood before her. He would proclaim the man unfit for any apologies from the Empire. Morley was responsible for its own treachery, and examples would be made of those who thought themselves so high. The show would have rallied pride from the citizens of Gristol and Morley would have wallowed in their place, still dealing with their economic depression.

But that was in the time of her Father, of course. Morley was stronger now. And one could argue that their spirits had only hardened in their struggle. To infuriate them by executing one of their own in a parade might just be invitation for the sort of attention Corvo had worried about.

To grant him pardon would put some control in her government as opposed to her own though. Something she was uneasy about after the past months of grueling backlash on her surprising choice of a foreigner for a Royal position. She had only just seen the light in her dilemmas with her own council and she didn't like the idea of giving them more power. Hiram Burrows included.

It would be decided on the man's speech itself then. It should be anyway, that was real justice; to determine a man's life on his honor and his word.

The grand chamber was predictably full. Nobles gathered like rats to watch an outsider judged by their Empress, and the observing crowd made Jessamine nervous with trepidation.

Corvo's face was the only comfort she found. Tense and distracted though it was, his brown eyes blackened and flickered constantly across the halls. He struck a much more intimidating figure beside the teal and gold of her throne, dark navy clad and tall, than Nicolai Essen ever had. But while the other's regarded him as a leashed hound at her side, he was nothing but silhouette of security to her.

She was instantly aware of the measures he had taken, realizing that she could spy as many uniforms in her crowd as she could the expensive wear of her noble ladies' dresses.

The Herald announced her as she sat with her chin high and her back straight.

The crowd bowed below her gaze and she felt her Lord Protector sign words by her side.

She watched Secretary Cromwell catch those words, his ever bird-like and nervous features amplifying under a stressful order. Just as she realized that her high officers must have finally learned signing, the Herald shouted the entrance of the warden and Gallus Canavan.

The enormous chamber doors opened, breaking out the golden light of a dying sun and the black shadows of her guards entering with a heavy march that silenced the courtroom.

The solid gold of the armrests beneath her long fingers were cold. She forced herself to watch as men filed in with rigid formation. Two at the front, four at the back, and another shackled between.

The soldiers were brisk, but the shackled man was slow.

As he neared, Jessamine felt her fingers curl on the cold metal, pale eyes piercing what she perceived as it was presented before her.

They put Canavan to his knees on the bottom of the Kaldwin seal that was painted on her tiles, an expanse wide enough that she had to squint to recognize what expression the man was making.

He was much older and much smaller than what she had expecting. Reading the reports of the man had made her only imagine him as he was when he had been apprehended. Young, raging, full of hate and war: she had imagined a man like those whom she had seen running after her in Serkonos. Ones like those Corvo had killed.

But this man was… lacking in that fire. His eyes were on his knees and his hands shackled before him. His hair was grayed and sparse and he was clad in the rough brown rags of Coldridge. He looked like a smack of dirty stone, left bare in the glittering expanse of her Tower.

"Presenting captive of the Empire of Isles, prisoner 536, Gallus Canavan. Wanted for high treason to the crown, facilitating the assault of the 1st Fleet of Dunwall, murder of five Gristol Royal Guard, and conspiracy to assassinate the Lord Regent."

Corvo shifted beside her while Jessamine refused to look away from the hunched man's from. The Herald continued his announcement of the occasion. Canavan was here to plead his remorse and seek penance. They all knew that.

"Her Majesty, Empress Jessamine Kaldwin the First to reside on this sentence."

She raised her hand to dismiss the Herald and the quiet murmur of her court quieted beneath her fingers as well.

She flicked her gaze on the scene, and recognized Commander Dalen as the one behind the convict, his large frame towering over the older man with diligence.

"Commander, please bring Mr. Canavan forward so I may hear his last request." She ordered.

Dalen and the others did not wait for the man to stand, hoisting him instead by each shoulder to bring him forward. His knees dragged on the polished marble, chains at his feet skittering loudly.

A deft hand signed quickly as her side, and she glanced at it fast enough to hear Corvo's voice snap in her mind's ear.

'No closer.'

"Gallus Canavan, you have been brought before me to state your penance and ask for mercy. I await your reasons as to why."

Pale eyes snapped up to meet hers, and she felt the cold of the metal beneath her fingers shoot through the rest of her form. The man looked straight at her, not away or distantly, as any others were expected to do for someone as high in office as her.

Not unlike Corvo's hardened stares.

But Canavan's eyes were almost a milky white. There were clouds fogging out the darkness that was surely in his irises before his years of confinement.

After a long moment, he spoke.

"Your. Majesty."

The voice was akin to the rattle of the chains that shook from his hands as they began to reach toward her with emphasis. But it wasn't quiet. It was loud, loud enough for all the court to hear. His hands shook slightly, though from the weight of his manacles or his age she was unsure.

"I am only here to tell you of my deep regret."

His words were sluggish and the rasp of his voice scrapped along her spine. She reinforced her focus, narrowing her brow to follow along without intimidation.

"I have lived fifteen years in four walls." His grey eyes looked up to the ceiling, rolling into his skill to meet his pale skin that disappeared into his grey hair. "Four walls do nothing for a man's thoughts." His hands grabbed at his rough tunic. "Lonely, lonely thoughts."

Her lips pursed, the slowness of his words stirring in her an impatience that was wrought with anxiety.

"A man can think forever for that long, forever until his thoughts go round and round until he realizes he's only thinking of one thing… over and over."

There was a wonder to his voice, and Jessamine began to doubt the man's coherency. Perhaps he had been so old and confined that his senses had begun to fade. The plea letters he had sent could have been drafted. It wasn't inconceivable.

She contemplated dismissing the whole thing at the idea, when suddenly Canavan's voice grew louder, startling her back to his words.

"Over and over! I have been sitting in that cell thinking of that day. Of what I did, of what I didn't do, of what I want—"

His chain smacked against the marble as he shot upward on his knees in a sudden frenzy of movement, scattering the two guards at his sides. She watched as Commander Dalen's hand shot forward to restrain him and suddenly there was a thundering bang echoing in the chamber.

It would be a lie to say everything slowed.

The sight of Canavan's hands twisting in his chains and producing a silver revolver was a fast one. It happened in a glimpse. The foggy eyes saw nothing but her and she nothing but them.

The shot of the gun seemed to announce the end of her hearing, just as it signaled a sudden darkness in her vision. Blackness swept over her, like a veil had been draped about her head.

She thought she heard yelling even though she could really only focus on the muted thrumming of her heart beneath the steady cry of her muted ears.

Jessamine felt calm in those split seconds, until the darkness moved, shifted, and she realized that her veil was Corvo, her Lord Protector.

The bang of the gunshot pierced Corvo's ribs as he dove before the Empress. His eyes showed no pain in his new adrenaline nor did it show any hesitation in his sharp reaction. Tanned fingers flipped a blade from out of his belt, arching the light metal in his grip before sending it flying through the air. The screams of the nobles in the courtroom and the scramble of the guards didn't slow the flight of his knife as it lodged itself into Gallus Canavan's throat.

The glinting handle mirrored the shine that covered Canavan's eyes, staring up at the ceiling blankly.

Jessamine felt herself move, felt her lips call out her Lord Protector, even as his stern face turned back to her. His hands were heavy and forceful around her shoulders, yanking her from the throne harshly even as he took her beneath his arm gently.

She could see the entire room and the crowed screaming and rushing about like sheep chased by wolves, but she couldn't hear them.

She could only hear Corvo, mute, as his fingers signed in front of her face.

'Go! Go to the stairs! Go!'

Her breath came in slow, tedious lengths. She seemed to turn in a daze, seeing the mass of blood and grey flesh that was Gallus Canavan on the white and teal of her Tower floor. Her eyes locked on the sight, staring at it even as she felt Corvo's hands lift her from the ground and ascend with her up the grand stairs of the chamber, away from the quiet cacophony of the shrieking nobles.

Away from the white milky eyes that stared at her from below.

Chapter Text

The death of Gallus Canavan erupted through the citizens of Dunwall like an ember igniting a wildfire.

It was mere hours before the entire city knew of the event and a mere day before all of Gristol knew. Now it would be only seconds until every inch of the Empire was informed of the Regent's near death.

But the erupting blazes of reactions were not sorrowful or horror-filled.

They were rapturous.

The Kaldwin Flag was adorned on every window, pulled high down the street to marching men and cheering women. 'Long Live the Empress' was heralded through the city like a battle cry and the family's legacy song was blown from all the instruments the common folk could afford.

The beautiful and just Empress had survived. 'Strong and unyielding,' they cried. 'Battling Morley rats!' others would agree. She had lived; she who represented them more than the nobles that tried to kill her; She who loved her people and they her.

The night of the incident the streets were in full celebration, and the roar of the taverns continued into the early hours of the morning.

Every glass, however, was raised to Corvo Attano.

The Royal Protector was a hero. He was the sweeping force of Gristol, saving their beloved Queen and murdering traitorous bastards like an example executioner before the entire court.

The story of Corvo Attano's swift hand throwing a knife into the Morley man's head was retold until it was ten knives and twenty men.

The people forgot that he was from Serkonos. They forget his foreign skin and his addled tongue. 'Long live the Empress! Thank the Protector!'

His name was cheered through the streets even as it was whispered with crippling fear within noble houses.

Jessamine tried to ignore the loud smacking of the fifteen sets of boots accompanying her.

She kept her eyes on the large iron doors exiting Coldridge Prison, as her hands tried to occupy themselves with replacing her gloves.

But the sound was loud, and the talking of orders was louder.

Her accompaniment of fifteen Royal Guards was upsetting her more than the thought of the necessity of them. It made her doubtful of herself and her safety. Almost as if the added measures to security were making the danger she could possibly be in more real. She knew if she didn't get back to her Tower quickly, she might scream along with the prisoners in the building, wailing as they were in their cells.

The large doors opened as a few soldiers ran to do the job. The golden dying sun on the water's horizon pierced her eyes as she stepped outside; trying to focus her gaze on even more guards lining up to the monstrous iron-clad carriage before her.

She felt sick looking at the whale oil operated machine, but considering the day before… riding her horse had been out of the question.

As she stepped down the stairs leading toward the car, hands shot out at her quickly. Her guards all eager to please and aid her to her seat, their leather gloves reaching at her like a nightmare she had never had.

She balked, her hands trying to rise in dismissal. "No, please—No-" she began, eyes flickering wildly across the faces of her immense entourage. "Wh-Where's Corvo?" She asked loudly, her breath tight in her throat as she fretted about to find the Royal Protector she had thought had been ahead of them.

"Behind you, Ma'am." Someone answered.

She whipped around desperately at the direction, and met with the instant relief of the steady and deep gaze of dark eyes.

His tall, encompassing form was a few inches from her, rolling out a presence of control that made her tightly wound muscles relax and her breath exhale easily. Corvo strode to her slowly, nodding silently as his hand weighed down on her shoulder, leading her to the car. His free hand made a quick motion about him, and the Royal guard dispersed from them to take their posts about the carriage.

But it was her hand that grabbed at his to begin assisting her into the car, and her hand that didn't relinquish his as she settled into her seat. Jessamine didn't have to say anything to let him know she wanted him inside with her.

And Corvo did not have to reply to simply enter and slide the heavy metal door closed. He wasted no time in banging a fist on the ceiling, indicating that they were ready to go. The car jerked harshly before it began to move.

While the monstrosity was loud, screeching and dreadful, it was at least plush on the inside. She settled in the seats a bit easier, thankful to be out of the horror that was Coldridge prison and away from her overbearing guard.

She wanted to yell at Corvo to fire them all in her anxiety, but she knew she couldn't.

Not after yesterday.

Her eyes moved to the small window beside her, staring at Wrenhaven River forlornly.

She had never imagined such a thing would happen in her reign.

Gristol was in a tough time of decline, true. Her people were in poor spirit and her government was sour, but an attempt on her…?

Her hands gripped at her cheeks and eyes, closing them to the view and her incessant thoughts. It was the same questions over and over. And none had been answered since the gun had been shot the day before.

They were leaving the damned prison in the same state they had entered: confused, angry and suspicious. The Warden had proved useless. He had been scathing and adamant about his un-involvement. Gallus Canavan had been kept in solitary confinement since his arrest and no recorded visits had been made beside the state lawyer to take his written plea. All endorsements made from her court officials were done so through papers. No one had contacted the prisoner directly.

The poor man had nearly began crying before her, swearing up and down that he had no idea Canavan had conspired to murder her. And he and his guard had made no notice of any gun during his transport.

Jessamine believed him, but he was fired anyway.

Rather, Corvo had fired him and she had not objected.

Perhaps what was worse than the suspicious nature of the setup to assassinate her, was that the audience with her was only made possible by the many, many representatives and nobles beneath her endorsing Canavan's plea; a list of names that included everyone from wealthy second cousins to her very own Royal Spymaster. The implications of it all were staggering.

The iron car jostled harshly on a catch of tracks and Jessamine stiffened, turning away from the silent and darkening skies of the window. Her glance came across her Protector, in time to catch the man press his hand against his ribs as subtly as he could. Her brows furrowed at the motion, looking him over intently.

Corvo hadn't slept since the day before. She knew, because she hadn't either.

After carrying her from the gruesome incident on the marble tiles of her grand hall, her Royal Protector had secluded her in her quarters.

They had been in each other's presence since.

She remembered breaking from the daze and shock of seeing the bloody Kaldwin Seal and Canavan's grey, bleeding body to a bleeding Corvo, darkening his navy uniform to a harsh black. He had paced the room to check the perimeters, sword drawn and face as hard as its steel, blood running onto his hand and dripping red on her carpets.

She had sat watching him with horror and shock as soldiers poured in after them. Corvo had signed constantly the hours afterward, commanding and ordering. She had briefly remembered Commander Dalen coming in to report that they had moved the body and detained several people on Corvo's command.

A lot of men had been fired.

Her private bedroom had become the center of the aftermath of the incident and she had felt like a child, seated carefully and protectively away from the danger.

He had stayed by her side, even when she broke her silence to insist that he have his injury looked at.

The physician had been sent to her quarters instead and she had watched Corvo allow the doctor to tend to him while he had tended to her protection.

His vigilance had been extreme, but Jessamine could not attest to thinking it too overreacted. Her shock had faded slowly and Corvo's presence had soothed her frayed nerves.

They hadn't spoken of the incident. Not really. Not even as she stayed up through the night with him feet away from her at all times and men coming in and out of the quarters constantly with nothing but dead ends in their findings.

Cromwell had even flitted in early that morning. He had fretted at the break of dawn, announcing the increasingly hectic state of her people outside the Tower and the stirring court nobles awaiting a public address. He had informed her Hiram Burrows had immediately devised an investigation of his own- one that they had yet to hear about since.

Jessamine's eyes clung to the spot where Corvo had been shot, his uniform still a dark patch of dried blood. The gold lining on his coat was a strange orange rust of a color, matching the faded stains on his hands.

It was hard to look at him and not think of the sight of him diving before her.

"Corvo."

Her voice was like a drop of water in the river, weak and ineffectual. But the Serkonan still looked up at her with a direct gaze and every ounce of attention he had.

It was with fear and trepidation that she realized she had become far more dependent on this man in the past twenty-four hours than she had ever anticipated.

She hesitated, eyes dropping to stare at his knees, offsetting hers and only a few centimeters away.

She remembered, somewhere distantly in her mind, the short conversation she had with him the day before Canavan's audience. She remembered Bolton Tethers' memoirs and Corvo's quiet request.

Jessamine looked back up at him, a welling of shame and regret she hadn't felt as an Empress in a very long time. She should have heeded him, should have listened.

Her chin rose and her defenses too. Swallowing thickly, her hand motioned to him quietly.

"You should see to the doctor again about your ribs."

Corvo watched her quietly, not nodding or moving. His dark eyes looked as high strung as she felt and she tried to force some authority in her voice to take control once more. Something she hadn't done since Gallus Canavan pulled the gun out on both of them.

"Don't think I didn't hear him say you fractured one." She warned. Her voice was still weak, but she tried to dismiss him with her eyes instead. "E-Enough is enough. When we get back to the Tower you should relieve yourself from duty to tend to your health."

Corvo looked away indifferently, his left hand rising to curl his fingers to his palm and sweep the air.

'I'm fine.'

She glared at the motion, leaning in to him and smacking his signing hand away with her own. The action grabbed his full attention again, a peculiar expression of confusion and surprise crossing his features.

"That was not a suggestion. I won't have you grasping at yourself in my presence." She tried, making her tone dip into something like snobbish displeasure to persuade him of her seriousness. "It's not fit for my Royal Protector to be limping—"

'I'm fine.' He motioned again.

"I won't hear it." She dismissed, looking pointedly away from his fingers toward the window. "I won't hear it. You will not neglect yourself for duties sworn to… sworn to me."

She couldn't rid herself of the vision of him diving before her- or the gunshot in her ears. She couldn't stop thinking of those damned memoirs and his blasted and admirable actions in the past twenty hours. Nor could she forget the arms carrying her up the stairs, the quick orders he signed to her officers and the constant caution he took at her every step.

He was the most deserving of a better Empress than she had been to him. "After everything you've done, you should be tended to. After—"

A heat engulfed her hands, causing her to jump.

Corvo leaned closely into her, his signing hand snatching her left. She stiffened, eyes watching as his fingers curled on the back of her wrist, pulling her hand into the air. She said nothing, watching as his digits curled over hers, bending her joints down beneath his.

Baffled and speechless, she glanced at his face. His eyes were steady on their hands though. His lips were tight and his jaw clenched as he focused on the action.

The heat of his hand was immense. Hot enough to make her forget temporarily that Gallus Canavan no doubt had someone to endorse his vicious actions, or that her court had most likely conspired to her death, or that she was fighting an invisible battle for her life and country. She forgot about the white foggy eyes of Gallus staring at her even in death. She forgot the crimson drips of blood still dried into her bedroom carpets.

His fingers manipulated each of hers easily, bending them into a specific position mirrored beneath his own. Finally his eyes flickered away to meet hers, and she held that gaze as he swiped their joined hands at the air.

'I'm fine.' They motioned together.

Jessamine's throat tightened. Her eyes were hot as she watched the unquestionable reassurance in his own, shaded softly by his untidy hair.

His free hand rose beside him, motioning casually with a flick at his ear and a few letters.

'Do you hear me now?'

She felt her mouth loosen, felt her eyes squeeze the heat on the rim of her lashes as a smile flickered across her face like a shadow.

She nodded.

Corvo mirrored the action, nodding and letting his fingers slip down the back of her hand and arm before returning silently to his lap.

The rest of the ride back to the Tower was quiet. Corvo did not mention how he had been right, and she did not speak of how she had been wrong. She did not persist in worries about his health and instead devoted her silence to inwardly build back up the strong spine of a Regent. She breathed slower and racked her mind with thoughts of what was expected of her by her people. She would need to address them and her court. Jessamine could not appear weak in front of her Parliament, regardless of how many representatives within it wished her dead.

The Isles were more than just her life. She had to be strong for those who would suffer should she be shoved to a corner in fear or in death.

And at least, should anything happen again, Corvo would now always be close enough to stop it.

She was sure of that.

At that thought her hands clasped quietly together, savoring the fading heat from her skin.

Chapter Text

The ticking of the clock was driving her mad.

Her narrowed eyes strayed to the large timepiece, sitting clear across the bright white tiles of the portrait gallery.

It stared back at her with disdain as the hour sounded with a harsh clacking.

The expanse of the hall was empty aside from the stern and heavy gazes of all the past legacies to rule the Empire. Old men and shrewd women seemed to glower down at her as she stood in the middle of the hall like an abandoned child in a crowd. The dead and former rulers had never seemed intimidating to her until now.

"Lady Boyle."

The cold voice curled around her chin, pulling it forward to the hardened eyes across the room.

Empress Jessamine Kaldwin had always been a woman that Lydia Boyle had admired, in a distant and cold sort of way.

She was beautiful. Everyone knew that. It was the height of her cheeks and her sharp nose and chin that made her so appealing, Lydia deduced. But that wasn't the most alluring thing about her. It was the strange openness of her eyes. The bight and pale eyes that looked welcoming on the glimmer of a smile and void-like on the curve of a determined frown.

Currently, it was the void that Lydia stared back at.

Her own hands clasped together, fingers rolling the silver rings around her digits in a barely contained unease. "Empress?"

Jessamine's chin rose, making her already daunting body, long and straight in her throne look even more so. "Have you no further words to your explanation?"

Lydia swallowed the weakness on her tongue and shook her head. "No, Ma'am."

She chanced a quiet gaze above her humbly lowered head and watched as the Royal Protector leaned in to Her Majesty, his hands rising to sign strange misshapes at her ear like a whisper.

The sight made her body feel small and weak, and the bustle on her dress heavy and binding. She had heard the stories. Her sisters and her and heard it from the other girls at their salon days ago. The man had killed the Morley convict in seconds. He and Jessamine had watched him die and people had cheered.

Everyone was talking about the change in Her Majesty. She had always been authoritative and commanding, like her father. But she was full of grace, propriety, tradition and order. Just like the swan her family was crested after.

But now they said she had turned into an iron fist with a loyal Serkonan assassin at her beck and call.

Her thoughts quieted as she watched the Queen's mouth move, and Corvo nod, both turning their eyes back on her.

Would they…?

She thought of her sisters, thought of the papers she had signed without much care as they were handed to her. There had been talk of money, of prestige; something they all needed at their tender age, and with Lord Boyle deep in the ground beneath their manor. It would be easy, the others had told her. Just a stupid document and her stupid signature. But now… now she only thought of her sisters as the Royal Protector's hands left the Empress' side to hover at his own.

A gun? Or a blade for her?

Her eyes flickered over him as his stared back at her, cold and dark. She held her breath.

"That will be all then, Lady Boyle." The Empress announced, raising a hand to flick dismissively at the door.

Lydia could not curtsey fast enough. She spared no second glances at the two figureheads of judgment and death on the other side of the room. She made her way quickly to the exit, the doors opening quietly by unimportant guards.

There wasn't even time for shock or relief. She just wanted to go back home.

Her face turned dour as she tried to still the shakiness in her heart. The frustration and spite filled her now. She felt foolish and stupid, and even a little offended.

Lydia barely registered the hallway and servants about her as she went over the questions the Empress had asked her over and over again.

A heavy presence filled the space next to her as she rounded a hallway toward the exit.

The snake like coil of an arm wrapped around hers, and her hurried step was met by another.

Hiram Burrow's shivering voice whispered down to her, full of anxiety. "What did you tell her?"

She huffed loudly, not bothering to glare at the loathsome man. "Nothing! Do you think me so daft?" The shakiness of her voice only made her more upset.

His tone instantly changed, his hand coming round to pat the back of hers lightly. It would have been reassuring if it wasn't so condescending. "Why, no! No, of course not my dear."

Burrows came to a stop, his entangled arm forcing her to as well. Lydia glared at him, but as always his eves never quite met hers. They always stared at her hands, or her neck, or even her bosom on occasion. Now, they contemplated her wrists as he turned them over in his hands.

For a moment she was going to snap at him again, when she realized they were very much still in the Tower halls. She snapped her head to the end of each hall worriedly – but they were alone.

Oddly, there was no one around in the empty corridor. Not a guard posted.

She brushed off the sick feeling of foreboding, being in an empty hall with a man she was not betrothed to. It was uncouth… and perhaps a bit dangerous, considering it was Burrows.

The Spymaster looked down his long nose at her with that squint in his eye. The one she recognized whenever he wanted her to listen closely.

"Still, dear, it's important that you absolutely did not say a word." He reiterated.

Lydia pulled her arm away with some difficulty. But she still had her pride, weakened as it was before the iced over eyes of the Empress. "I did not!" She whispered adamantly. "This is your doing anyway! You said there would be no investigation! You said this was about money!"

"Hush!" He snapped, surprising her with the creased frustration in his face.

He tamed it. A forced smile peeled back on his teeth before it settled more naturally. His hands reached for hers yet again, gently clasping her fingers together with a squeeze that was a bit too tight. "It was. It was about the money."

"But—"

"I didn't plan that Morley fool to slip up like an insane cretin!" He hissed, looking genuinely disgusted and displeased.

Lydia shifted, shaking her head with her contained stress. "Now she thinks it was a scheme to kill—"

"No, no!" He hushed again. "She doesn't know anything, believe me. She has no evidence or proof." He released her finally, placing his clammy hands behind his back and raising his head. The normal confidence and reassurance she usually saw on him returned brow quirking high. "She's not just asking you – she's investigating every name on the damn document. She's pulling at straws."

Lydia felt a slight relief at that. There were more than twenty names on that roster.

"It will all go away soon, I promise." He smiled, his thin lips pulling his skin tight around the corners of his mouth. "It's nearing the end of the year, this matter will be gone by the time the Empress returns from her retreat."

Lydia ignored him to look down the hall. She could place her faith in Burrows for the most part, but it still unnerved her that she had to go into agreements without understanding their full terms.

Cold fingers wrapped about her bare elbows, pulling at her persistently. The strange touch was more like a grip than a caress.

"Are you and your sisters ready for the Fugue?"

She tried to brush him off.

She had been trying to brush him off, for over a year now.

But Hiram had influence, money, and much more connections than her family and Waverly's dolt of a Lord did after they died.

Hiram had been… guiding them through society for a year now. Votes were exchanged for better services in her manor. Funding was exchanged for invitation, that sort of thing. It was easy, not to mention agreeable. But lately, the man had grown… bolder.

She smiled like she and her sisters knew how to in order to steer a conversation their way. Talk of the Feast would take her mind off her worry anyway. "Of course we are. Our costumes are being commissioned by the finest—with antique masks coming in from Tyvia."

Burrows gleamed at her. "So it is another party then."

"Our list is very tightly knit this year." She agreed, allowing herself the smile at their exclusivity.

"You will play of course?"

Lydia's smile lessened a little. Hiram had been trying to convince her (and himself) that he was some connoisseur of music. He had been about as convincing as Esma in the matter. She figured she would play, but perhaps not how she wanted to.

You couldn't really play a piano for people at a party. No one ever really, truly, listened.

A loud clack on the wood had them both turning quickly at their intruder, who further announced his presence with a cleared throat.

"My pardon," Secretary Cromwell said. He bowed his head slightly at them in acknowledgement, but Lydia could already see his eyes fly about the corridor to witness the absence of any chaperons present with her.

She raised her head high, ignoring her utter embarrassment as she tried to brush off the scandalous nature of the situation indifferently. "Yes, pardon." She drawled, moving immediately away from the Royal Spymaster. "If you men will excuse me I have my sisters to return to."

"Lady Boyle." The Secretary nodded, allowing her room as she passed and looking very uncomfortable.

Burrows said nothing as she left, but she imagined he was busy glaring death at the Empress's poor little messenger to watch her leave.

She would seem him for the Feast anyway.

The stack of papers made a satisfying thud on her desk as she dropped them.

"That makes it forty-two now." She said, sounding as tired and as frustrated at the number itself was. "Forty-two names, forty-two people."

Jessamine turned away from her desk, walking around the massive thing to consider her Royal Protector, seated on the lush chair before her. "How many does that make left?" She demanded gently.

Corvo's left hand contemplated his cheek, dragging his fingers across it as the other held a document of information. She watched as his eyes trailed the page, before looking up at her with a hard and haggard expression. His fingers rose unceremoniously.

'Five.'

Jessamine's brows rose with a bit of relief. It was a smaller amount than she had imagined.

Corvo leaned forward, sliding the paper onto the dark wood of the desk, before he leaned back into the chair and considered her standing next to him. His hands rose pointedly and she nodded at him as he began to speak.

'The ones left aren't worth speaking too. They are all names beneath names. Married houses.'

She furrowed her brows. It was strange to her for him dismiss such details, especially now.

For the past few days since the attack of Gallus Canavan, they had been summoning any and all nobles that had previously endorsed the man his audience with her. Corvo was convinced that the only reason the man had so many supporters was because they all had to be in on the scheme. It was an obvious logic she couldn't refuse. The signs all pointed to it of course, but after forty-two quiet (and peaceful) interrogations, they had nothing.

Almost all of the nobles were either stupidly ignorant, or so honest that they were absurdly unreliable. But all the honest and even dishonest confessions only confirmed the noble's greed for Canavan's money. Nothing had come up about wanting her dead.

Not that it would, but she and her Protector had been looking for different signs.

Corvo had been insistent on watching everyone closely, to see their reactions. He had even offered… further investigations on his own: tailing a few suspected nobles. But Jessamine had immediately denied. She feared that doing something so drastic, confronting one of them so boldly, would lead them into desperation and open treason against her.

And that might cause others to join in a rebellion against her reign.

They were in a tender time, just days after a near assassination. She couldn't just go looking for another fight.

That being said, the legal way to do things was getting them nowhere.

'I think we should stop.'

Her brow rose at his signs, his own expression looking just as resigned as his suggestion. "Stop?" She questioned. "Did you mean that? Or are you looking for the sign for 'give up?'"

Corvo didn't look amused with her.

Jessamine let her frustration seep away at his pointed expression, allowing herself to relax her stiff spine and lean against her desk. Her fingers curled against the wood and her neck hung low, heavy from the weight of her pinned hair. "Forgive me… I'm a little…" She trailed and found that she needn't finish. Not for Corvo.

Jessamine had been constantly sending her silent gratitude back to Serkonos for the wondrous happenstance that was her new Lord Protector. She had been since he had saved her life the first time. But now she had silent praises of gratitude in her own heart.

Thank the Abby for the man. Thanks the gods, the vigilance, or thank the dark magic of Pandyssia – it didn't matter. He was a steady lighthouse in fog; a dependency she was finding herself more and more comfortable leaning on.

If she did not have faith and truth in him before, she had it now, during this horrendous incident on her own soil.

They had been in each other's presence constantly. Not only for her protection, but for her confidence, surrounded as they were by suspects.

She was much more comfortable with him too. Most likely due to the late nights they were pulling together these days, alone her in her office, pouring over evidence and papers of the investigation. Jessamine had even pulled the old files on the man's original arrest which they read silently, passing papers back and forth with quiet comments.

She had never had the pleasure of having someone to speak her worries and thoughts out loud to, and the comfort was becoming addicting. Especially with Corvo's rapt attention and insight answering her every turn.

His presence was a comfort, yes. But the event itself was beginning to take a toll on her nerves.

His familiar hand flicked in her eyes, and she looked up to watch him stand. He looked her in the eyes knowingly, and tilted his hand back and forth.

'A drink?'

By the Outsider's eyes, the man was a saint.

"Oh yes—here." She stood from the desk, eyes wandering to the bottle and glasses across the room. But his hand stilled her with one wave of dismissal and he went for them himself. "Thank you."

Blissfully, she listened to the clink of the glasses against the decanter and tried not to think of various noble faces skirting questions and bowing miserably before her. She paced toward the window instead, looking out its massive view to the scant glittering of lights on the water.

She wondered how many of her people were awake this late. Working? Drinking?

Corvo returned, his fingers handing her a portion of wine in a scotch glass. She smiled bemusedly at the sight of the oddity before looking at his face questionably.

But he didn't seem to notice the strangeness of the glasses he chose and Jessamine quietly chalked it up to his ignorance in etiquette. She thought to tease him, or inform him that wine should go in a stem… but the man had already put up a fight to merely drink with her.

When she had first poured him some scotch the night before he had immediately denied it and reiterated his duty to her. He insisted on his subservient role and his formality until Jessamine had demanded it of him. It took some more coaxing until he realized she wasn't just offering. She had been requesting.

After their little exchange the night before, they had come to some sort of understanding Jessamine believed only possible because he could look her in the eyes unlike any other.

She took the wine gratefully and they both looked out the window together.

"It wasn't always like this, you know."

She could feel Corvo's eyes on her, and she waited until he took a fast swig of his amber liquid before she continued.

"The nobles loved my father. They adored him." She sighed, the hum of the alcohol already settling the stress on her brow. "When he died, they turned that adoration on me. While I was young, anyway."

She chuckled. "It was only a matter of a year until they realized I was not exactly like my father."

Corvo's free hand flickered.

'Higher wages.'

Her mouth parted, eyes narrowing in on him with surprise. "Yes… I instated a higher pay rate for hard labor… how did you know that?"

The Serkonan's warm eyes closed as he drank the last of the liquid very quickly. He was quiet, contemplating the empty glass before quietly setting it down on the window sill. He turned to her, looking a bit… tentative.

'I've read all your archives.'

"Parliament's, you mean?" She clarified, thinking of the many boxes there had to be on the actions already taken during her reign. Corvo nodded, his hand rubbing his chin as he turned away from her. She used their comfortable silence to take in the information, processing the always surprising devotion Corvo had to his job.

She felt herself smile and she nursed it with some wine.

Jessamine allowed herself to think aimlessly about the river, her father, and her people for as long as she could whilst staring at the view from the Tower. She chased away her responsibilities for moments with thoughts of what Corvo was thinking... and what his past might of entailed. She wondered what sort of political torment Rossini got himself into and if he used Corvo's skills of subterfuge to get himself out of them. Jessamine wondered if, should she ask it of him, if Corvo would carry through the order to silence those he thought accountable for Gallus Canavan's actions.

She determined that he would.

"You're right." She finally conceded. And when he looked back at her, she explained. "About stopping. It will make them comfortable."

He nodded, indicating that their line of assumption was the same.

"If we let this pass, some other evidence should come to light." The agreement was resolute between them and she gave a huff of air before she drank again. "Or perhaps the Spymaster will deal with the entire thing."

Burrows had come to them the day before, reporting that he himself and his faction had apprehended some men from Coldridge and had begun their own… investigation. Jessamine wasn't a fool; she knew when he was arranging his own punishments through torture. But apparently his method wasn't working either and she wouldn't be surprised if Burrow's suspects were dead already.

He had also expressed his concern that they should leave such matters up to him. He was accountable for national security anyway.

Corvo had privately (yet hesitantly at first) called the man an ignorant and overzealous dupe who had botched his only duty and was now blundering to fix it.

It had been an interesting sentence to watch his fingers form.

But Jessamine had agreed with him and they both wrote off the Spymaster as an unreliable source of information on the incident.

"Perhaps after my retreat from the Feast, things will have calmed down. This year seems to have reached a pinnacle." She commented, returning to her desk to set down her glass.

When she looked back up, she found Corvo signing at her.

'Feast?'

She frowned at him, straightening. "Yes, Fugue Feast?"

He seemed to consider the words for quite some time before nodding slowly. His expression still seemed slightly confused and Jessamine reminded herself that Serkonos did not openly celebrate the holiday. At least, she imagined the poorer districts would not… especially with the Abbey's presence there being nothing more than pilgrimages at best.

But before she could further explain the tradition, he was asking another question.

'Retreat?'

"Ah- the Kaldwin family has an estate in Potterstead." She explained. "Ever since my Father became Emperor we've taken to vacationing there for Fugue's Feast." She smiled a bit fondly on the thought that soon she'd be returning to the beautiful and isolated home, open doors and open winds. "My father used to say that it took away the temptation."

Corvo fingers began letter spelling quickly.

'Temptation for what?'

Jessamine tried not to look too amused at the Serkonan. Had he really no inkling? She parted her lips to explain, but suddenly she thought better of it. It may not be the best idea to inform her overactive and paranoid Royal Protector that there was an opening in the year where assassinations were inconsequential and very nearly encouraged.

Of course, recent events spurred her next words.

"Perhaps it would be best if we left for Potterstead early this year." She suggested, already determining that she would beginning planning her leave for the neighboring countryside in the morning. "It gets cold around this time, with winter coming, but I still enjoy being away from the city for a few days."

Corvo looked as if he would insist on his previous question, so Jessamine continued.

"We'd be there for a little over two weeks. That should be enough time for travel and for some reprieve from this mess." She came forward towards him. "You will of course accompany me, Corvo? During the holiday Parliament is suspended and Cromwell will visit in Potterstead to inform me of any news."

Luckily, his famous stubbornness fell away as it confronted her own. She smiled as he simply nodded, taking the small victory in stride. They were finding out each day that both of them did not let things go easily. Almost every differing issue seemed to be a challenge of who could hold their ground just a bit longer than the other.

A breath of air caught her ear, and she looked up from her hands in time to see the easiness of his parted lips and the small shake of his head.

Such a casual action from him made her pause, and she felt her own smile spread in response.

'Are there guards at this estate?' He asked, his hands as casual as the quiet amusement playing in his eyes and brow. It slowly seeped away to his more formal disposition and Jessamine was sad to see it go.

"No. Please bring what you deem necessary, though it is a considerably smaller manor."

He nodded quietly before turning to motion at the window.

'It's late.'

"Yes." She answered as she considered the heavy nightfall outside. It had been late for some time. "Thank you Corvo, for your services this evening." She appropriately dismissed, but she turned to him with a smile this time. "Please get some rest. I would see plans to leave begin soon."

He said nothing as he bowed low at her permission to take his leave for the night. And as warm as his eyes were, she was nearly disappointed as he failed to reply in any sort of way as he made his way to the corridors.

But sure enough, as he opened the doors he looked back at her and there it was.

'Your Majesty.'

Two fingers measured above his heart and then crossed to his waist. It was the most relieving salutation and greeting she had seen in the past few days. The first interaction she had each morning and the last each night since watching that Morley man bleed on her tiles.

She smiled, watching him close the doors behind him, knowing she would see the same sign tomorrow, ensuring her safety and protection.

Chapter Text

"Good day, Secretary."

Cromwell nodded distractedly at the servant motioning him through the door as he focused on balancing the stack of papers and rolled parchments in his hand.

She could have just… had them sent to his office, he thought gruffly.

Sometimes he wondered if Jessamine Kaldwin went out of her way to make matters worse for him. Considering the last few months, he wouldn't be surprised if that were the case.

He turned a corner in the tower, peering past the documents of budgets and finances to make sure no one was headed his way.

There was.

"Ah, Secretary."

Cromwell glared as Hiram Burrows paused before him. He had thought the Lord Spymaster had already retreated to his own estate, but apparently not, Cromwell fussed unhappily.

He didn't like Burrows. He hadn't ever since he had first been assigned as Royal Secretary. During the first year, Hiram had gone out of his way to ensure that everyone ignored the Secretary as the Empress' official messenger. No one had listened to his announcements of her authority and they had constantly addressed her themselves for clarification instead. It had given the Empress a sour mood and had made his job very difficult to establish.

He wasn't sure why Hiram had done so, but he did know that the Spymaster had started rumors that he was a peasant married into a rich house, which had caused everyone to ignore him.

Cromwell suspected that Burrows did not like any authority equal or higher to his own.

He also suspected that included the Empire itself.

"Can I help you with something, Lord Burrows?" He shifted on his feet, clenching his fingers around the sharp stack of papers and willing the man gone.

"Are these the planned records for the treasury budget, come this new year?" Hiram asked, his face curling in an amused smile. He sounded indifferent, but the question was too specific for that to be true.

Cromwell didn't like the way the man simply knew things.

He tsked, "The Empress filed away many papers this morning before she left."

"Of course. She has always been a vigilant and organized woman."

Cromwell glared, 'Vigilant and organized Empress,' he wanted to correct. The Spymaster's lack of decorum irked his noble and loyal core.

"Yes—"

Burrow's hand shot out to grasp one of the parchments and Cromwell felt his blood boil, feet shuffling in their place as his mind debated on yelling at the man or letting the entire stack drop to snatch the document back. "Now you—"

"Ah! It seems our Lord Protector has some orders here, as well!"

Cromwell seethed. "You are not—"

"Secretary!"

Both Parliament men froze, snapping their heads around to see Commander Dalen and one Captain Morris entering from the far hall.

Cromwell quickly took advantage of the sudden appearance, "Commander Dalen! An absolute pleasure to see you so quickly—I was just on my way to come visit you, and you, Captain Morris- also a pleasure."

Both military men looked extremely confused at his jovial address, but he continued with a hurried breath, "Our Spymaster here has our Lord Protector's orders for you while he's on leave. Feast security and such, no doubt!"

Hiram stood straighter as Dalen approached.

Cromwell hurried, "Yes, yes, just there, isn't that right Spymaster?" He asked before laughing quickly to quell his nerves.

Hiram's face fell, but he handed the parchment over to the Commander before regarding them all with a cold look, "If you'll excuse me gentleman, I have more important work to consider with our Regent absent."

The three of them watched the Spymaster exit, with only Dalen bowing to him as he went.

Cromwell took the silence to take a breath.

"Bloody hell, what was that about?" Morris asked.

Cromwell ignored the slur and continued to watch the great doors the Spymaster had exited out of as he felt a pit form in his stomach, "Nothing. Ah… well perhaps it would be best to keep an eye on our dear Lord Burrows."

Clara would never admit it to Her Majesty, but she preferred the new iron cars to the old carriages.

They ran much smoother on the planted tracks through the city. It was nice not to feel every rock and pebble the wheels ran into on the dirt pathways out of town. However loud they were, she felt more safe and controlled in them than she did now.

It took a whole day to reach Potterstead, if they left at the break of dawn, which they had.

The week since Jessamine Kaldwin announced her plans for an early retreat were filled with a flurry of preparation. Clara had to be sure that every corner of the Tower was ready for the Empress' absence and for the Fugue.

Poor Lord Cromwell had expressed to her disdain for this part of the year, to her sympathy. He would be expected to work with the Commander to lock the Tower up tight to the inevitable drunkards coming to knock in a week. Though in the past few years, the Waterlock had helped to deter such things. He would also be expected to make multiple trips to Potterstead on Her Majesty's request.

While Clara (quietly) anticipated seeing him during their stay in the country side, she did pity that the man would not be able to enjoy the Fugue himself. She had always been fond of the fretful Secretary.

Another jarring jolt of the carriage rocked the occupants inside and the Matron tightened her knees together beneath her dress to avoid hitting Her Majesty's… or the Lord Protectors.

Her eyes flickered to the Serkonan, busy as he was staring out the window to the passing scenery of meadows and trees. They had long since transferred from the iron cars to the carriage as they ran out of track further out from Dunwall, and now there was nothing but the occasional farm house and acres of land on the dirt path.

She had to admit, as much as she did not like leaving the city, and as much as she hated the long and tiring ride to Potterstead, she did look forward to the quiet retreat from the recent events. Things had not at all been the same since the attack in the Queen's court and she doubted they would ever be again.

Especially since the Lord Protector had been a second presence to the Empress herself.

Clara frowned thoughtfully. She could not recall a moment she had served Her Majesty this past week without Corvo being there, with perhaps the exception of preparing for bed and bath.

Even here, out in the middle of the country, the man looked stern and ready for action. He did not lean lazy to stare at the scenery. He sat tall from across the carriage with his back straight and his eyes scanning.

It made her uneasy and she wished Jessamine had requested the man attend the entourage of soldiers escorting them out front. In the past years, the two of them had always had the carriage alone to themselves.

A glance towards Her Majesty beside her revealed that she was not bothered by this at all.

The Empress was seemingly regarding their male companion as well, the book she had been reading up until now closed quietly in her lap.

The three of them had all been quiet the entire time, so it was strange to suddenly hear the Empress speak.

"Matron, was my horse prepared for today?"

The Serkonan seemed to start at the sudden speech as well. Clara noticed his drawn attention before she downturned her own eyes to respond to the woman beside her.

"Of course, ma'am," She had arranged for Jessamine's mare to be saddled, groomed and fed in anticipation of this very moment.

"It's seems just past noon now, doesn't it?" She asked.

"The sun appears so," Clara agreed. She knew that even if it wasn't, it wouldn't matter. Jessamine was restless; she had tended to her long enough to understand her Mistress' moods and intentions.

"I like to ride most of the way on this trip," Jessamine suddenly explained, and Clara had to look up to realize that she had turned to express this to Corvo.

The Serkonan's brows lowered in scrutiny at the Empress but his eyes did not. Clara held back a tsk in her mouth at his rudeness.

"There's a pathway for caravans near the base of the mountain, perfect for riding."

Corvo shifted, his hands rising sign in a twist of fingers before fisting at his chin and shaking his head.

'You should not ride today.'

Clara could not think of a sentence that would upset the Empress more.

"While I permit you to think only of my safety Lord Protector, I am still in authority to ignore the advice you give that I did not ask for."

The matron folded her hands closely on her lap and avoided looking at Jessamine. She had thankfully never been on the receiving end of that severe tone, though she had witnessed it often and did not envy those who deserved it. She peered at the Protector and was surprised to see him glare directly at Her Royal Highness.

'It's my job.'

Clara frowned at the man, already predicting the sharp reply that came.

"It's your job to give advice for me to ignore?"

She cringed, glancing timidly at Jessamine's profile, her sharp featured pronouncing her arched brow.

There was a gruff scoff. A masculine sound neither woman expected from the mute.

Clara turned in time to witness Corvo's brows furrow and his lips curl in a short smile. His tense shoulders gave in and his hand ready to sign chose to grab at his chin and his quiet grin instead. He looked to be contemplating whether or not to challenge the sharp woman again.

He didn't. Corvo turned to regard her again, the smile not quite gone from the curve of his five o' clock shadow.

Jessamine jumped at the obvious break in his defenses.

"If you are concerned, you have permission to accompany me."

Corvo said nothing as he continued to watch her. Clara wondered if he would have accompanied her, whether he had permission or not.

"Can you ride a horse?" Jessamine inquired further.

Corvo signed, his two fingers pulling at his opposite elbow. It was a sign that Clara didn't recognize and she silently regretted putting aside her lessons in the past week. It didn't help that the Serkonan was swift and confident with his hands, making reading them a race between her mind and her eyes.

"A horse thief?" The Empress reiterated, chuckling in surprise.

Clara frowned further. How barbaric.

"Then you should be able to ride fast."

'Yes.'

Clara looked fretfully at her Empress. She didn't at all appear upset over the man's loose demeanor or his admittance to his… uncivilized actions.

Instead Jessamine looked excited, her sharp eyes coming to pin Clara to the spot.

"Matron, please have my mare drawn up, along with the fittest steed we have in the entourage. I should like to ride with my Lord Protector."

"Yes, Majesty."

She lowered her head in acquiesce, knowing that would be no advising the woman. She was Lord Regent… and she was a stubborn Kaldwin. So without further ado, Clara pushed open the window to call for the driver and fulfill her madam's wishes.

The thundering hooves filled her ears.

Her leather gloved hands tightened around the reigns, pulling the weight of the animal's head up and to the right.

The creature followed, legs stamping tightly together in a quick turn around an overturned tree to the clear path.

Jessamine could not stop the smile on her face as the ground dipped forward and her mare shook her head wildly, mane flying in the wind with her rider's long coat. They raced downward on the dipper hill into more foliage and the Empress had to squeeze her legs tightly and lean forward to avoid the feisty winds hindering their speed. She let out a short shout of encouragement, hands palming the strength of the horse's neck, pulling them forward.

With her heart pounding as fast as the hooves beneath her, she chanced a glance backward.

The black steed and its rider tore through the forest pathway.

But the horse kicked and rose on its legs at the sudden depression of the hill and her Lord Protector tried to counter the action by grappling at the reigns, snapping them briskly to resume chase after their Empress.

Jessamine smiled fully at the sight, nearly laughing as she turned back to attention.

The ground leveled to a large flat plain, the mountains beyond unfurling into view. The sun shone brilliantly over the tall grass, shaded here and there by clouds. She took in the sight with a deep and vigorous breath.

She allowed herself to stand a bit taller in her stirrups, encouraging the mare gently by kicking her heels.

A loud whiny filled her ears, and she turned to catch the sight of the black steed's majestic head pull forward in a sudden burst of speed with Corvo leaning forward on him determinedly. He spared only an indifferent looking glance at her before kicking his legs again and rushing past them.

Jessamine tittered at the obvious challenge and snapped her reigns, kicking with a shout.

They raced, horses near matched in the storm of their legs and their riders both low on their necks.

Jessamine felt the run of air in the plains fill her from the creases in her tight riding clothing, through the strands of her pinned hair, and finally through the worries of her mind.

The sky was open and wide, wider than it ever was in Dunwall, and she took seconds in her speed to appreciate the vast brightness of it.

She used the inspiration to spur her horse on, and they began to pull in front of Corvo and his steed.

The Lord Protector was not an easy win though, and he stood forward suddenly, his jacket uniform ripping open in the wind and flapping loudly like a mast sail. She watched him catch determined eyes with her through his whipping hair.

The black of the steed's mane and the leather of his jacket in the wind looked like smoke to her.

A shout rang out.

Her mind seemed to slow as she pieced together that the shout had been from him, his mouth parted and the corners turned upward.

The sudden sight of him yelling out stunned her, and she watched him pass her as easily as if she had let him.

He got a few yards ahead of her before he let the steed eagerly twist and turn, stomping it's proud and heated feet at her mare.

Pulling the reigns she slowed them to a careful gallop, maneuvering her quiet beast up to them.

"What was that?" She shouted above the noise of their horses seemingly arguing. Shocked as she was, she still couldn't stop from smiling widely.

Corvo seemed to shrug, not bothering to sign anything to her. He simply let himself smile.

It was pleasant and contagious. He looked like nothing she'd seen before, his uniform and hair whisked askew and his face loose and amused. Corvo's dark eyes were lit by the sun, the golden brown in them making him look young, even with his shadowed chin and sculpted features.

She laughed loudly, the elation of the moment filling her and his easiness bringing her a joy she didn't expect.

His own expression mirrored hers, smile pulling impossibly wider.

Corvo snapped his reigns, kicking the childish steed into a trot. He rounded around back to her immediate side, his right hand reaching out for her.

At first Jessamine though he was trying to grab out for her arm or her hand and she felt her face flush red, a weightless sort of fear flooding her lungs.

But his hand sought out her reigns, grabbing them tightly to keep their horses together as they began to walk the rest of the fields back out to the carriage paths.

She stilled her embarrassment, silently reprimanding her assumptions.

Corvo's hand rose and she watched them sign quickly beside her.

'Let them rest.'

Her cheeks tightened as she smirked, eyes narrow, "Them or you, dear Protector?"

She watched his smile continue to part, his teeth showing as he looked away from her in a breath of air.

'Both,' His right hand brushed off.

She let her head hang backward in a loud bout of laughter, feeling strands of her hair finally let go from their fight to stay pinned.

"A horse thief indeed!" She said happily. "I don't think I've ridden that hard since my father had his horse branded while he was sitting on it!"

They caught sights again and Jessamine felt her knee knock his as her mare shook its head. She looked away, trying to calm her much too excited demeanor.

When she turned back, she caught him signing, "Say it again?"

Corvo's hand faltered. His smile had become a more terse expression and his brows drew together. As if he was thinking better of what he had been signing.

"Corvo?"

His fingers twisted in his palm, digits flashing slowly. He stared at his own hands instead of her.

'I would like a horse like this one.'

She frowned. Had he been embarrassed to ask for such a thing?

"Of course, have that one! It's yours," She chuckled dismissively. It wasn't outlandish, and he was Lord Protector, he could demand it himself, if he liked.

He simply nodded quietly and she didn't press him about his hesitation.

They were silent for some time, enjoying the wafts of wind and the great view of the mountains and sky. Jessamine could hear a flock of bird somewhere on the edges of the forests, most likely gathering to head south. Maybe to Serkonos. The tall grasses of the plains came up to their horses knees, and the sound of each sheaf parting for them reminded her of eddies in water.

She let her eyes close against the sensation of it all.

These, as an Empress, were her true luxuries.

Here in the countryside she could be closer to a woman than to a Regent.

"It's beautiful isn't it?" She asked, turning to watch Corvo glance at her before turning to regard the field. He nodded, face soft and she smiled in approval.

"My father was adamant about coming out here as much as he could. He would sometimes insist on riding the entire way, leaving the poor entourage behind and taking me out with him."

She smiled at the memories of her governess tsking, whispering about the bad behavior her father had instilled in a young lady.

Jessamine often wondered if her father even recognized that she was a woman. When she was young, she had thought that perhaps he had been so determined to have a son that his treatment of her had been some sort of denial.

As she grew older, she wondered if it was instead that he knew that her gender wouldn't matter as the ruler of the Empire. He hadn't bothered differentiating. And his talks of marriage and etiquette had been general and applicable either way.

She wouldn't say that she wasn't feminine. In fact, through her early years of ruling once her father took ill and passed, she realized that as a woman, there were other games to play than sword fighting to get one's way.

There was a soft patting sound and she turned to regard Corvo looking at her for attention, his hand rising from his knee to sign.

'And your mother?'

Jessamine stared. The soft signal for 'mother' a soft touch of the thumb to his chin, fingers spread.

"You don't mind asking direct things, do you Lord Protector?"

Corvo paused, looking away in thought. She didn't mean to chide him… but the man did have a way of ignoring even the most basic of causalities.

He looked back at her, eyes drawn low.

'I do not have the words.'

The symbols struck her deeply and suddenly she realized how daft she had been.

Of course he didn't. He didn't have the indulgence to dance around the subject with his hands. There wasn't time for frivolities in the spaces of his fingers and she doubted anyone would listen or watch him if there was.

Jessamine looked away, not wanting to show him the guilt and embarrassment at having thought less of him for something he could not be responsible for.

Instead she simply answered, "She died giving birth to my little brother, when I was eleven. He died soon after her."

She looked back at him and kept her face soft and her lips curved. It wasn't a bad memory, not really. And it wasn't a soft spot within her to avoid.

Corvo's fisted hand circled around his chest, his eyes looking elsewhere.

She huffed at him, shifting in her saddle, "Don't be sorry. I was young and I am much older now. I remember her enough to appreciate her and not enough to continue to mourn."

Corvo said nothing as they continued through the field.

Hating the depressive tone they were leaving around them, she turned to him instead.

"What of your parents, Corvo?"

His dark brown eyes seemed to regard her with his subtle surprise, brows rising slightly behind the strands of his loose hair.

"Well, if you are allowed to ask me such blunt things, then I am allowed the same courtesy, am I not?" she argued.

He looked… uncomfortable and his hands quietly signaled, 'Your Majesty,' slowly, as if he was trailing to dismiss her.

She waited, watching him as he seemed to think up at the sky, her hand patting her mare's neck lightly.

His fingers finally rose from the reigns, moving a bit unsurely.

'It is not nice to hear.'

As he tapped his ear she glared at him, "I will not be excused." Her voice dipped low, the edge of authority creeping into it.

Corvo actually sighed at her tone, shoulders dropping slightly as he began to sign.

'I do not know my father. My mother died when I was little.'

"Were you sold to the Gallows?" She asked quickly. Damn. Her mouth snapped shut when she finished and a well of regret filled her at saying the words. She was determined to be straight with him, but asking something like that… knowing where Corvo had come from still felt rude.

He didn't seem bothered as his brown eyes regarded her, but he shook his head.

'My mother gave me to them.'

Jessamine frowned deeply at him. He looked at her oddly as they continued trotting, his knee brushing hers. Finally, she urged him, "I don't understand."

Jessamine watched the lines on his expression change, his dark irises looking down at the steed's head below him. He almost looked… embarrassed.

His following signs were quick, rushed even, fingers twisting before they scraped at his cheek oddly.

'She was a –'

Jessamine leaned forward to get a good look at his face and hands, her brows furrowed. "What? I don't know the sign."

He straightened, his face looking uncomfortable as he began to carefully letter spell the word for her. P-r-o-s-t-

"Prostitute."

Corvo looked away and Jessamine felt her cheeks flush.

It would take some more time getting used to discussing personal things with her Lord Protector, she thought.

But her mind rolled the information in her head. Still, she was confused about the circumstances. Prostitute or not, to give a child to the Gallows didn't seem to calculate logically to her. He wasn't sold… which was odd, since money would be the only motivator in her mind for such a thing. Perhaps she had been in danger? Or maybe she had been ill fitted to raise a child. Having one would hinder… well, that business.

She glanced at Corvo, surprised to find him looking at her already.

She said nothing, but he seemed to understand her thoughts as his hands rose.

'Learning to kill is better than learning to be poor.'

She let the quiet motion of words settle within her.

She wouldn't know. Perhaps the stark contrast of her life in comparison to those less fortunate was what hindered her from understanding.

Had the world been turned, could she raise a child in a brothel, trading her dignity for food? Or would she sleep better knowing that child was learning to kill for what was theirs?

She couldn't answer herself and instead looked at Corvo, her closed fist circling her chest tightly.

His face softened and he shook his head, lips parting in an easy smile.

He flung her reigns back at her, his heels kicking into the steed's side making the beast's ears kick back excitedly.

She watched him maneuver the creature quite naturally and smiled when she suddenly heard a soft whistling from him. It was sharp and quick through his pursed lips, easing the steed into a faster trot.

The sun was still high and Jessamine snapped the leather reigns quickly to follow him, eager to enjoy the rest of the ride and his company while it lasted.

Chapter Text

She didn't realize this one's fragility until the blossom crumbled in her leather gloves.

The red petals on her palm were dark and rusted looking.

Like blood.

Jessamine quickly disposed of the thought, mentally and physically, as she let the now useless rose fall to the grass.

"Majesty?"

She shook her head lightly, taking herself away from the short reverie and quickly answered Cromwell without looking at him, "Come again, Secretary?"

"A whaling factory, Majesty."

Jessamine frowned in thought, trying to tie together his answer with whatever it was they had been speaking about. She crossed the grass to the opposite row of rose bushes, hands darting out to snatch a full bloom of whites.

The Kaldwin home in Potterstead was off the coast of the Gristol Isle, close enough to the cliffs of the ocean to warrant a great sea breeze and a full dose of sunlight. And despite the winter season, they had awoken today to find a very sunny and warm morning.

Jessamine had taken advantage of it, deciding to spend the day in her gardens. They were vast and carefully tended to, but with harsher snows coming soon, the blooms would soon die.

It was a sort of tradition to harvest them all for the house before the Fugue- a celebration of the year's last gift to bless the new one. At least, it was something her mother had done, and that was enough to convince her that it was something worth continuing.

Taking the heavy weight of the sharp shears in one hand, she carefully trimmed the dying leaves off the white rose before cutting it straight off. She deposited the plant with the rest of the bundle lying in her Lord Protector's arms, who was following her diligently.

Corvo allowed her to arrange the floral collection carefully and did not protest as she continued to collect more.

Cromwell shuffled behind them both, his hands already full with the first batch.

"That is, Majesty, a new whaling factory," he called after her, hoping she had heard him the second time.

She shook her head. "There are many factories already, lining all my ports."

"Yes, but this would be considerably larger. And government funded."

She paused, turning to consider him, his face cringing from the flecks of baby's breath nicking his chin. He shifted the arrangement warily in his arms.

"Serkonos has already begun its own whaling routes and there are many Gristol factories already at work. Are there even enough….whales for another one?" Jessamine doubted.

"Oh yes!" He chimed, "Many of the factories are behind on oil shipments because they simply cannot turn out oil faster than they are turning in whales. I have done much investigation into the business and there are many upstarting citizens trying to run factories without prior business knowledge. There is much profit in it, but they are simply not run well."

"And you are suggesting we construct and fund a new one?"

"Well yes, but, under a bill."

Jessamine snipped another rose and her hand lingered on adding it to Corvo's pile as she narrowed her eyes at her Secretary. "A ratified… oil factory?"

"In so many words, Your Majesty. You see, such a large business would require a lot of labor."

The wiry man tried to grin with pride and satisfaction at his subtle explanation to his bigger idea, but ended up sneezing instead.

But the idea was solid, and Jessamine allowed herself an approving smile as it all clicked in her head.

"Jobs… income," she affirmed.

Cromwell nodded, "Yes and we can determine a class restriction on applicants, to ensure all in your lower districts are guaranteed positions. "

"I will not have it be cheap labor—

"Your Majesty's standard wage will be, of course, issued. And with your treasury funding the construction directly, the profits of the oil will in turn pay the loan and the wages. You will be –

"Pulling my people out of poverty and building my economy back all at once," she smiled, eyeing her Secretary. "You've been very busy, Lord Cromwell."

"Someone must be during the Feast, Your Highness."

She chuckled and glanced at her Lord Protector, who was watching their exchange quietly, "You and Corvo both!"

Cromwell eyed the mute. The heat of the sun had long since shed the Protectors heavy coat away, leaving him with his light maroon shirt rolled up to his elbows. His long dark hair was tied loosely at his neck in a very casual manner and while his sword and gun still hung loosely at his hips… he hardly looked intimidating with a bushel of fresh picked flowers in his hands.

The Secretary scoffed at Corvo, "This is hardly work for you!"

The Protector narrowed his eyes in return, unable to argue with his hands preoccupied.

"I like the bill, Secretary," Jessamine interrupted. "You have my permission to begin writing it. The sooner I can implement it into Parliament, the sooner I can stop Burrow's bill in its place. I know my representatives will like the profit of a new factory more than listening to Hiram lecture."

"My thoughts exactly, Your Highness—Ah which reminds me. I have," It was difficult to get to his pockets with rose thorns digging into his sleeves and tulips slipping beneath his elbow, but he managed it, pulling the small envelope free and presenting it to the Empress, "news from the Spymaster on the case of Gallus Canavan."

He nearly regretted saying it as the words escaped his mouth. His Regent's expression fell quickly, her hands stopped their tending and her spine turned rigid. It was in sync with Corvo's darkened eyes and clenched jaw.

It felt wrong to say Canavan's name here in the bright sunlight of Potterstead, with both her Majesty and the Protector dressed down in light fabrics and quiet demeanors worn freely between them. He has watched the dark events of that trial strengthen the trust and bond first hand. And now it must be a reminder why the Protector carried so close to Empress to begin with.

He swallowed.

It was Corvo who took the letter, balancing his arrangement on one hand much more gracefully than Cromwell himself had managed.

Jessamine didn't bother correcting the Serkonan, waiting patiently as she turned and tried to distract herself with a few wayward blooms that were dancing in the slight breeze and dusting her skirts.

"It would seem that our Spymaster has caught the one responsible- the judge of our eastern district, Lord Errol. He was apprehended immediately. The report claims to have found evidences of treason and Morley alliances in his estate." Cromwell explained, not waiting for Corvo's signing.

Jessamine didn't seem to hear the word, as she began pulling out the specific flowers she wanted.

Corvo glanced at him, signing something quickly.

"Ah-yes, he's dead," He confirmed with an uneasy look. "Under the Spymaster's orders, he was terminated during interrogation."

Jessamine continued on down the line of bushes, both her men following her quietly without question.

Lord Errol. She remembered the man. He was old, reserved, with sunken eyes and gray hair that stuck out to one side. She had spoken to him a few times before. Not often, but not never. He had always been courteous to her, with sweeping bows and nodding agreements. If she remembered correctly, he had voted against her on some issues and voted with her on others. A fair man.

He had served her father too.

She never would have imagined the man had harbored some hatred for her.

It seemed… wrong. The man had never been outwardly angry with her during Parliament, or very opposing. He was simply… quiet.

While she had always been wary of the information and actions of her Spymaster as harsh, she had never doubted his loyalty to Gristol. Perhaps he had always been brash and maybe even a bit merciless toward those below his own station… but to have arrested such a high standing noble? Only to interrogate and then murder him?

The allegation must be true. Burrows would not make such a public declaration or a scandalous move without sufficient evidence.

She trusted her Spymaster, but Lord Errol had seemed too content to have ever done such a thing as arrange her assassination.

Then again, how could an Empress truly know the people beneath her? Truly? Behind all the polite social facades and subtle manipulation needed for simply living a court life? Was anyone's persona one to be trusted when no one would dare show their truth face to a Queen?

The thought left her with a heavy feeling that, no, she couldn't.

Her eyes strayed to her Lord Protector, who was watching her quietly and her worry seemed to dash away.

Well, except Corvo. She knew Corvo.

Suddenly, she frowned. 'That is a bit presumptuous of me,' she chided.

She in no way knew Corvo fully. There were many things about him she did not know, nor had ever cared to ask. Propriety speaking, she shouldn't ask.

But still. Errol was dead and under no doubt responsible for the incident. She trusted Hiram that much.

"So that's it then," She said; small words directed at her Protector instead of her Secretary.

Seeing a look in his eyes, she realized they must have reached a similar conclusion. No more tenseness. No more suspicion.

At least for now.

He nodded, reaching out to grasp her new cuttings, his fingers brushes hers carefully as they did so.

Jessamine made a promise to herself as he did, that she would know as much about Corvo as he would let her.

When the Secretary left, the Empress took tea on the terrace, and her servants took over putting her floral harvests up around the estate.

Her eyes lingered out to the ocean, past the small hillocks of controlled greenery and gardens to the wilder rocks and crags dropping down low to the crashing waves.

When she was younger and freer, she had often walked upon the shores, playing with sea foam and chasing after her father. She wondered if the shoreline looked any different and if the water still filled the small cavern on the side of the cliff face at high tide, or whether or not many fish still got stuck there.

Jessamine smiled quietly to herself, watching memories of a younger girl trying to fill stolen glass jars with lost fish to return to the ocean. 'Simpler times, with simpler solutions. '

The entire estate had seemed surprised when she announced she would be taking her Feast dinner in just the company of her Lord Protector. Even Corvo had seemed quite taken aback. Though she wasn't sure why. The man had been constant company.

And who else was there for her to entertain?

She had sent him away after that, insisting he take some time to himself to prepare for dinner. The dismissal had been harder than any she had made, with his dark eyes looking rebellious. His unsure hands hand hung in the air before him, loyal enough to heed her authority and stubborn enough to hesitate.

She honestly doubted he went any farther than the hallway outside her chambers.

It was a tired (and comforting) thought.

Her retreat to Potterstead this time was one of the most enjoyable since her father had died.

She had usually spent the time alone, walking the grounds, riding, and working despite being on a so-called vacation.

But instead, she had spent it conversing. She walked and rode still, of course, but she had companionship. And the novelty of such a thing was not lost on her.

Not for the first time, Jessamine contemplated whether or not she was breaking some propriety. He was her Protector, of course, but perhaps she had been too… relaxed with him. Too personable.

Quietly, she acknowledged that she was.

But no one was going to correct her.

There was a knock on the wooden frame to the inner foyer and she half expected Corvo to enter with that lost and worried look on his face.

"Clara," She nodded, the matron bowing low before emerging into the breeze of the Terrace.

"Forgive me, Majesty, but I have received a letter from the Royal Physician."

"The… Physician?" Jessamine's brows rose with genuine surprise. "I cannot say I expected such a thing," She answered and stood, reaching for the parchment and meeting Clara half way.

Anton Sokolov was not explicitly affectionate, even if she had known the man since she was small. He had always been curt with her, blunt and perhaps a bit abrasive. But his genius allowed him such things, she supposed. He was Tyvian, too, and you could not expect patience from Tyvian men.

He was also secretive and a bit of a recluse at the best of times. Despite being a part of her royal court and nobility, the man usually kept to his own estate out past her Father's bridge. Being a man of the academy kept him busy and she appreciated his services to the crown enough not to ask of his personal projects.

That being said… the man was supposed to be in Pandyssia. But the letter…

"He's in Tyvia?" She questioned aloud, as if her matron would know the mysterious behind the doctor.

'…encountered setbacks on my excursion and made for my homeland. I was ported in blasted Meya of all places, but shall arrive in Tamarak soon. I will not stay here long; I've had enough of this nonsense to last another few years. The Count boarding me is sending his men to gain permission for a diplomatic meet. Eager to court you. Please expect me in the Month of Rains. Send me ships, Majesty, or I will bring Tyvian ones.

-Sokolov'

Jessamine wasn't sure if she should laugh, or scoff. She did something in-between.

Certainly not affectionate then.

"And what, I wonder, happened to the ships I sent you off with, dear Sokolov?" She said softly, shaking the letter thoughtfully in her hand. He was sharp as always, no doubt upset he was being catered to by his home people, whom she knew he detested. (Then again, he had no love for Gristol society either.)

'The Count boarding me…'

Count who? He never seemed to supply the right information.

"Did another letter not come with this one?" She asked. Clara shook her head.

"No, Ma'am."

With an amused and defeated sigh she creased the parchment back up, taking a few steps toward the railing to watch the sun begin to descend. "Then it seems we will have a Tyvian party joining us in the new year for some time."

"Ma'am?"

"Nothing," Jessamine waved off, watching the waves glisten distantly. The last sunset of the year.

She imagined the town of Potterstead itself would be warming its fires and gathering together in its small square. People would poor in, with music playing lively from the cobblestones and people cheering nonsense behind glasses of ale.

Jessamine herself had never experienced the rambunctiousness of a true Fugue Feast, but she had always been able to hear it even across the water at the Tower, watching the lights and the hum of people from the Waterlock.

Potterstead was no Dunwall, of course, but…

She turned to regard Clara, watching the Matron already gathering the cold tea and tray from her small table.

"Clara?"

The matron straightened, daring only a glance at her face to show her attention, before looking back down. "Yes, Ma'am?"

"I would have you go into town to inform my Secretary of Sokolov's news," She informed, reaching forward to hand the parchment off once more.

Clara took it slowly, her face looking increasingly off put.

"Cromwell is staying in town tonight for the Feast before returning for Dunwall in the morning. I would have him return with the new information."

"But what about—"

"And then you may consider yourself dismissed until the Abbey chimes in the morning." Jessamine finished, not allowing the Matron to have her worried remarks.

Clara did not look at all relieved. And Jessamine knew her enough to know she was addled with the anxiety of her responsibility and duties taken from her.

But she also knew her well enough to know that the women would never dare argue.

Slowly, the matron's small hands lifted her skirts and she bowed, "T-Thank you, Ma'am."

"That's all, Clara. Happy evening to you," She smiled, dismissing her with a nod as well as with her words.

She listened to her go, watching the sun kiss the horizon and the clouds roll in with a heavy purple.

It took some coercing at first (and perhaps a glass of whiskey) but she did get Corvo to sit and eat with her for Fugue Feast.

When she had discovered the servers outfitting the dining hall for her dinner, she had immediately ordered it to the foyer adjacent her room instead. It simply was too much for only two people, she had told them.

Right before she dismissed them and most of the house for the remainder of the evening.

It was an action her father used to do as well, though it never failed to surprise everyone. They had the right to enjoy the festivities, he used to say. "And I have the right too as well, safe from others who may plan to include me in their celebrations," he would also add.

She repeated the same thing to Corvo, when the Protector had instantly objected.

Perhaps it was also the lack of chaperones that coerced him to spend his time closer to her, seated across from her on the small table.

Regardless, the room seemed cozier without him prowling it in strict dutifulness.

Her attendants had outdone themselves as usual, this year. The food was exquisite, cooked fresh and prepared with adornments of the season; fruits with cut meat and stewed vegetables with warm bread. It was pleasing to watch Corvo try and keep dinner actions subtle, furrowing his brow and slowly reaching for plates and looking like a young boy stealing dessert too early. She made a note not to tease him about his third helping.

They ate quietly, with the scent of dinner and roses filling the air of the table, and the shadows dancing from the lone candle chandelier to pre-occupy their thoughts.

When there was conversation, it was from her. She spoke quietly of memories from dinners past, with her father. She told him of the people in Potterstead, and how their celebrations differed greatly from those in Dunwall.

And finally, the holiday's other intentions came to light. And Corvo finally spoke.

'They are not arrested?'

Jessamine hesitated under his very judgmental look.

"No. Not tonight," she tried to look nonchalant to keep him reassured. "It's tradition."

'Murder?'

"It's not encouraged," Her hand tried to wave it off. "The Abbey does not tell people what exactly they are able to do. In fact, yesterday they hold a service to warn of the temptations of the Fugue and the consequences one reaps from their own actions, regardless of the law."

Corvo put his silverware down, to better speak his confusion and displeasure.

'They may murder and steal what they want in celebration?'

"It's not in celebration, not really," She argued. "It is a night of freedom, of purging without the restrictions of the Abbey or government. It's to help… oneself settle temptation with… sin."

It sounded a bit oddly justified in her mind, even without Corvo's unconvinced narrowed eyes, so she continued, "The Abbey teaches order and strict regulation of one's life in every aspect. But I think even they recognize the need for… release; a chance to commit sins in a day so you wouldn't in a year." Explaining it, she suddenly and quietly she realized that she had never actually done this. "Because of what most sins entail, and because festivities normally come with the end of each season anyway, it was sort of happenstance that it become a celebration of sin instead of an expelling of it."

Corvo said nothing, seeming to sigh strangely and reach for the decanter of whiskey.

"Does not the same thing happen in Serkonos?" She asked.

His eyes regarded her as he poured his glass.

"There is already much murder and… sin, there, is there not? They must celebrate the end day off the calendar too."

Corvo answered her before drinking. 'It's a normal festival. They drink, they dance, they kill.' He gestured and Jessamine appreciated the various signs for the words. 'But if you are caught it is still accounted for.'

She smiled, "I imagine not many of them are caught though."

Corvo's lips curled only slightly around the rim of his glass.

"Do you dance then, Serkonan?"

The sentence stilled them.

His quiet smile fell away, lips parted in surprise, hand still balancing the amber liquid filled cup.

"You must know about the rumors of the dancing there," She chuckled lightly, pinning him with a look that told him she would wait as long as she had to for a response.

His eyes looked away from hers from once, and she swore she could hear him swallow the alcohol still on his tongue.

She didn't mean to tease him, but when she saw the slightest of redness flush his tan skin she didn't regret it.

His hands moved a little less gracefully than usual. 'No. I don't dance.'

"Why not?" She pressed.

Corvo's face soured at the continued subject. Jessamine smiled wide at the sight, enjoying the rare event of his face being more expressive then she'd seen before.

'They don't teach Gallow's men to dance.'

Jessamine scoffed. "Surely you had free time to do other things than…" She trailed, ending a bit awkwardly, but Corvo was kind enough to gloss over the implication.

'I didn't dance.' His hands repeated the words twice, insistently.

Jessamine just gave him a wry smile, nodding to show she wouldn't continue to press him.

"Well, consider yourself a lucky man to be in Gristol now." She said. "There isn't a lot of dancing, and when there is, it's all very organized. Waltzes and veleta's, see."

'Except tonight.'

Jessamine's grin couldn't be denied at his own amused expression. "Yes, except tonight."

They continued the rest of the night much the same way. The Empress inquired about the traditions and habits of the Serkonan people and Corvo indulged her while being as curious and critical of the Gristol societal norms.

The breeze from the sea was let in by the open windows, cooling their conversation and easing away talk of heavier topics.

Corvo spelled things for her, Jessamine laughed, and at some point they said goodnight with a quiet bow and his two fingers measuring his heart before crossing to his pocket. 'Your Majesty.'

Jessamine nearly regretted not challenging the man to a dance… with no consequences; it wasn't like anyone in the Empire would know about it.

But from the windows of her distant foyer, she couldn't hear the music from the city square anyway.

The cold air on her wet skin made her shiver, and she hurried to return the wine glass on the marble floor before returning her arm back to the heat of her bath.

Jessamine sighed, letting that last sip settling down her throat as she sunk low into the porcelain.

Her mind was comfortably quiet, and she let her eyes close against the brightness of the oil lamps around the bath.

The silence was only disturbed by the quiet dripping of the water from the faucet, breaking ripples across the surface above her body, and distantly tickling her skin.

It was strange, the push and pull of her solitude.

The estate was all but empty, aside from a handful of guards and servants whom had been selected to stay for the protection and upkeep of her. And she was thankful—it was not often that she was not crowded by silent attendants that did not keep her company but did not quite leave her alone.

But yet… with her matron gone, and Corvo dismissed for the evening…

She let her body breathe heavily, feeling the liquor settle in her nerves. She drank enough to chase away the deeper and constant worries of her duties, but now that she was not preoccupied by her Lord Protector's shifting fingers and dark eyes her thoughts were returning to the things that needed her consideration.

She shifted, trying to chase them away with the distraction of the water sliding on her skin and splashing on the rim of the bathtub.

It had been nice enough to tend to herself, as fond as she was of Clara. She had taken advantage of the women's absence as soon as she could, once she had bid Corvo goodnight.

Briefly, she wondered if her matron had purged herself of sins. Like she could not.

She frowned.

Perhaps it had been building in her all day; thoughts of the distant festivities and explanations to Corvo. The lonely thought of having not ever taken part in something her people relished for.

Should she not purge herself of temptation on the night that it did not matter too?

'What sins does an Empress have to release?' Her mind asked.

She swallowed, and tried to think.

Wandering gaze, restless hands, lying tongue…

No. An Empress was free of almost all those things and not just because she was expected to, but because she had the privileges not to be.

There… simply weren't any temptations for her.

She supposed even if she were to run out into town in a mask and a great dress, she would waste her night away by denying things others might lavish on.

Perhaps she would drink too much. Or shout and yell and dance.

She smiled at the thought of it, even if she knew that she wouldn't.

Perhaps she would be wanton then?

She pictures grabbing the arms of men in a dance, jumping to the strings of a violin at night and throwing her body against another.

Jessamine smiled as she dipped low into the water, her hair releasing in tendrils around her, ghosting across her skin.

She ignored her thoughts against acting foolishly and just tried to imagine it. Some stranger's hands grabbing her waist and squeezing it as others twisted around them. The man's face lowering to the side of her head, pressing against it to dance slower, as she had seem husbands do to her court ladies in the Tower.

She could imagine them breathing in her ear and in the most scandalous way, she would laugh loudly and grab at their coat. Kiss them senseless as women must on the Fugue, full lips, long nose and dark eyes all—

Her eyes snapped open.

Jessamine rose, her shoulders hitting the air, hands grasping the col porcelain as she stared at the blank wall across from her.

The faucet dripped ripples into the water in time with the heavy beating of her heart, caught in her throat.

No.

It was all she could think really as her mind expelled the images in her fantasy immediately.

The Feast was not for her, and she would never… with…

He body slid, and she emerged herself, eyes blinking up through the water as it shook from her sudden submersion. Her ears filled with pressure and her nerves tingled with the shock of moving so fast.

When she rose again, she inhaled hurriedly.

When she returned from Dunwall in a few days, she should so to her financing ledgers.

Cromwell's bill would need a forceful hand guiding it through Parliament and that would mean plenty of support from a majority of her representatives. Which would mean money.

She needed it to work if she wanted to avoid Hiram Burrow's call for assigned housing for the poor. She wouldn't let her people be taken advantage of that way. And if that meant paying for a few judges to vote for her, then so be it.

She closed her eyes once more, relaxing her head and listening to the tapping of the droplets.

The thought of the necessary arrangements she would have to go through in order to have the facility built… and funded. They would need someone to run it as well…

Slowly, the oil from the lamp dimmed, and her thoughts spiraled into quiet musings here and there.

The water grew cold, and her lazy eyelids blinked carefully, her fingers tracing the surface of the water from below. Like glass.

She would get out soon and sleep. And the new year would begin in the morning with the chime of the church.

Jessamine breathed in deeply, legs tensing as submerged herself again, slowly this time.

She closed her eyes, letting the pressure settle in her ears and the weight of the water claim her head and shoulders.

Any remaining tenseness left her, an underwater sort of sigh releasing through her.

She could feel her hair waft around her like a phantom shroud and quietly, she let her mind go blank.

The dripping of the faucet seemed loud now, echoing through the porcelain like the ticking of a great clock in her Tower.

She could hear something else too.

The faint whine of…metal. Perhaps the drain?

She tried to focus on it, through the building heaviness on her stilled lungs.

It was intermittent, the sound. The whine would grow in a distant crescendo and then die.

She waited for it once more, listening as it rang like the tuning fork of a piano or perhaps the call of a ship.

It was louder this time. The ringing wailed at an intensity in her ears that made her jerk at the pain.

Jessamine's arm rose, trying to break free from the water to pull herself up and out to see what was happening.

But she couldn't seem to reach past the surface—

Her eyes jerked open, confused and alarmed as black ink seemed to fold in around her, the water dark and the light from the lamps distant above her.

The sound was shaking her now, crashing in her eardrums and screaming into her brain. She shouted, thrashed, water escaping into her lungs as she felt herself sink—

It was so loud! Like a fog horn or a whale-

She screamed again, arms crashing wildly in the expanse of an entire ocean. She could feel it crush her throat and pull her down and suddenly she had flashes of panic. Was she—dying?

Images of Gallus Canavan's dead eyes and bleeding flesh rocked her conscious and had her screaming again.

She was-she was dying—

And just like that, suddenly, two black forms reached out to her in the water, enveloping around her and yanking her to the surface.

The air hit her like a wall, and Jessamine's lungs emptied out the water inside her with frantic coughs and heaves.

The light of the room burned into her irises, and the cold air chilled her into every inch of her skin and bones. She tried to thrash, feeling as if she had just been ripped from a feverish nightmare, but a heavy weight kept her in place, thick sticky cloth trapping her body into—

"Cor—vo—"

His face came into her view with a suddenness that she sputtered, feeling wet and wretched as she stared into his dark black eyes.

Corvo looked at her with what she thought was fear in his eyes; confusion and fear.

'Jessamine!'

The sound of her name in the imagining of his voice was so shocking that she stopped trying to push away from him, her shivering and wet body stilled in his arms as she stared at him.

His fingers were slamming into his chest, above his heart, lips parted as if he were in the middle of shouting.

'Jessamine! Jessamine!'

It was her… salute… his fingers measuring his heart. But it stopped there, repeating, as he continued to thump it against his chest. She understood it, the urgency, the meaning. He was calling out for her quickly and yet… there it was. Her name.

'Jessamine!'

"Corvo—" She tried again, shivering. "I—"

She was bare, in his arms, wet and shivering and soaking through the layers of his heavy uniform. She could feel the buttons of his vest digging into her ribs and the leather of his coat stick to thighs.

Her eyes widened with mortification. Remembering the screaming in her ears and the sight of nothing but emptiness around her and yet here she was, on the marble floor in her Protector's arm. Like a mad woman.

"I—I fell—" She tried.

His black eyes were searching her face frantically, waiting for the explanation she couldn't give and the concern seemed to grow when he saw that she was as lost as he was.

He signed something above her, but it was complicated and messy, as her head weighted his other arm. She didn't respond, not understanding. But his face looked determined and more in control than the frenzy of her mind so she didn't object when he stood with her in his arms suddenly.

He kept his eyes on the door behind them, water sloshing around the marble and broken glass snapping beneath his boots. Jessamine frowned at the sound, looking down to see spilled red wine crossing the floor in the glass and water.

He must have broken it when he came in, bursting the door open..?

Jessamine pressed her head into the crook of his shoulder, arms pathetically trying to keep her body covered as he carried her back into her quarters.

He laid her on the end of her bed, looking away at the walls as he did so. Somewhere inside her she felt warmth spread at his immense consideration of her. But she felt useless, exposed and soaking her silken sheet.

Corvo's shoulders shimmed out his leather coat, the fabric thudding to the floor even as he crossed the room in a hurry.

She watched him wrestle loudly with the chest aside the bath quarters, ripping everything out of it.

When he crossed back to her, it was with an arm full of linens and towels. The concern and harshness between his brows had not lifted.

He enveloped her completely in them. The barrage of fabric tangled around her, his hands yanking them about to encircle her with them to get her dry, warm, and modest.

She pulled them around her shoulders, and her eyes looked everywhere but his face. "T-Thank you. Thank you—please, I—"

Corvo kneeled before her, arms grasping a fistful of spare linen to wrap about her exposed legs. He held her through them, bundling her as if he would help to dry her as well.

She pulled her legs up beneath her, grasping the fabric tightly at her chest. "Thank you—Corvo please."

And when he finally looked back up at her eyes, he stopped.

And she stilled.

They were quiet at first before her horror and humiliation couldn't take it anymore. "I-I don't know what happened I—I fell asleep I think—"

His hands rose, eyes serious as he signed and letter spelled with painstaking slowness.

'You were drowning.'

Jessamine stared at him. "I wasn't—I couldn't—'

Corvo just shook his head at her, shoulders tense and lips parting with a shaky exhale.

"I…I hadn't… I don't know what happened." She could feel her eyes blur the image of him before her, wetness returning to her face at the utter absurdity of it all. "I think I just fell asleep—"

Corvo shifted, a hand reaching out to touch her hand softly as his other touched his heart.

'Jessamine.'

She stopped, blinking away the frayed ends of hysteria.

'Are you alright?'

She swallowed, and thought about it. Her mind was back to her, shockingly so. And she could breath, could see, and could hear… it had to have been her exhaustion and the wine… Her rampant mind had punished her stress with madness. It had to have been.

Jessamine took the time to breathe in and out and Corvo let her.

Finally, she nodded. "Yes. Yes, I think so."

He nodded slowly after her.

"But I don't know what—"

His finger pressed against his lips, eyes narrowing.

He signed again, slowly for her and she tried to watch his fingers instead of the steady compassion in his expression.

'It's still Fugue.'

Jessamine paused, brows knitting in confusion.

'We do not have to talk about it.' His hand motioned slowly, his face cautious yet reassuring.

The realization of what he was saying came with a wave of relief. Her shoulder dropped, the wetness of her hair trailing cold droplets on her shoulder. She felt a sick weight in her that threatened a bout of tears but she kept it at bay. Still, it was important to her that he knew this wasn't what it could be.

"Corvo—I wasn't trying to… to—"

He nodded.

'I know.'

She swallowed.

He stayed like that. On his knees before her he continued to watch her as she shivered slowly to a dryer state.

Jessamine couldn't imagine what time it was. And after a while of staring at each other in a mutual understanding of confusion, she grew cold again. When she moved, Corvo started back into action, standing and crossing past her to gather the night clothes she had prepared for herself on the top of the bed and bring them to her.

She took them silently and he left her to change in privacy while he tended to the forgotten bath.

She listened to him drain the water, thankful he didn't leave completely, as she dressed. She pushed the assortment of towels he had fetched for her to the soaked mess on the carpets, looking at them forlornly and emptily.

She tried not to think of it. Tried not to remember the vivid sound of whales or the black smoke or ink that had to have been her hair envelop her in the abyss of—

When Corvo returned to her side she had managed to pull all of her tresses into a braid, wet as it still was.

He stood awkwardly in front of her, fingers fisting at his sides and eyes scanning her as if he were waiting for her to suddenly start drowning again.

"I… feel better now," She tried, hearing a bit of her normal reassurance back in her voice.

Corvo said nothing, lips tensing. Jessamine tried to smile, but it was weak and non-existent. If he was waiting to be dismissed once more, she didn't think she could manage it. Not now.

The thought of being alone again was not an appealing one, as selfish as that was.

So instead she ignored him, moving to the bed and pulling the covers back to ready herself for bed.

Corvo watched her and Jessamine tried to avoid the strange situation they were in by simply pretending it was normal. "Could you… cast the lamps off?"

He seemed to do better with something to do, as he nodded and immediately set to work.

Jessamine settled herself into the warmth of the covers, feeling a sudden wave of exhaustion take hold of her.

Corvo turned off all but one light, leaving it on the table nearest the window as he slowly returned to the corner end of her bed by her feet. He wasn't looking at her but she could tell he wasn't… avoiding her either. Eventually, he took a seat in the chair by the lamp, seeming to settle into the unspoken request that he keep his post directly at her side.

She felt a need to apologize. Profusely. And yet somehow they both seemed to be much more comfortable in their ignorant silence. And he had already suggested they treat it as an event of the Fugue. As if it never happened. Which… Jessamine was thankful for.

So instead, she thanked him.

It was the least she could do.

"Corvo."

He looked at her then, his face dark and calm in the shade of the night. His gaze still looked worried and cautious, hands restlessly moving his fingers about his knees.

The amount of gratification she had for him could never quite be spoken. But...

Her pale hand pressed on her cold lips, falling forward towards him before resting on the bed.

He said nothing.

But he stayed.

And Jessamine watched him watch her until she drifted softly asleep.

The new year came to her with a late start.

Her returned matron informed her that she had slept past the Abbey's bell toll. It was a bright and sunny morning, just like the one before it and yet completely different. She was lethargic as she woke and had prepared in a haze.

Clara did not ask about the strange state of her bedroom. And the mess was clean and missing when Jessamine readied for the day. As if it had never happened.

Corvo was not mentioned, nor was he in the chair beside her bed when she woke.

He was however, there to greet her in the hall as he had for the past month.

His eyes looked lighter than the night before and she was able to smile at him.

Everything was the same. The new year would be no different. Except...

'Jessamine.'

She watched his fingers pause and end on his heart, before falling quietly to his side.

Except it would be utterly and completely different.

Chapter Text

Seven Months Later

...

The shrouded black creature fluttered onto the fence, clattering the metal with its claws and stirring the morning air.

It cocked its head, wings snapping at its side before letting out a sharp piercing caw.

Morris frowned up at the damned crow, glaring at its noisy behavior. He reached up to pull off his officer's cap. "Foul pest," He grumbled, reaching up to swipe the air at the crow's feet below the fence and shoo the thing away.

"Get outta here! Get!" His hand whipped the cap about.

The crow's feet shifted, wings rising once more to intimidate the intruder. The cawing persisted, small black eyes staring at the City Watch captain indifferently.

Morris snarled, finally tossing his hat completely at the bird. It smacked against the metal fence and the crow lifted into the air squawking in protest before shooting past him down the alleyway to land safely in a corner of trash and filth.

"Nothing but a rat with wings, you are." He called after it.

The crow fluffed in offense, its neck elongating to shoot a nasty caw back at him.

"Captain."

Morris turned at the call of his title and was more than surprised to see Commander Dalen standing in the entrance to the back alley.

"Dalen, you bastard, what are you doing here?" He asked, a smile appearing on his face despite himself.

"I could ask you the same; what am I doing here?"

They both quieted at the prompt.

The morning sun had yet to roll in, leaving Dunwall's skies grey and pale. It smelled like shit. At least Morris thought so. But Peckham was never really a savory place to be, especially not in the rank corner of some old decaying laundry building. Even if Drapers Ward was close by.

Then again, things like this never happened in the nicer parts of town. Not often anyway.

Morris tried to delay the inevitable. "Still, to send you down here… I thought you were busy up at court?"

Dalen shook his head with an unamused expression. "No, no. There's no need for me when all that's happening is a bunch of old men pushing papers back and forth."

They quieted again and Morris sighed, nearing the metal fence to retrieve his cap. "Alright, better show you the poor fuck then."

He led the Commander down the alley, past the large bins of garbage and stepping over some broken planks from the boarded up windows of the building they rounded.

"Some woman found him when she came scrounging around for who knows what." He explained. "She made a lot of noise to some of the officers before they called me."

When they turned the corner again, Morris didn't exactly have to point it out to the Commander.

"By the Outsiders Eyes—"

The body was a looming shadow above them, eclipsing what little of the morning light there was. Morris figured the sod must have been huge. Tall and burly, given the sight he made now.

Dalen's arms rose, crossing his chest before restlessly grabbing his chin, a vision of discomfort.

The man was strung up from the clothing lines above them, arms dropped down to his side and his neck twisted awkwardly. At first Morris had thought he had been rigged up there by his coat, until he had seen the giant metal hook lodged in the man's back, curving wickedly and tied neatly on the lines. He would have thought it a case of drunkard's buddies getting a laugh out of him if it weren't for that.

Or if it weren't for the man's large top hat, tacked to his head with enough nails that the blood was pooling on the stones at their feet.

"They hung him out to dry." Dalen murmured, stepping around when he spotted the vile metal hanging above him. "Is that a whaler's hook?"

Morris sighed, "Yeah looks like it, they ones they use to drag the fins with."

"Bloody hell."

Morris shoved his hands in his pockets. "Obviously, it was intentional."

Dalen glanced at him with wary eyes of agreement.

A sharp piercing caw startled them both and alerting them to the swooping black form of a crow. It landed above them on the other line of the body, calling shrill noises and shaking the unsteady rope as it fluttered toward the body in a frenzy of wings.

Morris curled his lips in disgust as the bird made to claim the dead man for its breakfast.

"It's a message then."

Morris turned his attention back to the Commander. "Eh?"

"A message." Dalen eyed the body, stepping carefully around the seeping blood as he circled it. "Why put forth the effort of hammering the hat down if they already killed him? Why string him?"

"Because it's fuckin' terrifying?"

Dalen shook his head. "Not just terrifying. Terrifying enough to mean something. To warn something."

"What, against us?"

The Commander was quiet. "Us? We are the City Watch." He corrected. "It would be a warning to our government."

"You mean treason?" Morris asked, glancing at the horrific body with a bit of skepticism. "Someone strung up a dead man with a whalers hook and a nailed hat to speak against Her Majesty?

The crow cawed loudly above them, somewhere on the body's shoulder and Morris tried not to cringe.

"I don't know." The Commander said. "We need to find out who he is first."

Morris crinkled his expression, peering at the man's face and trying to see past the trails of dried and fresh blood streaking his face like rain.

"Cut him down."

He could taste the metal from the rim of his flask as he swallowed the bittersweet last gulp of his King Street brandy.

He had been saving it for the sight of something else, in the depths of Pandyssia.

But he supposed he would need it now, upon the sight of the Tower of Dunwall.

Perhaps he should be thankful for being back. It was preferable to being in Tyvia, where everyone asked him questions he had no patience to answer.

They were pretentious, frivolous and banal people in Gristol. But they left him alone.

It was hot. Too hot for a coat, which unfortunately he wore and Wrenhaven was weak compared to the winds of the ocean and snow of Tyvia.

So it was a reminder of his own cool and private quarters that motivated him off the Waterlock. The quicker he saw to his official return to Her Majesty the quicker he could leave to his estate. And the quicker he could finally be alone.

"I have not seen you this excited since we found you, Lord Sokolov, what a surprise."

Anton ground his teeth without restraint to show it.

Waiting upon an Empress had never been his strong suit, but after having experience waiting on a Count these past months, he found himself longing for Regent Kaldwin's quiet and reasonable requests.

He waited without word and much frustration as the Count of Tamarak and his entourage began their preparation for the welcoming procession no doubt waiting for them at the entrance to the Tower.

They had adorned themselves in more jewels and silks than any occasion deemed necessary and he almost couldn't wait to see the Count's dissatisfied face when he released that almost everyone in Gristol dressed in simple black garb per their fashion.

It would have been more of a satisfying had it not been for the fact that he still had to wait.

They made their way from the Waterlock to the bridge dreadfully slowly, made all the more excruciating by the Count's insistence to point out the visions of the Tower with amusement. He compared the Tower's weak parapets to those made from Tyvian design and the entourage laughed.

Anton scuffled faster ahead of them.

He almost couldn't muster the sigh of relief at the sight of a familiar face as they entered the gardens.

Secretary Cromwell greeted him, the rest of the procession and Her Majesty waiting in the distance on the entrance to the Tower. "Anton, it's been long."

On another day, Sokolov would have contemplated seeing the normally flustered Secretary smile for once, a sight worthy enough for a sketched study, but today he had not the eye nor the wistfulness. "Not nearly as long as I planned, Secretary."

Cromwell chuckled anyway, glancing behind Anton even as he continued walking, lowering his voice. "This is… the Count you've—"

"Count Tamir Moiseev from Tamarak." He said. Giving mercy to the Secretary and knowing full well he hadn't given them the proper amount of their pathetic societal information beforehand.

"Yes thank you-" And with that he watched Cromwell rush back to the procession to properly announce their arrival.

It was all a ridiculous parade and he felt like the ringleader bringing in a herd of show ponies.

They stamped their feet behind him as the neared and the court of her Majesty came into view.

Jessamine looked radiant.

And different, his wary eyes registered. She was in dark purples, the white of her collar a drop of paint on the muddy canvas of one of his pieces. Her eyes lifted with her smile at the sight of him, but it did not resemble the ones of his memory, the ones he could so easily compare to the child he remembered, wandering the halls outside of Parliament listening to her father speak.

She seemed to have a shadow looming beside her.

And Sokolov realized that she quite literally did, as his eyes found the roughly cut features of the stranger beside her, dressed as darkly as her and the same look in his eyes.

He frowned.

Cromwell announced him first, and Jessamine's advisers, matrons and servants parted for him to approach her, bowing curtly as she lifted her hands to grasp his.

"I can't say how grateful I am to have you back, Lord Physician."

He clenched her gloved fingers, nodding. "Yes, yes. And you, and you."

"I trust the seas faired you well?"

He scoffed with no reply.

"And your expedition?" She inquired further.

Anton appreciated her showmanship. She was full of grace and skilled in the ways of court. But he had no want to speak idle chatter with her. Not when he knew they both could have more intelligent talks without the fools watching their every gesture.

"Yes-yes—"

She smiled thinly, their eyes meeting with quiet arrangements to talk privately.

Her eyes shifted then, hands releasing him to stand with the straight back of her father and the quiet authority of her own. "Please then Anton, introduce the Count to me."

He nearly hacked. Not at all pleased with the responsibility. Thankfully, and yet irritatingly enough, he did not have to.

"Your Majesty – I am Tamir Moiseev, second family to the reign of Tyvia and Count of Tamarak." Tamir stepped forward, a blinding sight in a white silken suit wrapped in scarlet reds across his breast and waist. He was what most noble men were in Tyvia, sharp and lean, with a large nose and a thin smile. His hair was slick to his skull and his eyes were alright in utter amusement of his own very existence. Anton had grown to hate him.

Tamir moved from his entourage toward her Majesty, his fingers flaying in the air as he spoke again, cutting off the potential words from her parted mouth. "Might I say, Empress; that Dunwall commits utter treason against you by keeping your face locked away in a place such as this. I would have any man arrested in my own city for even suggesting an idea."

The quiet that settled over the Count's flourish was pronounced by Jessamine's slight raise in her eyebrows.

Anton stared at the Count with unreserved judgment and disgust, not that he had expected any less behavior than this. He only looked away to watch Jessamine reply, gracious and polite as always.

"I don't think I have ever been complimented so impressively, Lord Moiseev, I'm more than flattered."

"Oh no, no, no, my Queen, not flattery!" Moiseev hurried, stepping quickly up the stairs to snatch up her gloved hand.

Jessamine's shoulder's tensed in anticipation at the sudden and surprising advancement, almost as quickly as the sudden hand on her shoulder. Anton's brows rose in confusion as the tall uniform clad man at her side grabbed at her, looking down upon Moiseev from behind her. The count continued obliviously, no doubt unaware of the actions happening just behind Her Majesty's back.

A glint from the corner of Sokolov's eye drew his attention and he watched the man finger the silver hilt of a gun in his belt.

"I mean only to bring fact into conversation. No beauty in Tyvia ever goes un-praised."

Sokolov ignored him, and the kiss he pressed on Jessamine knuckles, much more interested in the hesitating hand of the stranger and the potential of a pistol bullet being shot into Moiseev's head.

But the moment passed when Jessamine gave a chaste laugh, shoulders dropping in a relaxation that the quiet stranger followed. His protective hand falling to his side.

Sokolov crossed his arms, strangely disappointed and equally intrigued.

There was talk of a dinner held in the Count's honor and the honor of Sokolov's return. Jessamine ordered her house, to of course, tend to all her guests needs. She spoke of alliances and hospitality before dismissing herself to matters and duties that needed her attention.

Moiseev called after her with hope for a long stay and much more conversation.

Sokolov watched her walk up the stairs alone, save for the dark shadow of a man just one step behind her.

And when the procession dispersed, his wary eyes locked onto Cromwell's retreating form.

"Not so fast Secretary—I think there is much in the Tower I seem to not remember and I seek enlightenment."

"No-no—do not let him—"

The door clicked open despite his near shout at the servant to stop it.

The pathetic boy looked back at him in fear and anxiety, even as he continued to announce the guest. "L-Lord Protector to see you… "

Hiram Burrows tried not to snarl, watching as the tall form of the Serkonan entered his office with quiet steps.

The servant wasted no time in escaping from his dire mistake, slipping out of the door and leaving the Spymaster alone with Corvo Attano.

It was a situation he had taken painstaking time to avoid.

"Corvo!" He greeted, straightening his back and clasping his hands behind him. He circled around his desk despite the irritation of having to leave his more important work to… engage an addled fool. "A pleasure."

Security measures needed his full attention, especially now that the Lord Physician was back. He had plans to make for Dunwall's own good and efficiency. Plans that needed extended thought and privacy. And Sokolov was his key.

The woman was refusing to see him. The Empress had declared it best not to take audiences with him just after his second bill had been denied.

Parliament was well under way with her damnable whaling factory. He had given that fight up months ago, even though she obviously thought him childish enough to still be hurt about it.

But now she was not seeing him at all. She denied his requests for compromise and any proposals for new ideas. He had not even gotten an audience with her in over a month. Worse, he had lost all favor from the other representatives. They all feared he would try and put a stop to the factory, in which they would all profit.

He had no leverage in court at the moment and while it seethed him, he could work around it.

There were other things he had control of, other things he could ensure. So long as they were under the guise of his own department of security, he could do as he wished.

So help him if the damned Protector was here to try and put a stop to that too—

The Serkonan eyed him with something akin to exasperation, but said nothing as he offered him a rolled parchment.

"Oh? Only a delivery boy today Corvo?" He questioned, not bothering to stop his amused smile at the thought. "No conversation to entertain me with?"

Corvo said nothing, and his dark eyes did not show reaction to the jibe.

"On the table, please." He directed. "If that is all I will insist on my immediate privacy as there is much that calls my attention."

Corvo shifted, as if considering the act of being stubborn and insisting the parchment upon him.

But he simply stepped forward to the large desk and placed the roll down quietly.

"Thank you, now please—"

Burrows nearly spit in repulsion at the sudden sight of Corvo's hands rising, words curling about his fingers and dark eyes looking at him intently. There was purpose there and almost immediately, Burrows turned his back on him.

No—he was not a peasant and he would not submit himself to a situation beneath him.

"As I said, Lord Protector, I am busy with matters—"

He heard Corvo's footsteps begin to interrupt him and took precaution against the man rounding on him by crossing the room to his shelf of brandy. From the corner of his eye, he watched the Serkonan continue to sign. "—matters that supersede anything else."

It didn't matter. The fool could gesture dumbly all day.

For so long as he didn't look at him, Corvo had no voice.

And no choice but to stay silent. As he should.

Hiram listened to the heavy silence as he poured himself a small tumbler of strong alcohol. The glasses clinked and he clenched the glass until finally, gruelingly, there were footsteps of the Protector leaving.

The door slammed with the bang of a gunshot, the wood rattling with unspoken rage.

The Spymaster sighed, turning to the now empty room.

"Damned mute."

"Oh—forgive me—"

"Sorry—"

"Just—sorry—"

Jessamine looked up at the scene, watching her matron Clara nearly run into her Secretary at the door of her foyer.

Cromwell flustered, his hands full of papers waving almost comically as he tried to move around the matron without touching her.

Clara's small mousy face flushed a harsh red, fingers curling tightly around the silver tray full of lunch dishes and silverware.

"Ah—" Cromwell tried, the strangest and sheepish smile coming about his face as he tried moving out of the doorway to give way for the woman.

Clara left, watching him watch her go.

Jessamine stared unabashedly.

It wasn't the first encounter she had witnessed between the two.

Her small and petite matron seemed to be having several such happenings each time her Secretary came calling. And Cromwell himself seemed more and more stressed when arrived and the woman happened to be present.

It had begun after Fugue Feast.

Once she had noticed, it didn't take long to narrow down the obvious. If she recalled correctly (and she did) she had sent Clara to Cromwell with news on Fugue Feast.

And that's why she did not ask.

Not that it was her business anyway.

So when Cromwell tittered into her foyer, she simply glanced away and addressed him indifferently. "You are here with word from Mr. Hamish?"

"Y-Yes I am."

She slid open another ledger on her small writing table, raising the one she had finished reviewing next to her head.

Corvo retrieved it without question, handing her another that she placed gently at her side, ready when she was done with the current one. A constant presence she need not question at her side.

"Everything checks out, Your Majesty—every last number." Cromwell strode in front of her, taking a seat in the chaise across from her. He glanced up at the Lord Protector at Jessamine's side. "Good day Corvo."

She didn't have to look up from the records of her treasury to know that Corvo signed in return.

"No deficiencies? Not in their lumber or their transportation?" She questioned, finally directing her harsh analyzing gaze on the man.

Cromwell gave her a helpless expression of puzzlement, reaching across the space to hand her his own stack of financial records. "Nothing –everything seems accounted for."

She huffed, eyes searching the papers for some answer she couldn't seem to find for weeks. "That's impossible – it is not this expensive to build a factory."

"Perhaps it is, Majesty?"

Jessamine dropped the papers to the table, her hand massaging her temples.

The bill had been approved, ratified, and set into motion. She had all of Parliament riding on her coat tails. Everything had gone smoothly in the funding and projected plan for her government whaling factory. She had been hopeful, excited even, to finally have something reliable to give her people and her nobles. Work, profit, a raise from debt.

And now she was seemingly making debt.

"They've been in construction for four months—they are milking my treasury dry." She stated, staring at the ink with contempt. "At this rate this project is going to cost more than it could turn a profit. I will owe funds—"

"I understand—"

"I will not sit by while I am cheated, Secretary."

"No, no of course not." Cromwell flustered, leaning forward to point at the records. "But- perhaps this is a small setback. The funds over a few years of business should cover the expenses."

Jessamine shook her head in frustration. "I will run out of the budget to finish construction long before that is possible."

The Secretary seemed to deflate and Jessamine took a moment to close her eyes.

Stressful.

The months had been stressful. Perhaps not as stressful as the search for a Lord Protector and the circumstances after finding one… but the near year seemed to present new challenges to her. Ones more political and complicated. She had to become a businesswoman now, and quickly.

"Perhaps… This matter would best settled after the dinner for the Count and Lord Sokolov. Tomorrow maybe?"

It wasn't a reminder Jessamine appreciated, though she understood Cromwell's want for a different topic.

The Count of Tamarak was an entire matter Jessamine couldn't seem to wrap her head around just yet. She had doubts of the man's intentions to visit Gristol and too many questions for her Lord Physician to make a sound judgment on the whole situation.

Tamir Moiseev had taken her completely off guard this morning, with his presence and his strong advances.

No – before she dealt with him, she had to deal with this.

"Summon Mr. Hamish for an audience."

"He has already come twice to explain to you the details of his expenses on building."

Jessamine glared at Cromwell and his exasperated tone… but he was right. Hamish was curt and unamused by her pushing. And his last visit to seemingly 'reassure' her worries had left her angry and dissatisfied.

She could demand to go to the site herself.

She dismissed the thought almost as soon as she conjured it. Doing something like that would require informing Hamish she was to be making rounds. He would simply coddle her on his territory instead of hers.

Something was wrong though. The entire amount the construction was spending was shady and suspicious, and Hamish was too quick with his words and excuses for her to believe him. Her funds were running dry and he seemed to have every reason to convince her that it was necessary.

No. She would have to visit the factory site unannounced.

Which was impossible, really. There was no such thing as a Royal going anywhere as a surprise. Not even with the smallest entourage possible.

And even if she somehow did end up in front of Hamish without warning, demanding explanation – he would have the same scripted excuses ready. And what did she know of running a construction site to call him wrong?

She would have to go unannounced and not as the High Regent.

"I could summon him again if that is your wish." Cromwell called to her through her thoughts.

Jessamine glanced up at him and shook her head, an idea forming quickly in her mind. "No-…no your right. That won't be necessary."

"Majesty?"

She turned in her seat, eyes looking up to pin Corvo's eyes with her own.

The Protector met her look with furrowed brows, having been quietly listening as he stood at her side, a stack of ledgers in his hand. But now he stared at her attention equally, jaw tensing in anticipation for whatever order she was about to give him.

"I have a better idea." She whispered.

Chapter Text

"The sailor, of course, was confused. He asked the whaler what he meant by 'docking' the girl."

Jessamine raised her gaze, eyes drifting from Count Moiseev's amused expression, to the back of the dining room.

Corvo's tall form wavered in the corner, pacing quietly along the length of the wall. She watched him intently, following the curve of his spine, the length of his neck, and the smooth expanse of his hand as he raised it. His fingers fisted casually as he neared the large oak doors.

He paused, rapping the door quietly as not to disturb her formal dinner.

"The whaler explained that all good women, like good whales, must be admired from above."

That was twice this evening. Meaning Corvo had ordered his second post rotation to the outside guards. Meaning it was nearing 11:00. Jessamine shifted her back aching from the tall chair and her shoulders stiff from keeping her posture.

Corvo turned to face the room once more and seemed surprised to see her watching him. His brows furrowed in question, as if waiting for a command.

She merely smiled softly at him.

"—Ha! The whaler then continued to explain—"

Corvo's hair was getting longer, she noted distractedly. Despite the lazy tail on the back of his neck, some strands still fell forward to frame his face. She had mentioned it to him a while ago, but he insisted that the matter was trivial. She had chalked it up to men being unnecessarily stubborn about their hair and decided not to tease him about the scruff on his chin either.

There was a clatter of glasses and a shout of laughter, making her snap her attention back to the Count.

She quickly smiled wider, chiding herself for not paying attention to whatever he had said last.

The company along the length of her table was lit with laughter. It was a small sea of faces, swarming her mind with noise and movement. In the midst of it was the Count on her direct right, teeth gleaming with the sharpness of his smile.

On her other side Anton Sokolov scoffed gruffly, drowning his obvious dislike for the joke (or the Count) in his brandy.

"Have you ever been out on the water's, my Lady?"

Jessamine caught Tamir's eyes, and frowned quietly.

Since she had met the man she couldn't quite place the oddness of him. He was very tall, as tall as Commander Dalen perhaps, thick and lean. Muscles robed beneath crisp and spotless white suits. His hair was dark and curly, kept as slick as possibly with tiny ringlets interrupting the air. He had a pronounced face, with dimples in face that made his cheekbones protrude and smile look bigger than it was.

She couldn't deny that Tamir Moiseev was handsome. He certainly wasn't a bad looking man. And he wore his foreignness well. But there was something else about him that somehow… disconcerted her.

Maybe it was his eyes. Deep set and yet pale. They were flashes of the barest green in silver, staring right back at her.

A bit impolite, but he was Tyvian. A noble one.

"You mean sailing?" She answered, making sure to not get too distracted again.

She tried not to mind the twenty other conversations flying about the table. Or any eyes that drifted toward the two of them talking.

"Of course." He nodded; those dimples making his smile twist upwards like a cat.

"I have."

"No, no—I don't mean those monstrous boats your Navy escorts you on. I mean something more romantic. Something quieter, smaller…eh…" He trailed, looking away and lifting his chin as if to help himself remember a way to describe what he meant.

He smiled suddenly, leaning forward onto his elbow, Tyvian accent curling around the deep vowels of his words. "Something more intimate."

Jessamine kept her smile demure, looking away to push idly at her wine glass.

Anton sneered on her left. "Those measly things are impractical for any sort of sailing."

Tamir simply laughed and barked across the table. "Not all of us want to go gallivanting to Pandyssia!" He glanced at her again to share his mirth at the comment. "I'm sure the Empress can appreciate something of luxury, something to use to watch the waters at moonlight. No?"

The question of agreement was aimed at her and she gave her best curt smile, bowing her head. "It sounds lovely enough."

"Much more than enough, I assure you." He corrected, leaning in over his glass. "And I find it a shame that a woman of your caliber has not yet been."

"An Empress rarely has time for such things." She amended gently.

The corner of Tamir's mouth lifted farther, showing a flash of his canines. The taunting expression somehow made his brows look longer. "And why not?"

Why not?

"As a Count I'm sure you understand some of the responsibilities one holds with a high position—"

He shook his head, still grinning like she was saying things he predicted she would say. And when next he spoke it was quieter, perhaps quieter than Anton or any others would here.

"I can better understand that longing feeling you must have for something of your own and not others."

Jessamine's lips closed, caught in his gaze as his brows rose.

He let out a breathy sound, raising his glass and gesturing it at those around them.

"Everyone has their hobbies. Their escapes."

Jessamine shook her head, her mouth putting together her responses for her even as her mind stalled her thoughts.

Where was this coming from?

This dinner was a formality, a celebration for the return of her Lord Physician and to show gratitude to the Count who had housed him. She'd had many dinners like this before, with various different delegates and ambassadors.

And yet all night this… count Moiseev of Tamarak had been nothing but forward. He was a growing presence that insisted causalities with her. Keeping her eye level and addressing her like some friend he seemed to think he already knew.

And now he was asking about her desires?

She glanced around the table to find no one looking at her end of the table.

No one but Corvo.

She crossed eyes with her Protector before looking back at Tamir.

"As Empress my hobbies are my people." She insisted back, with her trademark court smile.

"Ohhh." He groaned at her, souring his expression amusedly before chuckling. "Come now Empress Jessamine—"

She frowned at the sound of her name, parting her lips to protest but he simply smiled and continued.

"—you may be the Woman of all the Isles, but you are still a woman."

She wasn't really sure how to reply. And a heavy feeling in her gut twisted her insides as his grin faded into something smoother.

He lingered before turning to bark again at the Lord Physician.

She tried to let out a subtle breath and carry on, listening as Tamir prompted another joke.

Her mind was alight with suspicion, but she tried to crush it.

Now was not the time to let the reckless impolite gestures of some Tyvian Count sway her attention from her own problems. She had a whaling factory to oversee, funds to arrange and corruption to kill, before she turned her eyes on foreign matters.

Besides, he was probably harmless. Boisterous, maybe, but it was the Tyvian way. She tried not to dwell on it.

Her gaze drifted back to Corvo, who was still gazing at her like a man in wait.

She smiled at him again, nodding for reassurance.

He nodded back slowly, reluctantly looking away and continuing his walk about the room.

She watched him, calming herself at the sight, even as Tamir's words stirred in her mind.

You are still a woman.

The dinner ended with the Count's dismissal and the air of the room seemed to grow calmer with his leave.

Perhaps it was the sudden lack of a crowd, or perhaps it was the sudden lack of formality, but Jessamine heaved in relief all the same.

Corvo closed the doors once more after having signed orders to the posted guards to take leave.

Sokolov was the only one still present and he brought his fingers through his beard with a tired sigh to mirror Jessamine's.

"I escape the insanity from damned Tamarak only to bring it here."

Jessamine gave him a pitiful smile, "I have long heard about the humors of the Tvyian people—but with only your countenance to compare it too..."

He gave a shadow of a smile, thick brows lifting and a cough of a laugh escaping him. "The first mistake was that one, Empress. I'm not like my people."

His mood grew a bit sourer as he continued. "The second was inviting the Count, and the third was accepting his attentions."

She let herself glare at him. "I did no such thing. You were the one whom showed up with trail of royals behind you. And I must accept attentions from all my people."

He grumbled. "He's courting you."

"Excuse me?"

"Tamir, Jessamine, he's courting you for your hand to marry." Anton spat. "Why do you think he came?"

She shouldn't have been stunned but she was. Jessamine shook her head. "He's expressed only that he wanted to see Gristol—"

"And he expressed to me that he wanted to see to making you a married woman."

"That's absurd." She commented quickly. Glaring at her Physician and leaning back in her chair. Her face felt hot from slight embarrassment. How had she not gleaned as much? The way he had been flattering with her.

Flirting.

Her expression soured uncomfortably.

"Bah!" Sokolov exclaimed, reaching forward to snatch the brandy decanter. "He's an idiot and a braggart. The sort of man that was reason why I left that damned continent."

Jessamine sighed. In a way she was slightly relieved. At least she had her reason for Tamir's antics. Courtship was one thing, but at least it was not worthy of suspicion. "Well until he announces his intentions properly, his courtship won't be recognized politically."

Sokolov laughed at her. "So diplomatic." He shook his head. "He will, I assure you."

She met his gaze with his amusement. "That's not what I want to talk about with you, Lord Physician ."

Corvo rounded the table, coming to stand closer behind her and Anton's eyes looked up distractedly at the Protector.

"I had hoped… we could talk privately." He suggested, glancing at her before looking pointedly at Corvo. "Alone."

"We are alone." Jessamine declared, her eyes not wavering from him in the slightest.

He grumbled once more before shrugging. "I suppose we are then."

"Here." Shifting, Anton leaned slightly out of his seat, rummaging around before revealing a box that must have been left beneath him.

It was small and wooden, the burnt-in label on the top of it easily recognizable to her.

"Here—the ones you like."

He slid the box to her on the table and her hands caught the corners of it as she smiled warmly.

"Corvo? Is it? Well Corvo you haven't seen something impressive until you've seen the Empress burn down a cigar." Anton called from his seat.

Jessamine flustered, turning on her shoulder to address Corvo even as she opened the box. "No-no not often."

Sokolov laughed. "A whole double corona!"

Corvo's right brow rose high, eyes looking back at her perplexed.

She raised her chin, determined to keep her pose despite her Protector's dubious look. Her cheeks flushed under his scrutiny. "Not at all. In fact, I simply enjoy the smell of it. It's the only thing that makes me smoke."

Anton hummed. "Well then, let's smell a bit of it."

Jessamine passed one of then to the Sokolov, rolling her own between her fingers.

Corvo denied one despite both their insistences, but offered a sharp dagger to cut their caps. Sokolov lit them with a stray table candle and it wasn't long before the heavy smoke settled around the dining room.

Jessamine exhaled quietly, lids low as she watched the smoke twist into the crevices of her hands. It smelt like the burning wood of her fireplace, with hints of nut and pepper. And it was the smells that pulled her mind to ease, rather than the hay like taste on her tongue.

It reminded her of horseback riding with her father, through the forest with the taste of trees in the wind in her lungs, or the heady smell of parchment and ink on his desk.

They were quiet for some time, until Sokolov finally spoke.

"I wasn't even there more than a month."

Jessamine blinked up him, the smoke making his furrowed face look hazy. "Pandyssia?"

He huffed, curling white showing his dejection. "I was in Tyvia for nearly eight."

"What happened Sokolov? I sent you with almost a fleet of ships."

He glared down his long and sharp nose, hands flicking the ash from the end of his cigar onto the lacquered wood of the table. "The damned wind happened."

"Wind?"

The room seemed to grow as deeply quiet as his downtrodden mood. She barely felt Corvo move beside her as he continued.

"A storm like I've never seen before in my long, long life. We were nothing but a day away from the continent when it came out in the middle of the morning, right out of the sunlight. Dark clouds pouring right out of the sunlight like something had burned on the waters."

He shook his head. "It blew us around like puppets for two days. I had four ships when we finally docked. Most had gone to the waters, or the wind tore right through them like paper."

Jessamine's eyes grew large. "Four?"

"We landed with more than half our supplies gone and less men. It was a damned nightmare." Sokolov seemed to forget about smoking, eyes glassy as he remembered.

"And we landed in heat. The storm came and went like it didn't exist and we were suddenly sweltering in heat on the coast. We had little food and water that first week before we made contact with some… local garbage! Men who refused to help us. We yelled back and forth everyday trying to trade. They didn't want us there. There were fights, squabbles, until we were all sleeping with pistols at night."

"They were killing your men?"

"If they weren't, the blasted animals were. Dogs the size of deer! O the damned fish!"

"Fish?"

"It would have been fascinating if it wasn't so frustrating. There were fish with poison quills, sticking my men on the lakes as they tried to cast lines for dinner for dinner, or they would simply jump up from the waters to claim them on the shore or the docks. A fool would die every hour by them."

Jessamine glanced anxiously at Corvo, who watched Anton with intent confusion.

"When we finally set out, finally went into land to start the expedition, everyone was almost dead; sick from the heat or scared paranoid by the primitives there. Many of them went mad from the sounds of the place. The screaming birds… It was impossible to discover anything with so many things going wrong… We had to leave… we had no food, no water."

"I'm… so sorry Anton."

Jessamine fiddled her thumb over the end of her cigar, the loose paper brushing her nail. Her brow worried quietly and they spent the next moments in silence.

Still… there was one thing she had needed to ask…

"Lord Physician… please… what about…" She swallowed a sick hurt in her stomach. "What about Delilah?"

Sokolov shoved his cigar to an end on the table, an indignant gruff pouring from his mouth. "What about her?"

Her brows furrowed worriedly. "Is she… ?"

Anton turned to meet her gaze, a frustration and disappointment there she didn't comprehend. "No. She's not dead."

"Then what—"

"She stayed."

"In Pandyssia? But why?"

Sokolov stood from his chair, shaking his head angrily. "I don't know and I don't care. She was always a foolish girl who wouldn't see reason."

"But—"

"Ask her yourself if she ever comes back, Empress."

His curt declaration was so cold that the room seemed to empty itself of the warmth from their companionable time and the heat of their smoke.

Sokolov dismissed himself not soon after.

"Nothing could be more unacceptable than this!"

The Secretary tensed, his face twisting into an unbearable grimace at the sound of Hiram Burrow's shrill voice escalating in the hall behind him.

It was too early in the morning to deal with this man. By the look of the sky from the drawn curtains, it wasn't even past morning tea.

Maybe if he was lucky, a guard would stop the Spymaster before he had too.

"Cromwell! Is that you!?"

He blanched, unable to prevent his heels digging into the carpet as he turned to watch the livid looking Spymaster barrel towards him.

"A cease and desist! A cease and desist!?" He nearly barked. His fingers curled abusively around a parchment that he wove in the air like an offensive dirty rag.

"Lord Burrows – a pleasure to see you—"

"That damnable mute of a man dropped off a cease and de—"

"You watch your tongue! That is the Lord Protector you're talking—"

"I won't have it!" Hiram snapped, stepping so closely to Cromwell that his vision was engulfed by the man's slowly reddening skin and his glinting eyes. A smell of gunpowder and turpentine filled Cromwell's nostrils, souring his expression further and repelling him away from the angry Spymaster.

"Will you calm—" Cromwell tried, raising his hands to defend his personal space.

"I will not!" Burrows and his anger kept coming, thrusting a finger to Cromwell's chest. "And I will not have this nonsense! A cease and desist of any and all actions taken by my faction! He can order no such thing of me!"

Ah. Corvo must have delivered his missive.

Cromwell sighed, pushing Burrow's accusing finger away from him.

"He didn't. The Empress did. It's her orders." He tittered, almost satisfied with the growing hate in Hiram's eyes.

"This is not something she can order!" The parchment was almost a ball of trash now, crushing under the might of Hiram's frustrated fist. "A Regent she may be, but this is tyrannical! She is not allowed to order me to stop work of my faction! The Royal Spymaster is responsible for the good of the entire reign of the—"

"Her Majesty worries that the work in your division is targeted to deter her political agenda and the bills she puts through parliament! Which you know is treasonous!"

"I told her in Parliament days ago that this is not true!"

"After you also denied revealing whatever projects your men were working on!"

Burrow's slight chest seemed to blow up with the hot air reddening in his face. The words on his mouth ground out. "It's classified! It's all classified! That is the damn point of being the Spymaster!"

"Hence your cease and desist." Cromwell pointed out, eyeing Burrows with a look of slight bemusement. "Her Majesty has no way of knowing what you're up to unless you disclose the information." He straightened, not at all minding the way Burrow's was beginning to deflate. "So you can either send in your records, reports, and all information to your current dealings, or you take a cease and desist until the remainder of the Empress's season agenda is finished."

"She can't…" Burrows trailed, his protest ending in an accepting and disgusted growl of a sound.

Cromwell brushed his collar straight, moving to the side of the Spymaster. "Now if you—"

"I demand an audience with Her Majesty—"

Cromwell shook his head. "The Empress has taken a religious day to renew her personal Everyman Vows. She has ordered no one to disturb her or the northern wing except the Lord Protector. No audiences or servants."

Hiram's face couldn't get any more perturbed or furious. "Everyman Vows—? But it's a Tuesday!"

Cromwell's shoulders raised in a near shrug as he made to leave the man, plainly ignoring the Spymaster's shaken and boiling form.

"An Empress does not have to explain herself, Lord Burrows."

The shirt was a man's.

Or it had to be.

It wasn't fitted properly.

Jessamine pulled on the sleeves of the blouse, the entire fabric shifting on her body and not quite settling the way a woman's blouse should. It was large beneath her breasts and the looseness of it made her uncomfortable.

It was maroon in color, though the dye seemed to have faded considerably. The tone of it didn't really match her brown trousers either, but she tucked it in all the same.

Still loose. But, she supposed that was what the suspenders were for.

She tried to keep her confidence as she lifted the straps hanging at her sides, pulling on their buckles to tighten them. It did a good job of cinching the shirt smaller and the pants fit well enough.

It really wasn't a convenient way for a woman to dress.

But women of lower classes couldn't afford tailors, could they?

Her fingers clenched nervously and she avoided looking at herself in the mirror across the room. She didn't need a reflection to show her how silly she looked. She felt that well enough. But Corvo was waiting in her sitting room and she couldn't delay them any longer.

At the door she paused, lips pressing together and brows worrying.

Wasn't this foolish?

She had been so resolute on her decision, despite Cromwell and Corvo's wariness. But it wasn't until now, dressed in this garb and about to face her Protector that she felt…

Would he laugh at her?

Immediately the question was gone. Of course he wouldn't. It was Corvo, he would never.

And she was the Empress.

No one would dare.

With that solid thought she threw open the door, stepping out with all the confidence she'd had this morning. This was the only way she could see for her own eyes what was going on with her factory. The only way she could rely on her own information and make her own judgment without others manipulating her. Jessamine had to go to site herself.

She raised her chin high, trying to pointedly ignore her Lord Protector as he turned to face her, his eyes assessing her from top to bottom.

"We should leave soon," was all she said, stepping forward.

Corvo didn't move and she was forced to watch him as his amber eyes lingered on her frame. His head tilted quietly and the soft intensity was enough to break back at her nerves.

"What? Is it not convincing?" She touched her blouse cautiously, hating the sudden insecurity building in her. Had she put something on wrong?

"Cor—"

He stepped forward a little suddenly, eyes trailing up to her face.

Damned gods, he was always so penetrating with that gaze. Her lips shut tightly, looking up at his tall height and feeling a heat rise to her cheeks. A heat that she recognized as one that came across her face more and more recently.

It was almost as if he was embarrassing her—intimidating her. Perhaps it was his utter silence as he gazed at her, though that had never really bothered her before. Somehow, lately his looks had… scared her? No scared wasn't the word. She wasn't frightened of him… she was-

Jessamine was about to shift instinctively away from her Protector when his hand rose to pinch at his ear lobe pointedly.

'Heard.'

Jessamine frowned in confusion, her embarrassment forgotten. That didn't seem right. It wasn't a sentence certainly. Maybe he meant 'sound?' Though that was still odd.

"Heard what?"

Corvo Attano looked confused for a second himself, before a beautiful and amused smile spread across his lips that he tried to shake away with a 'No, no, no.'

He stepped forward, nearly a handshake away, and Jessamine felt her heart constrain at the sudden proximity despite the looseness of her clothes. The heat in her cheeks was back full force and if it wasn't her trust in Corvo that kept her still, it was her shot nerves.

His hand reached up, almost laughably casually and his rough fingers came up to fiddle with her ear. The sound of his fingers on her skin coupled with his heavy breath on her face was enough for her to jump away, hand reaching to reclaim her ear.

"What are you-!"

Her earrings.

Air whooshed out of her in realization and mortification even as Corvo motioned to his own ears again with a casual and timid smile. She kept it hidden, blinking up at him and trying to ignore the thumping in her chest. "My earrings? Too—too noticeable?"

He nodded.

"Of course." She agreed, quickly fingering the small backings of the jewelry. She turned away, playing with the shining diamonds in her palm before setting them on the small coffee table.

What was wrong with her lately? She glanced warily back at Corvo, half worried she might find herself locked in his gaze again.

Perhaps she had taken too much stock in his eyes, as he had no voice. It was unsettling, that was all. Surely.

Corvo had crossed the room and now began returning to her with a hat in his hands. It was similar to the ones she had seen some officer's wear, rounded and flat with a short bill.

Like with her earrings, the Lord Protector simply came forward to place the cap upon her head, pushing her pinned up hair down beneath the fabric. He seemed satisfied to see her face covered by the bill and her elegant hairstyle ruined.

Jessamine thought to protest to him being so nonchalant about his space. But this was Corvo. She trusted him with such things.

And there was something… comforting and warm about the action, even if it did seem to unsettle her nerves.

"I can't say this is very fashionable." She commented.

Corvo was already looking away from her, checking his own person for his supplies. He signed at her indifferently.

'No women wear their hair up where we are going.'

She could do nothing but agree as she had no idea otherwise.

Jessamine pushed and pulled at the cap. Feeling considerably under-dressed and out of her element. Corvo at least somehow looked himself. He wore a button down shirt, dark grey and vested with simple trousers and a long coat. They were dirty, and nowhere near the grandness of his Protector coat, gilded in gold as it was. Yet he still looked… right. Handsome.

Quickly glossing over her thoughts, she tried to focus on the business at hand. "How exactly will we be leaving? With the entire staff thinking I'm retired for my Vows—"

He shook his head, replacing a covered knife in his boot before straightening and crossing the foyer room to the large windows.

She watched patiently as he began unlocking the hatches and somehow wasn't surprised when he pushed it open and then motioned to her to come to him.

Through the window. Of course.

"Corvo- we are, very high above the ground, aren't we?" She asked, already knowing they were near the top of her Tower. She crossed the room to him anyway.

He didn't quite shrug, but the movement was still indifferent. He straddled the window sill and she could see his feet touch the wide ledge outside. It seemed to lead out to another, curling around parapets and moldings. It was no garden path, but it looked wide enough to walk on.

She frowned further. "Isn't there some other way?"

Corvo simply watched her, looking comfortable there, halfway on the ledge. The sun was already nearing its pinnacle. The shine of it seemed to make the clear blue skies more vivid and she could see straight out to the clear water's surface. It would be a nice day.

Distantly, she looked out to the city of Dunwall across the river, a stack of chimneys pouring little plumes of smoke, darting the blue expanse in puffs of grey.

Corvo's eyes shone up at her, glints of white in gold from the glare of the window pane and sunlight.

His and rose up in an offer to take hers.

Jessamine only had one more reluctant glance outside before she slid her fingers into his palm.

Chapter Text

Dunwall's waters were dark, even in the bright sunlight of the day.

The surface would shine a deep blue, but you couldn't look through the opaqueness of it.

Jessamine's eyes roamed over the mass of Wrenhaven, before once more looking worriedly at Corvo from beneath the humble hat she wore.

The climb down was not as terrifying as she had anxiously imagined. Instead Corvo had led her from the Tower's upper ledges to a set of grated metal stairs which she had not even known existed. A route apparently used by patrolling guards, who coincidentally, weren't anywhere to be seen as they made their quiet exit from her world. They had walked the path, descended down another stair built onto the rocky cliffs below the Tower to the shore, where a secreted boat had been readied.

And now they were sailing out towards her city across the wide waterway, the buildings along the river's edge a grayed out mass spanning out towards the ocean.

Directly across from them was her industrial district, Jessamine knew, pinpointing silhouettes of company buildings she recognized. There were other boats about, large fishing ships and small vessels carrying merchants along the river, all much closer to the city than they. But Corvo was veering their boat east, the loud motor of the whale oiled engine whirring highly as they turned towards the bay.

The whaling factories, or Slaughterhouse Row as her people endearingly termed it, were on the very edge of Gristol's waterfront. The factories lined her ports, with huge freight ships carrying the hunted whales back from voyage.

Whaling had been a part of her kingdom that Jessamine simply had not took much stock in. The companies themselves seemed to do fine without regulations. It was a steady business, and there didn't seem to be any problems in its system. So long as the oil kept coming to her city, and everyone was taxed accordingly, there had been no reason to look twice in its direction.

But now here they were, sailing out on the river in the bright sun to her government issued factory, hoping to install something, anything that would help move the process along.

As far as how exactly she and Corvo were going to do anything except look at the factory from a distance, she didn't know. Jessamine hadn't really planned this…excursion. She had only known that she needed to come out and see things for her own eyes, unencumbered, and free from lies and coddling.

The sun hit her face with reflections off the water, striking it with light and heat. She raised her hand to block the glare, and saw the ocean in its entirety in her framed view. Corvo faced outward towards it in front of her, his loose hair flipping in the wind.

Jessamine tried to let herself relax in the surroundings. This was a simple enough outing, there would be no need for nervousness.

She only hoped they would find some clue.

"Corvo… this… doesn't seem to be an authorized passage…"

Corvo didn't take them around the Waterfront. Instead they veered into a narrow canal a few blocks before the shore. The channel was dirty and cramped between the back ends of two streets and towering buildings casted them in harsh shadows. The boat squealed when they entered, grating against a broken and sunken metal fence that seemed to have once closed off the area.

He said nothing, standing to shut off the engine and lean on the edge of the boat to shove his foot on the fence, releasing them to sail further in.

Jessamine shifted nervously in her seat, fingers curling on the damp wood at her sides. "Corvo." She tried again, looking around at the dirty water, litter lining the walls. "I… don't think we are allowed to dock here."

Her Lord Protector paused at that, still standing to push the walls of the building and guide them slowly past. Corvo looked down at her a bit oddly, almost humorously, his brows furrowing in confusion and his mouth twitching.

Jessamine felt her face grow hot as she stared at the expression.

His hands left the wall to sign.

"Not allowed, Your Majesty?"

She flushed, looking away to release a huff of dissatisfaction at his teasing.

And to steady her seemingly racing heartbeat.

Corvo guided them further in and Jessamine kept her eyes on the high walls. The street was about three feet above them, and in between buildings she could spot glimpses of street lamps and signs. There were shouts in the distance and barks of a restless dog somewhere closer.

Perhaps it was the wall, and the dark and cramped canal, but Jessamine felt small.

Her clothes were much too loose, making her feel undressed, improper. The cap on her head limited her vision and her hair was falling from its bun down her back. It felt like walking out into the Tower halls in her nightgown, or something equally absurd.

She knew it was part of the plan, but she wished she could have been more properly dressed for visiting this area of her city. Surely people wore more layers than this when walking through… dirtier areas?

Corvo stopped them in one of the gaps between buildings right below the street's ledge. He tied off the boat to a few pipes before crossing over the seats to assess the height of the wall.

She continued to sit, not quite sure of herself, and watched as her Lord Protector placed his booted foot on the ledge of the boat. He bent his form a little, hands rising.

Corvo rocked back only once before pushing off into a jump, both hands catching the bricks. Jessamine held tight onto her seat as the boat lurched on the water from the force of him leaving. "Corvo-!"

His elbows were already pulling his entire body weight up the wall, legs pushing until his knee caught the ledge and he stood.

Jessamine rose shakily as the boat swayed between both walls. "Corvo—"

The Protector turned, hands brushing over the leather of his jacket before he kneeled, a hand reaching out toward her, pointing finger rolling back to himself.

"Come here."

Jessamine's eyes narrowed instantly.

Corvo's gaze fell a little flat at the expression, his hand once again rolling in the air.

"Come, come."

Her shoulders rose and her displeased expression didn't leave. She was reminded of their time in Karnaca, almost a year ago; running through the city, climbing down rusted pipe ladders into sewers and sitting on an old dusted and dirtied cart.

Her life seemed to have gotten more... diverse with Corvo in it.

Somehow her trust in him always seemed to outweigh her discomfort though, so she stepped carefully over the wood seat to get to the ledge. Her hands rose and his fingers immediately grasped hers, yanking her forward and tugging the boat with her. She wavered nervously, but before she could try and find her footing, her feet were suddenly in the air.

She made a small and restrained noise of fright as her legs kicked against the wall and Corvo pulled her up, hands sliding down her forearms and taking her weight in his arms.

She was on the street in seconds with her head tucked very close to his chest, hands clasping his forearms.

Jessamine breathed in heady leather.

Her fingers flexed in the crinkles of his jacket, eyes fixated on the fabric of his shirt. With the hat shading her face she could allow her gaze to wander across the expanse of his chest, the wrinkles forming there, stretching across him.

His fingers rolled down her arms to her elbows and Jessamine felt her breath slowly fill her stomach. A lightheaded-ness filled her, making her unsure whether or not he had actually set her down yet.

But then he was pulling away, glancing down at her casually before releasing her entirely and turning to scan the street around them.

Jessamine's fingers curled into her palms, nails scraping her skin to shoot pins and needles through her nerves. The back of neck was on fire with heat and she tried to scatter the vague images flitting through her head.

She must have been more anxious about this little plan than she thought.

Feeling ridiculous, she tried to gather herself back into her focused demeanor, ready with a curt nod when Corvo asked her if she was ready to keep moving.

They had to walk a few blocks before reaching Slaughterhouse Row.

The streets were rank with the smell of fish and oil, which also layered the stone streets in dampness despite the high sun and dry weather.

They kept to the smaller side streets, only crossing the main road once to get further into the city. There were many people out; laborers, workers and merchants.

When Jessamine first spotted a group of labor men smoking at the corner she had instinctively drawn into Corvo, looping her arm through his and holding her head high. The Lord Protector had to stop them in their tracks and extract her from him several times, hushing her with his fingers, "Too formal, too formal."

She was trying not to cling to the societal norm, but it was hard to kick the feeling of impropriety from her mind as she walked unceremoniously, arms swinging. He had let her hang onto him in Serkonos, but perhaps it had been because they had been on the run and she had been terrified out of her mind.

Her trained mannerisms also challenged her resolve to be inconspicuous; manners reminded her that a Queen should not waiver her gaze from her destination, but her curiosity wanting to stare desperately at her people.

Men, women, old and young seemed to all be busy working. She watched as they hauled boxes from carts into buildings or haggled with each other over a box of cigarettes at a corner shop (which was nothing but a chair surrounded by boxes of fruit and canned fish.)

There were children running about beside them on the street, little boys pushing past Corvo and yelling up the buildings to their friends leaning out windows. The smacked rocks at each other's feet and laughed, but Jessamine kept worrying at their closeness to the harbor. Wasn't it dangerous? With lumber and oil being crated back and forth? Were they permitted to weave through the adults drinking and smoking in the daylight?

It was loud too. A consistent whistling came from the bay with accompanying horns signaling ships coming in or out. She could spot the tops of the whaling factories from the street they walked down, billowing steam and hissing over the city. The noise coupled with the talk from the people and the barks of dogs, it was all a little overwhelming.

Jessamine's hands fretted as she followed Corvo, trying to keep her eyes strong in front of her, trying to imagine she was being escorted as usual. But she couldn't help grabbing at the hat on her head, yanking it to in fro to stop anyone from recognizing her.

Which is when she noticed the staring.

They stared at her.

Corvo and Jessamine's pace was brisk, and so was everyone else's, but they would look right into her eyes, even if only in a glance. It was unsettling – and not allowed. Technically, to look in her eyes was rude and nearly treasonous.

But she wasn't the Empress to them. So they looked, unabashedly.

The women didn't. After another block Jessamine noticed that all the women kept their heads down, seemingly unconcerned with those around them. But the men looked right at her, walking by her. They seemed surprised to find her looking back at them too.

One man caught her gaze and for a moment she thought he recognized her with the way he looked down to her shoes. But then he lifted his head in a nod at her and smacked his lips together loudly as they passed, the noise rattling through her ear and making her feel queasy.

Around the same time, Corvo silently pulled her to walk in front of him.

Soon, the amount of passersby dwindled and the smell of the ocean began became stronger. The buildings dispersed into the harbor and the tall whaling factories loomed before them. An expanse of cement outlined the factories courtyards, surrounded by tall wire fences lined in barb.

Jessamine neared the fence before them, looking down its length to each end of the harbor.

Seagulls raged loudly in the sky, diving into the courtyards where fish remnants lay to rot in the sun. The yards were littered with pools of oil, working tools, hoses, cranes and carts. They were alive with work and men, clattering the air with noise.

All except the one before them, that is.

"This one is mine?" Jessamine asked as her fingers rose to curl on the wire fencing.

Corvo stepped next to her, bringing an arm above his head to lean against the metal. He nodded.

The building in front of them had no roof. The foundation of the construction was there, bricks had been lain and wood flats fitted for windows. The yard was covered in crates and boxes, building material and sacks of dirt and mortar. The yard itself was still dirt, mechanically combed over and dug up, leaving new piping exposed.

The entire site was plastered with notices of construction.

It was by far the largest plot on Slaughterhouse Row, and the furthest out towards the sea. Prime location, as she had chosen. Even the building looked close to the blueprints she had filed over.

A horn of an incoming whaling ship blew over them, and Jessamine peered over her half constructed factory to the neighboring one, watching as dock men scrambled over their port to take in the ship. Even the yard on the opposite side was busy with fishing men hosing down their tools and loading carts to exit their fenced area.

Jessamine frowned.

"Where are all the men?"

Corvo shifted, looking down at her from his lazy position against the fence.

When he didn't answer she asked again a little more urgency. "Where are the construction laborers for my site?"

The Protector turned away from the empty production before them to rest against his back, crossing his arms over his chest and looking down at her quietly.

She looked away from him to scan the area.

The site looked abandoned. Work had began and progressed, obviously, but it must have been halted. There were shovels still lying in ditches and pieces of trash littering the bricking area. Surely there was work to be done? Hamish had shown her the logs of daily work and expenses just yesterday. And she had instated he hire from her lower classes – they should be working full wages, full days, full weeks.

Why were they not working now?

There was a gentle pat on her shoulder and Jessamine read Corvo's hands before he walked away.

"Follow me."

They encircled the fence, walking around its entire length and slinking between the fences of their factory neighbor. The workers there didn't seem to notice them, or perhaps they didn't care.

Corvo led them closer to their building, the spiked and barbed fence meeting the brick and cutting them off from a smaller building attached to the half made factory. Most likely it was a foreman's office. Jessamine grabbed the fence once more, bringing her face close to see through to the door.

"Do you think there is an authority on duty we might talk to?" She asked trying to look through the wooden planks covering the office windows to no avail.

The fence she held wobbled jarringly in response and Jessamine turned in time to catch her Lord Protector's booted foot scale the last bit of fence as he perched up on one of the spikes, the barb whipping quietly at his legs.

"Corvo!" She stepped back hurriedly, head snapping around to the factory beside them. "Corvo—wait—if someone sees—Wait!" She urged. Wanting to shout yet apprehensively reserving her tone to a harsh whisper.

Corvo ignored her, his head lifting to focus on the outcropping of the second floor. There were a few iron slats jutting out to support an outdoor landing that had yet to be built.

"Stop! Come back down—there could be someone-!" She reasoned, shifting the weight on her feet anxiously, her heart a flutter. Nervously her eyes roamed the yard again, spotting nothing but stray gulls and a distant elderly man near the main street. She snapped her head back to him. "This is trespassing!"

Corvo jumped suddenly, making Jessamine take a step back into the building beside theirs. The whole fence clanged back and forth in protest as the Serkonan latched onto the iron slats, legs swinging beneath him.

Jessamine circled restlessly, watching in anxiety as her ridiculous Protector lifted himself into the factory. He stood, turning to her, arms once again rolling toward himself just like they had back at their docked boat.

"Come here."

"Absolutely not!" She snapped, tipping her head back to glare at him appropriately.

Corvo's shoulders fell, his hands signing with an obvious impatience.

"Your Majesty," His fingers hit his heart and his hip, "Please come here."

"I will take no part in your illegal activities!"

"Come here."

"This is trespassing!"

"Against you?"

Jessamine's jaw snapped shut. They stared at each other quietly.

"You wanted to come." Corvo's brows knitted together in a pointed manner, matching the slow and almost emphasized gestures of his hands. He looked more resigned than upset. After a few more beats of silence he looked almost amused at her sudden cold feet.

She felt her cheeks heat, looking at the stitch in his very subtle smile. A strand of hair kept kissing the corner of his mouth, loose and shading his structured chin. Jessamine's bottom lip curled under the sharpness of her teeth.

She glanced once more to the street to distract herself from his face.

Corvo's hands moved again from the building above her, catching her eye.

"Stay here."

"Wait—"

But Corvo was already moving fast, arms steadying his body on a beam high above him as he ventured into the construction site.

"Corvo!" Jessamine tried to take a step back to see him from below, but she lost sight of him as he continued inwards and instantly her anxiety increased tenfold.

Her feet unconsciously took her backward, her spine pressing against the building behind her. Her crossed arms tightened as she waited, eyes scanning the un-built floors above her for Corvo's silhouette.

Was he daft? He couldn't plan to just leave her there. He wouldn't.

Her lips pursed tightly together, expression trying to find a hard enough glare to wear when he showed his face again. But when her lips ached a bit from holding her anger she turned to look at the street instead.

Jessamine could hear the men from the nearby factory, shouting and working. The clang of metal and the cries of seagulls filtered through their racket. She shifted uncomfortably, alone in the abandoned factory courtyard. Her hands clenched at her arms, eyes glancing at the place where the Lord Protector had been.

What exactly had she planned by insisting on this silly excursion? What could she have hoped to accomplish without an entourage or her Secretary? Without authority to her name? Couldn't she have sent Corvo alone to report back to her?

This was obviously a mistake.

More minutes passed uncounted under her quiet paranoia.

A passerby rounded the corner, a working man with a sack of burlap over his arm and a whale lantern in his hand.

Jessamine's back went ramrod straight, eyes wide under her hat as she tried to look in command, hands clasping before her. In seconds she realized that was all wrong – suspicious. She should be acting like a worker. Her arms dropped and she leaned forcefully onto the wall, swallowing nervously.

How did one stand casually?

She forced herself not to look over at him as he passed.

What would she say if he noticed her? Perhaps if she instantly commanded his compliance and revealed herself, that would be the easiest way. Or perhaps she could act as if she were here on Hamish's orders?

But the man was already long gone.

Her shoulder's relaxed a little and her eyes glanced over the ledges where the Protector had disappeared.

What if Corvo had gotten caught? Or hurt?

The thought squeezed at her chest. She had been foolish not to follow him when he offered.

Jessamine stepped forward to the barbed fence, hands reaching out to grasp its metal wiring.

Corvo had scaled it very easily… It couldn't be that difficult. She only needed to get to the barbs and then, with some reaching, she might be able to grab the beams.

Her eyes darted over the wiring, her foot placing itself in the squares experimentally. She huffed down at the flimsy footing. The fence bending at her weight.

This was absurd.

A jarring thud had her jumping in her skin, hands squeezing the fence to hold onto her breath as her voice caught in a harsh gasp. Her mind raced as her eyes snapped to the office door of the factory.

Someone was coming, she had to hide—

Corvo's form emerged from the office, eyes glaring up at the brick dust falling into his head from the door frame as it shuddered open.

Jessamine sighed with exasperation. "Don't be so reckless!" She instantly chided.

Corvo said nothing, leaving the door open behind him as he walked toward her.

"Be careful—if someone sees you inside the lot—"

He stopped just before the fence, the wires blurring away in her vision when he got close enough for her eyes to focus only on him. She watched as he raised a booklet in his hands, shifting to gesture at the office.

"Did you find something?" She asked, instantly forgetting their public predicament.

He nodded, flipping the booklet open and stepping closer to the fencing to press the pages on the metal.

It was a ledger.

Jessamine was instantly immersed, coming close to press her fingers on the pages. A catalog of hours was depicted in front of her, the neat handwriting clear and organized. Numbers separated into columns to mark names, time, day, amount, a quantity of hours…

"I don't understand." She spoke out loud. "Turn the page."

Corvo complied, but the new information only confused her more as she read haphazardly through a fence. "These are hourly wage logs… but it's recorded that hours have been worked today and tomorrow…and all next week."

Jessamine's chin rose with puzzlement and growing frustration. Her eyes looked over the lot, empty save for the gulls feeding on litter between bricks and dirt. "But then where are the workers?"

She continued to read and Corvo flipped another page for her.

These forms were filed for a number of personnel for the next month. Not only that, but the forms for their payments were already filed as finished transactions. "There are receipts for hours well into the next month—"

The explanation was already stitching together in her mind's eye. She glanced up at Corvo through the fence.

"They have money already doled out for work not actually being done for months. They're getting paid for nothing."

"Could it be so simple?" Jessamine scoffed, arms crossing with irritation, stepping close to Corvo as they passed by a few woman in oil spattered clothes.

They had left the factory once Jessamine had stated that she had seen all she'd needed too. Corvo had put the ledger back and locked the door up, returning through the factory to meet and lead her back through the city.

In short, she believed she was being swindled.

"I've been fooled by paperwork? Is that all?" She glared at nothing, not quiet seeing the people around her, the men staring or the buildings and their inhabitants. "Hamish thinks it would be that easy to manipulate the crown's treasury?"

Corvo glanced down at her but didn't comment. He walked at her side this time as they made their way back toward their docked boat. She felt more at ease now that their goal had been achieved and they were headed back to the Tower despite the displeasing revelation. Corvo had proved, as always, efficient and reliable.

She sighed almost tiredly. "That must mean no one is getting paid then. There would be no other reason to lie about the progress unless they were taking wages for themselves. The laborers must not know about their fake hours."

Why was it always so difficult? With each turn she took trying to advance her people's prosperity she was met by their own greed. Was Hamish really that selfish that he was not satisfied with his own payment he had to take all his laborers too?

Jessamine sobered as she realized the answer to her own question.

Of course he was.

"I'll have to call for the Secretary on my immediate return. I want the whole thing apprehended. Hamish and his foreman… anyone involved."

Corvo met her determined eyes with his own reserved ones. Her lips frowned at the sight of his silent expression, something between compliance and empathy.

"Thank you, Corvo." She said suddenly, stopping there on the street. "For…"

His eyes caught in light. It was after noon now and the sun was descending into its more golden shade. It lit up the amber flecks in his dark eyes and colored his skin in the tones she remembered on the day she had met him. He looked a lot like that in this moment, like the Assassin Hand of Lord Rossini, here to save her.

She smiled in a quiet way. "For everything. For this."

Corvo shifted on his feet, eyes flickering above her head and the people around them before looking back at her. He kept her gaze on her before nodding, slow and deliberate.

Her smile threatened to grow and she looked down at the stones between them to stop it.

His hands moved and she looked up to watch his words.

"Stay here, let me ready the boat."

With that she realized how close they already were to their little canal.

"Please, yes." She said manners and etiquette instinctively saving her. She nodded at him, watching as he looked her over as she stood on the corner of the street before retreating. She made to show that she would not move, stepping backward toward the buildings behind her.

She wasn't nervous this time as he turned to leave. He was only rounding the corner to prepare their vessel for the return trip. And this time he wasn't trespassing.

Jessamine closed her eyes momentarily, chiding herself on the dependency she had on her Protector. She had never needed to cling this way to Essen. It was a little pathetic and undignified… but quiet flashes of Gallus Canavan's milky dead eyes were enough for her not to feel embarrassed by it.

Distractedly she watched a few children loiter on a porch across the street from her as she waited. She smiled as they mussed each other's hair, her hands clasping together thoughtfully.

A sticky sensation made her frown, and she found black grit and oil on her fingers. The dirt patterned itself on her hands in squares and Jessamine tsked in memory of the damned barb fence. Her fingers rolled at the filth to no avail and she glanced around in irritation only to spot a few steel canisters of water on the porch beside her. They were full to the brim with cloudy water; sitting almost thoughtlessly on the steps beneath the house's outcropping. Something for clearing the dirt of the stones perhaps?

Mindlessly she approached the canisters; pushing away a few cups sitting on one of the rims, she dipped her fingers into the water to rub the grime from her hands.

"FUCK! Get yer' fuckin shit hands outta there!"

The yell reverberated through her bones, propelled her feet backward in fear, water spattering at her face and arms as she yanked away from the porch.

A man, his face red and contorted yelled at her from the other side, his broad shoulders pulling back as he rounded the steps toward her.

"What in seven fucks do you think you are doing you whore!?" He shouted, the anger in his eyes stilling the words in her throat. He was coming at her fast, his face moving in anger like clay melting and hardening into rock.

Jessamine scrambled, wet hands grabbing at her shirt as her feet kicked and toppled over burlap sacks. She faltered, knees buckling as she nearly tripped. Her hand shot out to steady her on the corner, but the man kept shouting, and she couldn't get herself to react.

"Plea—"

"Well bitch!? I'll have your fuckin' hands for your fuckin' disrespect! Fuck you—"

"I—" She fell, her feet catching something behind her as she tried to put distance between them.

Hands grabbed at her shoulders, catching and yanking her back to her feet and into arms heady with the smell of leather. Corvo.

Her Lord Protector instantly enveloped her in one arm and gestured harshly with the other at the man.

He was shouting too, she realized, even as she curled her arms and shoulder's into his chest. She pressed her cheek to his collarbone and listened to the roar of sound from his throat.

Corvo yelled, not words, but shouts of defiance as his arms waved the man off who still screamed at them.

"A fuckin' Serk! OF COURSE! Dirty fuckin' Serk – I'll have your lil' bitches head for wiping her dirt in my water!"

Corvo's fingers curled into her waist.

He pulled them back further and Jessamine saw as other people began to stop and watch. "Corvo please—"

The man stopped advancing at them, but Corvo kept them moving.

"Get the fuck outta here, you dogs! Take your whore back to your corner in the fuckin' ghettos! GET!"

Corvo threw a few other gestures at the man before he turned them quickly, their pace nearly a run as they hurried past the corner to the canal.

Jessamine's entire nerves were shaken. "I-I-don't understand I didn't—"

He hushed her, one arm still curled around her form as the other pressed to his lips.

So much anger… he had been so enraged! She had never experienced something like that. No one had so much as raised their voices at her before… and she was certain this man would have smacked her.

"Are you okay? Are you hurt?" Corvo was suddenly asking her.

"N-No, no I'm fine. I'm fine."

Corvo was gentle with her as she shook, lowering her body into the boat. She sat quietly, feeling like a petulant child who had been smacked with a ruler in the Abbey.

It wasn't until he had kicked and guided their boat out of the canal onto Wrenhaven that she tried again.

"I didn't… I hadn't done anything to…" She shook her head, looking up at her Protector for answers.

Corvo's brow furrowed at her in obvious confusion. He let his foot hold the whale-oil engine down as his hands signed.

"You ruined his drinking water."

Jessamine almost laughed. "No-no I—"

Corvo shook his head and she realized that her Protector seemed confused by her actions just as that man had been.

"I-I just washed my hands."

"In his drinking water."

"It was dirty! Don't they have pipes in their own house for—"

Corvo was shaking his head again at her, his eyes looking out at the river.

Jessamine went quiet, looking down at her hands. Drinking water? It had to have been collected by rain… it had been murky and held by dirty metal. She thought of the drainage system within her Tower, and the water in crystal glasses that adorned her table at every dinner.

"The pipe water isn't clean enough?"

Corvo glanced over at her before signing once more.

"There are no pipes there."

They were quiet for the rest of the ride home.

By the time Jessamine had changed, her own crisp clean clothes tight on her body and her hair rearranged to a neat bun, she had recovered considerably.

She took time to fold the humble commoner clothes carefully and store them with her own wardrobe as if it were another ensemble.

The Tower was a welcome relief from the day and she took her time readying in her quarters to enjoy the security it promised. Their climb up its walls had been uneventful and considering the events of the morning it was hardly intimidating.

When she exited to the foyer Corvo was waiting on her, the familiar gold trim of his Protector's coat highlighting the lines of his frame. His hair was pulled back too, in a loose tie.

That pesky hair still touched the corner of his mouth though.

Jessamine allowed herself a polite smile at him. "I should thank you for indulging me today."

He raised his head, stepping close to meet her in the room, hands meeting at his back like an attentive solider.

"I know you weren't enthused by the idea… for reasons… I understand now."

That was as close as she would get to apologizing for the adventure, they both knew and Corvo's eyes softened in his expression at the words.

She let the quirk in her lips lift. "But I think we can both agree that it did answer my questions. I expect you to be there when I send a force to bring Hamish forward to answer for his misguided actions."

Corvo simply watched her quietly.

"Still. I'm grateful." She ended in a near whisper, and her eyes kept his.

For a moment she let the thoughts of the corrupted whaling factory and un-regulated sewage utilities drift from her mind.

He was handsome. She let herself think it, her eyes tracing down his face to his throat.

He was strong and reliable, smart and loyal. He led her expertly to where she wanted to go today, helped her in her trust to find those faulting her, and he caught and defended her in her ignorance.

Corvo was undoubtedly a very good Lord Protector.

But he was also very handsome, with a wit hidden between weaving fingers and a kind reverence in his eyes.

His company was a relief to her nerves and his face a relief to her gaze.

Jessamine would name him a friend first before she named him a soldier.

Her eyes blinked rapidly at the thought and she suddenly didn't know what to do with herself, standing before him, thinking him handsome and dear.

Her tongue darted to lick her lips and she watched as his dark eyes flickered to follow the motion.

"You should go and see the patrols are reinstated to their posts." She said suddenly, breaking his gaze from her lips to her face. "I would have things back in working order, and I have much to discuss with the Secretary."

Corvo's head bowed.

"Your Majesty."

Jessamine turned away quickly at the gesture, fluttering her heart as it was. "I expect to have Hamish detained no later than tomorrow morning, if I can help it. You can be dismissed until after I have that arranged."

He left, with soft steps and a click of the door.

The shut of it made her close her eyes.

This… this was troublesome.

This… attraction? No. It couldn't be that-

Jessamine let out a breath, only for it to catch as a knock sounded through the room.

She turned, expecting Corvo, or irrationally; the shouting man from the streets.

But it was only Clara, looking in with an inquisitive expression. "Are you free from your prayers this morning Ma'am?"

"Matron." She smiled, motioning her in and relaxing. "Yes I am, actually. I'm glad to see you, for I would have you fetch Lord Cromwell for me. I would very much like to speak with him." Jessamine turned back to her foyer, crossing the room to her desk. But when she didn't hear the affirmative right away, she sent a glance back to Clara.

The woman was quiet, holding the door handle unsurely with red filling her cheeks.

"Matron?"

Clara glanced toward her timidly. "Would you mind if I passed this command to one of the posted guards Your Majesty?"

Ah.

Jessamine forced herself not to smile, remembering the awkward and odd foot stepping and stumbling words between the Secretary and Clara. She had nearly forgotten about it.

It… would be rude to comment on, considering their statures and the circumstances and yet…

She let herself smile. "Is Lord Cromwell's presence that distracting these days?"

The woman seemed to recoil in humiliation and Jessamine almost felt bad until Clara gave a polite smile.

"No, it's just as they say, Your Majesty. Out of sight, out of mind." Clara said. "And hopefully then, out of heart."

Jessamine smiled at the reply, keeping her Matron's gaze before nodding to relieve her. "Go then, pass on my summons and have brunch sent up to my quarters for my appointments."

"Yes, Ma'am."

It wasn't until much later that Jessamine let the words roll around her thoughts.

"Out of sight, out of mind, out of heart."

Chapter Text

Commander Dalen set the coins on the bar and slid the two pints into his hand, heading back to the small round table in the center of the pub.

Morris pushed his cap up, taking one of the drinks from him gladly.

"So a lieutenant of mine tells me you've been out with some lady." Dalen said.

The day was crawling along towards sunset, and they had been patrolling for questions for hours. And interrogating uncooperative and disgruntled Dunwall citizens was about as fun as the Commander remembered it. He never imagined he would be back on city streets, but here he was. He supposed that was what you got when your new Lord Protector was more than efficient to run a whole Tower himself.

Morris was good enough company. They had grown used to each other over the months and more just these past two days. The case of the drained man with the hat they had found a few mornings ago was starting to get them both uneasy, which was efficient for bonding two soldiers.

At most, they had found out that there was a band of men called The Hatters in the district they found the body, who all wore similar hats to indicate their allegiance. What these men did sounded a lot like ruffians looking for trouble to him; shaking down establishments for better wages, settling arguments between neighbors, and giving loans for those who couldn't pay their taxes. It was vigilante work. Bad vigilante work.

But most of the city folk didn't mind them. They seemed to favor them more than the City Watch. And with what they did, while borderline illegal, it wasn't hard to see why. Still….

Their dead man hanging had no identification on him, and no one came forward to claim him.

Dead ends.

"Who told you that? Georges?"

Dalen just shook his head and drank. "No… Davidson."

Morris huffed, sitting up straighter to shift his fingers into his jacket. "Yeah well, maybe Davidson talks to his sister too much."

"You're seeing his sister?" Dalen asked surprised.

Morris frowned down at his drink but said nothing. That was good enough for the Commander. "What's her name again?"

"Alice."

Dalen made no comment, simply giving a frown and a shrug to indicate he didn't know the girl. Then he chuckled a little. "It's hard to picture you wooing a lady."

Morris's face scrunched at the comment, brows furrowing. "Why the fuck is that?" He asked, the offensive stance making him spill a bit of his drink on the table.

"That's why." The Commander sighed, smearing the spilled ale across the wood so as not to stain his uniform.

"We've been at it almost four months now."

It was Dalen's turn to look confused. "Four? How have you been going at it four months and I've never heard you bragging about it once?"

Morris straightened. "Maybe I'm not the kind of man to go spilling about his lady."

"Like hell you aren't." Dalen huffed over the lip of his glass.

"Well – not this lady."

Morris had said it beneath his breath, eyes looking away to view the patrons around them.

"Careful there Captain. Women have a way of dragging your affections close to the Abbey door if you know what I mean."

"Hey – shut up a minute."

"Why? You looking to get marri-

"Commander– be quiet and look at who just strolled in."

The captain's voice had gone softer, which was already surprising. Morris was a loud fellow. Dalen frowned, trying not to make a show of following his subordinate's eyes to the door of the pub.

A man's silhouette blocked the bright setting sun, his broad shoulders almost touching each frame. He kept his head low as he entered and Dalen couldn't make out the man's face…

…on account of his top hat.

The Commander stood straighter at the sight of the familiar millinery. It was large, dark grey, with a black band around its width.

"A Hatter?" Morris questioned.

There wasn't really any doubt. Dalen had never really seen lower class citizens wearing such accessories. The hat, like the one they found on the body, was expensive.

"He matches the descriptions, doesn't he?" Morris pressed again.

They were leaning closer to each other now, over their small table, their drinks forgotten.

The Captain started to stand and Dalen snatched his arm. "Wait – we need to have a plan."

"What for?"

"Are you a Captain of the Watch or not? We don't know how dangerous these men are. You remember what that body looked like, don't you?"

"The body we found was a member of the Hatters – why would they do that to their own man?" The Captain argued, still shifting towards their target, who now hovered by the bar.

"This is a potential gang we're talking about."

Morris looked irritated, but he didn't protest any further.

"Right, now if you're so keen to question him, go ahead, but keep it civil. I'm going to guard the door in case he tries to run. We can arrest him due to suspicion if he does, and have a proper interrogation at the Tower." He explained. "Hopefully, he just cooperates."

Morris gave a small smirk of confidence. "Don't worry. I'll get the pitiful thug to talk."

Commander Dalen didn't share the Captain's assurance. In fact, the statement made him feel the exact opposite. But he nodded, letting Morris go while he slid around him, toward the entrance of the pub.

There weren't many others in the bar, and Dalen hoped that would help prevent a scene. The last thing they needed was a small riot against the City Watch. Around these parts, no one liked them, felons or not. The poor weren't in good enough conditions to trust their fellow policeman.

Steadying himself against the doorframe, Dalen watched as Morris made his way over to the length of the bar, right beside the large Hatter.

Not for the first time since they found the dead man in the alley, the Commander wondered if they ought to have told Corvo.

Not for Corvo's discretion as Lord Protector, but for his skill as an Assassin Hand from Serkonos. Morris had already described a lot of the events in Karnaca, when Corvo was keen to tell and warn every one of the coming troubles they had inevitably experienced and could have avoided.

If anyone could help them solve a homicide, it would be a former assassin, wouldn't it?

But even now, Dalen worried about how much the man might inform the Empress. He didn't want to worry the Queen. Not with how busy Parliament seemed to be and especially not after the mess with Canavan. His pride still hurt after that, and he didn't want to appear sloppy.

And with how close the Lord Protector seemed to be with the Empress lately, he didn't doubt that Corvo would indulge her everything.

When Morris began chatting with the man, Dalen tried to seem casual.

Morris was smiling, and his hand motioned to the hat.

Dalen tried not to cringe. He couldn't hear their conversation from the door, but he instantly regretted not being the one to approach the man.

But it seemed to be going fine. They were talking. The large man's shoulders shifted, grabbing a drink and raising the glass to the barman. He seemed to consider Morris as he spoke. The Captain, for his part, looked approachable enough, if a bit cocky.

Dalen crossed his arms, waiting. Maybe this wouldn't be that hard.

There was a lull in conversation. Morris seemed to be asking him a question.

The Hatter rose, his hand abandoning his drink in favor of a whole bottle, as if to top off his glass. He raised it high though, almost in a toast but then-

It smashed over the Captain's head.

"STOP!" Dalen roared, but the Hatter had shoved Morris aside into the bar, immediately breaking into a sprint. Morris was shouting curses and crumpling with the glass that cracked on the floor, his eyes clenched shut and his hand pressing into his head where blood leaked down his face.

The other patrons were all standing now and the barman was yelling his disapproval. Dalen rushed to Morris and grasped him, trying to get him on his feet. He was soaked in alcohol and his shoulders glittered with glass. "What the hell!? You alright?"

"FUCK! That asshol—"

"Come on—he's getting away!"

Morris ripped from the Commander, glaring up at him, the gash on his forehead red and angry. "We're running after him!?"

"Captain! That man is our only lead!" Dalen ordered, straightening him one more time before looking to the back of the pub where the Hatter had rushed out the door into the alley. "He went this way!"

And then the Commander was running and he could hear Morris come after him, cursing.

They broke into the alleyway and it took Dalen a second to catch the sight of the Hatter, his tall headwear weaving through the crowd to their right, across the market square.

East. Wrenhaven.

"We can't let him cross the river!" Dalen shouted, not pausing to see if the Captain was on his tail.

They were caught in the bustle of the citizen traffic, pedestrians pushing their way through to get home from work before sundown, and the Commander found himself pushing at men and women. "Stand aside! City Watch! Stand aside!"

"Fuck! Get out of our way!" Morris echoed behind him.

"Dammit!" Dalen cursed. "We're never going to get—"

The sound of a gunshot rang through the Square and the Commander instinctively ducked as people began screaming and running, pressing into building or simply falling to the ground. The Commander looked ahead, wondering if it had been the Hatter—only for Morris to appear at his side, pistol raised to the sky. "Stand aside! Official Watch business!"

Impressed, but wasting no time, Dalen and Morris took off through the clearing square towards the end of the street where the Hatter was sprinting.

The golden light of the day was dying on them, and Dalen had to crease his eyes to see the form of the man's back as he shot forward straight into the glare of the sun.

They were racing after him on the street and when he dodged one of the new steel cars, they had to as well, slowing down to clamber over its rails. When the Commander saw him dodge into another alley between some apartments, he gestured at Morris. "Go down another block and cut him off – he's heading for the docks!"

Morris didn't need to be told twice and they parted ways.

The Alleyway was darker, the tall buildings blocking out the sun. And the stone streets were wet, squelching under his boots. The Hatter turned back to glance at Dalen and the Commander yelled, "STOP! You're under arrest! "

But the Hatter kept running, veering right and grasping crates as he did, slamming them to the ground to stop Dalen in his tracks.

He kicked at them, lunging as quickly as he could. His chest was constricting at the rate he was breathing though and with a curse he realized he hadn't run or fought in a long time since his promotion to lazy Tower guarding.

The Hatter used his bulk to propel him through a shoddy door of one of the Alley buildings and with a clatter of wood and dust they were battling through an old building. Straight through a kitchen they ran, and when they came out to a long stretch down the hallway towards the exit, Dalen struggled to unholster his pistol. He hadn't wanted to shoot the man – they needed him alive. But maybe a shot in the leg—

The Hatter rammed his shoulder through the front door and it gave like paper. Dalen stopped in his tracks and raised his pistol, giving up the chase to take up aim instead.

Dalen tried to steady his breathing to get the shot, his adrenaline pumping his unsteady shoulders.

He held his breath.

The Hatter continued to run, and he had a good shot of the bloke's calf.

And then someone was lunging into view to grab the Hatter.

Morris?

The black form was hard to see in the gaze of the sun, and he peered over his gun to see the figure curl around the Hatter's bulk, arms coming up to wrestle with his neck. Shit!

Dalen ran forward. "Morris! Don't kill him!"

But it wasn't Morris. The figure's face was covered in a mask with large pale glass circles for eyes.

A whaler's mask?

Dalen lowered his pistol just as the masked figure raised a large blade. "NO!"

It sliced through the Hatter's neck like butter. And the big man hit the ground, hat rolling along the stones.

Commander Dalen raced forward and the masked killer was already running, pushing past dock workers and citizens, all screaming and rushing around. He was chasing again, and he tried to keep track of the hooded man. But people kept running into his shoulders, jostling him.

"STOP!" He shouted, thinking he saw the greyed form darting through the crowd.

He rushed forward, pushing at citizens as he neared the killer, their hooded head scrambling to get away from them.

With a lunge his hand caught their shoulder and with a rush of strength he ripped them backward.

They screamed.

No mask. Dalen cursed.

The face of his caught suspect wasn't masked, and the fisherman's face looked terrified and confused. "Sorry—sorry—"

Letting go he whipped around, eyes flickering through the faces and people.

There was no sign of him. And Dalen couldn't run anymore, his chest heaving painfully. "Damn it! Damn it all!"

"Oy! What the fuck?"

Dalen sighed, hanging his head and placing his hands on his hips. He turned back to Morris, who was running out toward him, dead Hatter at his feet behind him.

The Commander stepped forward to meet him. "Did you see? Did you see that man slice him?"

"Yeah I saw—and I saw you loose him."

The Commander sneered. "Where were you!? I told you to cut him off!"

"I came out the street! I was waiting for him to jump out the alley! Not jump out a building!"

Dalen sighed once more.

They stood there a few minutes, both catching their breath with panting shoulders.

After a bit they walked back to the dead body. The street was clear now, aside from a few Dunwall people curious enough to stand near the sidewalks and stare at the City Watch.

A bright pool of blood had gathered around the Hatter, who looked akin to a dead dog or fish. His eyes were wide and his mouth gaped large like the hole in his neck. "Someone didn't want him to talk to us." Morris commented quietly.

"You don't say." Dalen kneeled down to stare at the man's face.

"You know what I'm thinking?" Morris asked and Dalen looked over to see the Captain's brows rise like he was about to suggest some sort of handy detective work.

Dalen ignored him. "We should talk to Corvo." He said instead of guessing.

"That's what I was thinking! We need to tell Corvo all about this bloody fucking mess."

Dalen looked back at the gutted and bloody Hatter. The sun was gone now. The dark sky tinged in a strange grayed red.

"Let's hope the Lord Protector will have better luck than we have."

"I'm telling you Anton, I've had it up to my neck with this… this Reformation she seems to think she is running!"

Sokolov was quite sure that if Hiram Burrows continued his tirade at this rate, not only would he burn holes into the rich carpet he paced on, but he would also give Sokolov a massive headache. He groaned loudly at the thought, but this only seemed to encourage the Spymaster.

"Yes! That's it! She thinks she's heading some sort of Reformation! Some sort of naïve and foolish attempt to create a cleaner, better society—and one has to ask where she thinks all the money for these things is coming from!?"

Anton considered yelling at the Spymaster to keep quiet. He had come upon the secondary rooms in the Tower to make use of the music needle there, to play a new concerto that would hopefully inspire some sketches.

But when Parliament had let out this afternoon, Hiram Burrows had found him and had invited himself to Sokolov's company.

So now the parchments before him remain blank, and the melodies of the somber music were lost beneath Hiram's rambling. Making for the most frustrating juxtaposition of sounds.

"She was not only liable to a scam that halted her work in this ridiculous pet project of a Whaling Factory – but she's continuing it! With an entire new team – doesn't she realize how expensive that is? This is hardly important! This government doesn't need profits for a factory! It needs its own profits not to go to laborers! "

Sokolov had been avoiding the actual music room for fear that Tamir Moiseev, the Count of Tamarak, might be there. But perhaps this night he wasn't. And even if he was – he was now considering the evils of the Count against the evils of the Spymaster.

"And now an entire new bill!? A project to re-pipe the lower districts for water? It's madness! Let them drink from the docks! They line them for heaven's sake!"

Hiram stood suddenly, turning on Anton with a shaking, thin, finger. "She doesn't understand how any of these things work – and she's dictating how they must be done. It's ludicrous! And there is no discussion permitted any longer!"

Resigning himself, Anton crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. He temporarily abandoned his papers and charcoal, to see how much longer this speech might last.

So he glared through his heavy brows at Hiram and waited.

"We are no longer a Parliament! Or her Privy Council! She's been banning discussion in every session! She's a tyrant now! A dictator! What are we for if not to better advise her!?"

Burrows was grabbing hastily at his jacket lapels now. "A whole new water system! For the poor! Who are all dying anyways!"

The Spymaster's face tinged red suddenly, fingers curling. "And that reprimand! In front of the entire Council! The-the absolute unforgivable insult—"

Ah yes. Sokolov had heard.

Apparently, the muted Lord Protector has addressed the Council with the matters of criminal offenses the Whaling Factory construction team had caused.

That is, Corvo Attano had addressed them in sign.

From what the other members had whispered after the session – Hiram Burrows had not taken well to that. While the dear Secretary had been trying to watch to translate, Burrows had interrupted numerous times, claiming 'apologetically' that he simply could not see Corvo's hands moving.

A childish tactic but effective; the best way not to listen to Corvo was simply not to look at him.

However, as expected, the Empress had not liked the behavior one bit.

She had called out the Spymaster harshly, berated him before the court, and demanded him begin taking correctional lessons from the court signing tutor.

"Twice a week, is it?" Sokolov asked, nearly amusedly.

"The nerve! She wishes all of us disabled!" Hiram responded. "Signing lessons! I will not sit by while she drives this government into a sideshow attraction!"

Sokolov could feel the argument fading, and wished to hurry it along. His hand rose to tug as his beard. "The more you keep pushing against her the more she will push back, Burrows."

Hiram paused at that, turning with confusion on his expression. Anton elaborated.

"Our Empress is strong and stubborn. The more you argue with her the more she will resolve herself against you." He sighed heavily. "Before I left this place I seem to remember the two of you working on projects together. In agreement."

That got the Spymaster quiet. And for a few verses, Sokolov was free to enjoy the sound of violins sweeping the air.

"Yes… we were always in agreement some years ago. We worked together on the implement of the rail cars you helped design. You are always so good at convincing her of better changes, like that one."

Sokolov simply huffed.

"Can't you speak to her? If you advise her—"

"Why don't you just let a few battles go, Burrows? Let her have a few things, gain her side again, then devise the changes you want." He argued. Hiram was always more stubborn than he believed the Empress to be. Though they were both as unmovable as steel. "Back off for a few months."

Hiram went quiet again, but soon filled the air with his nasally tuned voice. "A few more months and the city may go completely under!"

Sokolov shook his head. He had enough now. "Then keep badgering her during Parliament! That seems to be best at what you do!"

Burrows seemed to catch the irritation in Sokolov's voice and considered him with disappointment and distaste. But Sokolov could feel the man begin to take his leave so he waited for the inevitable biting remark that indicated his dismissal.

"I forgot how barbaric you Tyvians think of political matters! Perhaps I need only wait for that foppish Count to distract her to get some actual governmental work done!"

Letting Burrows have the last word was worth the price of his absence. So Anton said nothing and the Spymaster was gone.

But he felt more like drinking now, than drawing.

Chapter Text

Jessamine watched the heavy Protector's coat slide easily off Corvo's arms. The hems of the coat whispered at his calves as the entire length of him was free from the confines of its bulk. It exposed the dark maroon of his shirt, which wrinkled around the flex of his arm as he folded the coat upon the courtyard bench.

Corvo took his time to roll his sleeves back onto his elbows, allowing the sun to kiss the skin of his forearms and hands. He kept his leather vest on, the fit of it hugging his lean chest. He looked almost slender, but no less… thick.

He glanced up at her from across the courtyard, his brown eyes light with easiness as he dressed down before her.

Jessamine swallowed.

"I don't see how this is necessary."

He paused at that, hands waving in the air. She watched the gestures but looked at his wrists and skin.

'It's important.'

"But not necessary." She argued and made a show to cross her arms. It helped to steel her heart from moving too fast. "I don't actually see the purpose of this. And I don't wish to waste my morning."

Corvo removed the belt which holstered his sword and pistol, unhooking it from his hips and laying it over the coat.

She hurried, as if to stop him from continuing. "I don't expect such things from you, Lord Protector."

But Corvo ignored her, treasonous though that was. His hands removed the tie of his small and messy ponytail, allowing the short dark tresses to fall forward and frame his face. She marveled quietly at how long he had allowed his hair to get and the sight of his thick fingers brushing it backward. He tied it once more, this time cleaner, so his face was free from playful strands.

His features were fully visible now and his expression was calm and casual as he approached her.

They were alone in the early morning, occupying the small and conveniently concealed patio of her courtyard where hardly anyone visited. She took breakfast here on occasion when she wished for isolation, which made this location ideal for their interaction. And she had been sure that Clara would see to it that they would not be disturbed.

Jessamine's lips pursed as he advanced. "I think perhaps this whole idea should be forgone."

Corvo shook his head. He was only a mere arm's length away, so she could see the lines and callouses on his fingers as he signed.

'You already agreed.'

She had.

Corvo had approached her the night before, after Parliament had relinquished. He had given her a day to rest from the trip into the city, help her arrange for Hamish's arrest, and instate the plans for a new water directive for her people.

And then he had asked to spend the morning with her, so he could teach her to defend herself.

He has signed for some time before seeing her off for the evening. He had explained his concerns as Lord Protector. After what had happened in the city and with Canavan, he wanted her better prepared.

She had agreed because his fingers had seemed… timid and his eyes genuinely worried.

But now…

Jessamine flexed her fingers on her arms.

But now his eyes seemed much darker, even in the light of the morning. And he stood with no coat, and rolled sleeves, and… Outsider's Eyes, she always forgot how tall he was.

The word she had finally acknowledged two days ago whispered into her mind once more.

Attraction.

It had been that word that had her hurrying to bed earlier and earlier the past two nights. That word that had her taking her meals alone, that had her avoiding Corvo's gaze and kept her busy with paperwork.

And now she had agreed to this… very unconventional morning. Foolish.

Corvo's hands began to rise toward hers and her shoulders straightened.

"I just don't see how this will matter if you are to be at my guard at all times."

As soon as she said it, she knew it was a ridiculous argument.

Corvo eyed her, hands half raised. His expression was curved in such an obvious disagreement, she wondered if he would even bother to sign.

'I am not always on guard.'

She knew that, of course. In fact – perhaps this was better. She would need Corvo to guard her a lot less considering… considering…

She was attracted to him.

His hands grabbed hers.

They were warm and gentle as they uncrossed her arms and brought her forward to him. She didn't move, but Corvo was a trained soldier and a very firm man, and despite her resistance his simple tender pulling was enough to manipulate her small frame into the position he wanted.

He settled their hands in between them and raised his own temporarily to sign. She had to blink her focus back to his words and not his body.

It was a harder task than she imagined, because all she could see was the tautness of leather across the expansion of his chest, and the narrow lines of his hips with his belt missing.

Looking at his face would be far more dangerous.

'First, I want to show you how to get away.'

Jessamine frowned at first before realizing that, of course, Corvo would be pretending to be her assailant.

He explained to her the most common way someone might grab her would be to snatch her hands and arms. And after a simple demonstration where she grabbed his wrists, he showed her how easy it was to get out by twisting his own arm straight out of her fingers.

He signed some small encouragement and she fought to ignore the feel of his hands on her skin as she mimicked the move he had shown her.

Callouses and fingernails gently sliding against her, Jessamine found herself blinking rapidly.

They spent several minutes practicing just that. Corvo would hold her wrists tighter each time and she would twist her arm far enough where his fingers were forced to let go. It was easy enough, and surprisingly effective. And for a moment, she thought that was all there was to this little session.

But then Corvo stepped forward, hands grasping her upper arms tightly, pulling her forward until her booted feet nudged his.

The action had her snapping her gaze to his face. Something she had been avoiding.

He was silent, looking down at her indifferently, seemingly waiting for her to respond as she stood, startled in his arms. He was practically looming over her and a cold chill shivered down her back as heat rose in her chest.

She could see the softness of certain planes of his face this close. His jaw and stubble were a rough contrast to the quiet plush look of his cheeks or lips and Jessamine found her eyes flickering about his facial features.

He was handsome. It wasn't the first or last time she had thought that.

Corvo had striking features. Dark eyes, heavy jaw, surprisingly high and flat cheekbones—his face alone would garner looks. Coupled with his demeanor and the surety of his movements…

She wondered at that, here in his arms. He was always confident. His hands were experts in intricate gestures and action. What would they be like in different applications? Would they falter or shake? Or would they be just as sure, just as gentle despite the obvious power and control he had reserved.

Jessamine wasn't sure which would be more exciting.

After a few more minutes of silence, Corvo's brows frowned and he took a small step back, raising a hand in confusion. The release shook her, realizing just how long she had stood there, staring.

'Get out of my hold.' He directed, obviously confused that she was not already trying to do that.

Jessamine tried to hide the sudden flush in her face by pretending to look irritated instead. "This is foolish!" She chided, not wanting to say it made her feel foolish, but protesting all the same. Heat was flooding her neck at the realization of the exact things she had been thinking of. Quickly she latched onto her annoyance.

"I'm not fit for this – I'm hardly dressed for… combat!" She indicated towards her clothes. And while she was indeed wearing pants and a fitted blouse, they were decorative and restraining. Jewels dangled from her ears and her elegant hair. And her heeled boots, short as they were, did not exactly inspire her to move fast.

Corvo seemed more amused than upset at her obvious distaste.

'I do not think you will be suitably dressed when you are attacked either.'

Damn his unspoken cleverness. And the smirk of it on his attractive face.

He stepped away from her, signing hands disappearing to push through his hair, despite it already being tied neatly away from his face. A gesture she found curiously endearing. He seemed to think for a moment, all the while eyeing her up in down in thought.

Jessamine breathed harshly and made it seem like a huff, looking away from his scrutiny.

It burned.

"I simply think this is… fruitless. We should focus on preventing such situations for me to ever be in, rather than prepare for me being in them."

There was a sound of expelled breath and Jessamine turned to find Corvo smiling, close-lipped at her.

"What is it?"

'You will always get yourself into trouble.' The signing fingers spelled out trouble for her, before acting out its sign. His small smile did not leave him as he did so.

She should have been offended. But instead she found herself trying to contain her own grin, her laugh. Not just for her shared agreement to… but because smiling was suddenly contagious with heat seeping into her neck and chest. She pressed her hand forcefully to her mouth. But Corvo's gaze told her he had already seen it. So they smiled quietly to each other for a few minutes.

'Jessamine.'

She watched him say her name, fingers measuring his heart. He didn't say it often, so the sight of it made her bite her tongue. Her mirth left her, the lightness of it expelling to the heaviness of her previous thoughts and feelings.

'Trust me.' A thick brow wrinkled his brow at the prompting, his long finger scraping his forehead before falling into his other fist. A humble gesture.

That wasn't really fair, but it got her to stop protesting. She nodded once, forcing her embarrassing thoughts away and Corvo once more came forward.

She couldn't think like this. It wasn't fair to him. She was being ludicrous, and only inhabiting both of them. It needed to stop.

She took a breath and steeled her nerves.

They practiced getting her out of holds again, this time twisting her whole arm when his reach was closer to her shoulders. He would nod in approval, signing encouraging 'faster' gestures as they worked. He even taught her how to grab him back, and press on his wrist keep him there, should she ever need too.

He explained to her that there were spots on the arm that were weak, that if she dug her fingers into them they would hurt anyone, even men much larger than her. She grew a little fascinated at the exercise, trying her best to memorize the precision of where those points where. Upon the wrist, in the crease of the elbow, just below the shoulder…

And Corvo seemed to enjoy teaching her.

He was ever careful, and while at times his grip had to mock firmness, she could feel the utterly cautious restraint in them. He looked similar to their times in her office when they shared a drink. Or similar to when she coerced him to eat small meals with her during a busy day. Relaxed, content.

Jessamine smiled secretly as she watched him explain different ways to properly grasp a person.

At the beginning of their time together, she had thought him lacking in most expressions. And while it was true that he was more reserved… she had witnessed many different emotions across his face.

And she took pleasure with the thought that perhaps she might be the only one to see them.

It was during this little thought when Corvo took up her hands again, only for his fingers to slide lightly over the entire length of her arms, to position himself neatly behind her. His looming body moving around her, abput her.

Her mind went a bit numb, and thought of quiet affection heated to something quite different.

Jessamine tried to turn, slightly shaken at the sudden change, but his hands grasped her wrists and she was effectively stuck.

"Corvo—"

Hands lifted before her eyes, his voice speaking in her mind as she watched his hands cross before her to a near embrace, a finger slid against his other hand, unintentionally bringing her back closer to his front.

'Get away.'

His hands resumed their capture of her wrists. And suddenly, Jessamine couldn't wrap her mind around the order.

His tallness seemed accentuated from this new position. She could feel his head above hers, his mouth somewhere near the twist of her hair, the expanse of his chest cradling her shoulders. Her mind was everywhere. This was much too improper, she should stop it immediately. Should anyone see them—anyone—how long had it been since anyone had held her like this? Had anyone? Had she ever been so casually intimate with a man? She was no maiden, but even her trysts had been somewhat of a formal affair.

Jessamine stopped her line of thinking. This was no tryst. And this was not an embrace. This was her Lord Protector, and he wasn't holding her in any way that wasn't informative. She exhaled shakily.

Lamely, she tried twisting her wrists as she had been doing, but all that caused was Corvo's grasp to move with her and suddenly he was very fully enclosed around her. His back bent with the motion, and his head was next to her.

He shook it, indicating that it was a wrong move and also effectively making her psychically shiver. Her shoulders lifted with the sensation and her spine slid against his chest. If he noticed, she couldn't tell. And he didn't say. She doubted he would.

"I don't—" Jessamine tried, but her mouth was hot and her face was burning. It was so warm—he was so warm.

And gods, she could feel the shape of him now. The thin fabric of his shirt did nothing to keep the secret of the exact curves of his muscles. Lean arms corded around her and his hips pressed at her lower back.

Improper—unacceptable, absolutely not-

Corvo brought his hands close to both of them, trapping them together as he spoke.

'Twist in.'

It took much of her focus to retain her demeanor as he took her hands once more and she began to twist inward. It brought him closer, but eventually his fingers broke and she was free. She was about to step away and breath in all the air missing from her body when his hands snatched her wrists again, presumably to continue the practice.

"Corvo—please—" She began, before realizing she didn't really know what to say. Did he know how odd she was acting? Could he see how flushed her face was? Did she really want to point it out to him? Her dignity fought with her embarrassment and she rushed an excuse to simply put space between them. "It would hardly matter if I got free from that in this position anyway. They would just grab me everywhere else."

He shifted behind her, grip on her wrists slackening. Thinking.

Jessamine tried to lean forward, away from the mere heat of him, of the image burned into her mind of every dark wrinkle layering his chest, away from the heavy smell of leather.

His hands left her and she felt him step away. She breathed as he came around, signing as he did.

'You're right.'

"Yes, well, I'm only being plausible." She rambled, her hands straightening her blouse, touching her stomach, fiddling at her hair.

This was to be stopped. Her mind was crawling with indecency. She had the sense to acknowledge that.

And she couldn't, it was madness. She was thinking too much of this man's dark eyes and the tangle of his hair, the softness of his lips and the sound his shirt would make as it slid off him.

Jessamine's brows increased in their intensity as her body grew taut like a cord about to snap.

"I think this is enough." She stated firmly at the Serkonan as he seemed lost in thought. "I… I don't wish to continue today."

Corvo looked up at her, his deadpanned expression obviously not in agreement. He shook his head.

'No, you agreed.'

"You know how busy I am with—'

'You're not.' He blatantly interrupted. Jessamine's hackles rose, the tenseness in her muscles and body fueling her frustration at his stubbornness.

"Corvo." Her voice took on the edge of authority. "As my Lord Protector, you must—"

Corvo stepped forward again and this time his signing was firm. Each symbol punctuated in the air. Slow and deliberate.

'No. This is important.' His eyes watched her steadily behind his moving fingers, piercing her through her heated mind. 'This is about your safety.'

Again, she should have been offended.

'Please.'

But instead she felt shame well in her. Her lips pursed as she swallowed her own guilt. It was her fault she could not perform this exercise with him without feeling… well. It was not a problem of his, obviously.

That thought alone made her feel worse. She tried not to let it show, looking away and touching her stomach quietly in her nervous resolve.

"Yes. Alright."

At her submission, Corvo didn't seem to waste any time for fear she may stop the whole lesson once more. He was in her proximity again, this time taking time to sign before claiming her hands.

'Let me show you one last thing.'

The fight to maintain professionalism began again.

Having agreed that twisting from grasps was effective but not always relevant, Corvo began showing her more weak points at joints and muscles.

It was straight forward enough, push hard enough into certain places in the anatomy and an assailant would give. The pain was guaranteed, no matter their size or stature. He had her practice pushing her fingers or knuckles into his shoulder or chest.

She did so, trying not to think how her fingers curled on those spots, or the odd and compelling contrast of soft skin on firm muscle.

At one point she balked when he kept encouraging her to press harder, to push him to pain.

"I don't want to hurt you." She had expressed, watching as he smiled, pulling her close to bring her hand into the center of his chest, forcing the pressure to increase.

Her lips pursed at the sight and he signed, 'I want you to.'

She knew, somewhere in her mind, that he needed to know she could hurt him enough that she could also hurt any possible assailant, but her thoughts had gone… elsewhere.

They continued.

If she pained him, she could not tell, but Corvo would nod in approval after a length of time, or a length of her pressing into him. He showed her a few other simple things. Things she could focus on, like avoiding someone rushing to grab her, or how to hit someone enough for it to hurt, with her knuckle protruding from her fist.

He showed her how to get someone off of her completely by grasping her own wrist and using her forearm to push them off by their neck.

That took a bit more time to get right, with Corvo imitating his intention to snatch her while she practiced shoving him backward with her arm. Once, she was afraid she had pushed too hard at his throat, a sound ripping from his lips as she walked him backward.

"I'm sorry—Corvo—"

But he shook his head immediately, hands rubbing his neck and smiling.

'Good. Good. Again.'

They must have been going at it for over an hour now. And Corvo announced to her, much to her relief, that they were almost finished.

But suddenly, his hands were on hers again, pulling her slim digits to grasp his neck.

His fingers caressed hers, sliding them into precise positions before abandoning her to the sensation of his hot neck and the small grazes of his stubble.

It was so soft here, rough and yet so vulnerable.

He was signing, but she couldn't see the words.

Her eyes were upon the vision of her own fingers, there upon his neck. She could feel the movement in his throat, the curve of his jaw and the tendon down to his collarbone.

Experimentally, she pressed her fingers very gently into him, and the action had her body rolling closer to him for a better grip.

Her fingers twitched on him and she saw his words form in the corner of her eyes.

'Harder.'

Corvo was looking at her. Waiting, dark eyes considering her standing there before him with her chest nearly pressing against his, arms folded on him and fingers curled on his neck.

"I don't want to hurt you." She found herself repeating in a low whisper, pushed through parted and breathless lips.

'If you can't hurt me, you can't hurt anyone.'

She shook her head, and her fingers slid tenderly across his skin, dashing to touch timidly at the corner of his jaw near his ear. She couldn't hurt him, not when all she wanted to do was—

Corvo's hands were on hers again, replacing them back to the pressure points on his neck.

'Slowly then.'

Her fingers began to press gently and suddenly a flutter beneath their padding had her stop.

The small and steady beat tattooed itself against her thumb. His was resolute and calm.

1…2…3… Jessamine's eyes traced the sight of her Lord Protector, trusting in her hands, awaiting her to hurt him.

His head was leaned backward to the sky, and she could make out his long lashes open and blinking. Waiting.

He was warm, warm against her chest, because she was close now. This position demanded her proximity, her form against his, leather vest against expensive cloth and his raised naked forearms casually draped near her hips.

She had him, had his skin in her hands.

A swallow. Not from her but from him and she felt a flare of greed rush through her body at the simple action.

Jessamine hesitated but pressed harshly into him, her breast pushing forcefully against his chest. Corvo bent to her will, her legs stepping forward, knee bending between his, friction against their thighs. And for seconds she imagined them in a heated dance.

Almost perfectly in sync with her thought, his hands came down to grasp her hips and the action startled her into squeezing his neck hard.

Corvo grunted through his lips, the sound guttural and low. She watched him wince slightly, and her fingers went lax on his throat.

"Oh! I'm sorry—"

Corvo rose, making her fingers brushing his jaw and cheeks, feeling the muscles in them tense as he smiled at her.

He shook his head, only causing her fingers to feel more sensations of his face. His chin, the brush of his hair at his nape.

She could kiss him.

Jessamine was within reach. His head was not so tall now, with her leaning against him, entangled at his neck and his hands holding her steady, keeping her unstable frame against his solid one.

Warm, warm, warm—it was all so warm. Like the heat in Karnaca, it was making her feel contained, coiled, like a gun ready to be shot.

She wanted to be shot – to be set fire to, to break this resolve and press against him hard, not to his throat, but to his lips. To press her fingers in the crevices of his collarbone, arms, spine…

Her fingers slid to the back of his neck, grasping him there. She felt fingers tense on her hips, felt her body collide on his.

"Corv—"

He let her go. His dark eyes and composed smile disappearing as his gaze looked above her head with absent curiosity.

He stepped away completely from her, moving passed her to the courtyard door behind them. And Jessamine felt the cold of the air sting her skin and wash her face.

She couldn't seem to regulate her breathing, even as she heard her Matron speak to her Lord Protector.

So close. So dangerously and fatally close. And Jessamine couldn't discern if it was relief or regret welling in her.

"Forgive me Lord Protector, I know Her Majesty asked for privacy but I've tried to delay them time and they insist on—"

She righted herself. Shaking fingers smoothed away the heat from her belly and her wet lips pursed inward. She turned toward the both of them, and did not look at Corvo. She couldn't.

"What is it?"

"The Count, ma'am." Clara confirmed, the matron's tightly buttoned blouse making her appear even stiffer. "He's in the gallery, calling for your company."

"I'm not seeing any audiences today."

"I…have told him so Majesty…"

Jessamine raised a brow. The image of the Count of Tamarak took away any last bit of her ridiculous fantasies of her Protector.

…whom she could feel watching her, awaiting an order…so perhaps, not completely.

She gave a sigh, but nodded, more to herself than to Clara. She would have to deal with him. And with a gentle wave, she allowed Clara to lead her back inside the Tower.

Corvo followed without order, as always, and the feel of him behind her was not lost.

But the air of him and the courtyard outside was lost with the sudden contrast of the indoor hallways and their entrance into the gallery. Not only because of the cluster of furniture and drapery, or the lack of Corvo's heady smell and proximity, but because her portrait gallery was clamored with a full Tyvian entourage.

Jessamine was hardly ever caught off guard (Corvo notwithstanding). Yet here she was, quite suddenly halted with a full dozen of nobles adorned in whites, reds, and golds. The ladies were full of fans and furs and men were adorned with sashes and medals.

Tamir Moiseev stood at its head, bowing dramatically low before raising his hands in welcome, the poignant smile on his face sharp and excited.

"Ah! And she appears, Her awaited Majesty, a vision of the day."

Jessamine's eyes squinted at the crowd behind the Count and noticed her thin Secretary looking upset and anxious. Not an uncommon sight, but…

"Lord Moiseev… " She started, polite but a little wary. She could feel her Lord Protector's own anxiousness behind her. "This is unexpected, are you hosting a soiree—"

He cut her off with a laugh, one that rolled and reverberated. "No, no, no, I am not one for soirees so simple."

Jessamine didn't have the patience after the restraint of this morning. "Is there perhaps something you need to confer with me about? On behalf of Tamarak or Tyvia?"

The Count's smile grew much wider, looking down at her with an unveiled amusement that only began to irritate her, though perhaps that was because she had been frustrated for the better part of the day.

"You are a woman of your people, this I know." He nodded, raised a finger to emphasize the point and seemingly his accent. "I wanted you to know that I am a man of mine as well. Thus I bring them here today to witness my actions of passion."

Jessamine said nothing. She tried not to let her gaze dart to the many foreign faces standing about them, quietly shuffling on their feet impatiently. Foreign or not, she was their Empress too. And she could not show them her discomfort.

"I, like you, consider my life a… tribute to all Tyvians. I would not do anything without considering them or my country." He continued, eyes looking thoughtful but hurried. "That being said, I can not help but at admit as a man, that my actions today are selfish as much as they are selfless."

"Lord Mosieev—"

"Ah, Ah, give me a moment." He commented and Jessamine tried to give a patient smile back. His sharp grin mirrored his sudden jolting movements as he twisted, motioning to her secretary before twisting to kneel on the floor.

Jessamine took a slight step back just as Corvo took a full one forward to her side, both startled at the Count.

But he didn't seem to notice, his hands rising toward her and his smile constant. "I am here today to declare my official Courtship of Her Majesty Empress Jessamine Kaldwin."

Oh.

There was a round of clapping and she could do nothing but stare down at Moiseev as he smiled, rolling his fingers towards hers. For an odd second she thought he was signing to her the words 'give me.'

"Lord Moiseev, I am… honored without a doubt—but declarations for courtship are better suited to days when I am holding court—"

"I have already cleared the details with your Secretary." He shook off, looking over at the man. "Isn't that right my good Cromwell?"

Jessamine watched Cromwell give her and odd expression mixed somewhere between confusion and helplessness.

"Besides, is it not better that we treat this as it is? Not just something political, but something of romance and intrigue. No?"

Romance and Intrigue.

Her lips parted to speak and she found that she could not. Jessamine felt a mixture of annoyance for this sudden issue. Because despite the Count's prose, this was a political step she needed to deliberate one just as she would any bill. And yet… it was almost kind of him, to want to treat it not as a matter of debate but one of romance, as it is for more privileged nobles.

She considered him.

The Count was… a handsome man. Dark hair and bright light eyes, like her own. His hair curled at his neck and appeared wet with some sort of cosmetic element. He was groomed. And his features were odd, with a long nose and prominent cupid bow lips to show his teeth.

He was not the subtle heat that Corvo was—

Corvo.

Beside her, she wondered if the Serkonan was baffled by this entire show. She tried not to smile at the imagined confused expression he must wear.

But that was just it, wasn't it?

Corvo Attano. Her attraction to him – this entire past morning.

She had spent so much time with the Lord Protector it was almost inevitable to think of him, handsome as he was, in such a way.

But she couldn't. Not him.

But Tamir…

Jessamine's societal charm turned on like the flare of a gas lamp. She smiled demurely, her arm unfurling to place her hands (ones that had only recently graced Corvo's skin) into Tamir Moiseev's.

"My Lord you are full of surprises, as most Tyvians are, and while I would consider this under a more appropriate council meeting, I think it is fair for me to declare to you and my Secretary—" She nodded to Cromwell, "That I accept your invitation to a courtship."

"Ah! Wonderful!" Tamir smiled, leaned down to kiss the hand he had been presented, the sensation was chaste and slick. "Wonderful!"

Once more, the gallery filled with clapping.

And Jessamine gave curt nods to all of it, trying to focus on the sound of it all and not the heated silence that stood beside her, as it always did.