Unbetitelt

The sun was rising over the small island in the Rialto Bay, the first golden rays sneakily finding their way through windblown curtains and brushing their warm fingers over Illario's face.

He groaned, still half asleep and caught in the most pleasant dream of the woman in his arms. Replaying the night before. A heated rush of flushed skin and whispered sweet nothings that meant everything to him.

At the edge of his conscience, he could feel her stretch then brush a kiss to his lips. Her mirror in his dream did the same.

"Morning, mi corazón," she murmured, gently prying him from sleep. "Time to face the new day."

He tightened his arms around her. "Just a little longer, amore. Please."

Deft fingers found his ribs and gently poked him. "You always need a little longer."

"And you never grant it to me." One eye cracked open and playfully glared at her from under his lashes. "Evil woman."

"Someone has to make sure you sit at your desk some time before noon." Mira slipped from his embrace. Hair falling unbound around her bare shoulders as she walked across the room to pick up her clothes. "The work isn't going to do itself."

"I'll have you know that I am a very hard worker. It is hardly my fault when there are so many distractions around."

"Distractions?" she asked innocently, shifting her stance just so he could appreciate everything she had to offer. "And who or what, Señor lay-abed, would be distracting you?"

"There is this woman," he crooned, watching her dress. "She holds my heart, and yet she is unbearably cruel."

Mira chuckled as she sat at the edge of their bed, too clothed for his opinion, and braided her hair. "How so?"

"She tempts me with her mere presence. Lingers close by when I try to concentrate, yet denies me the comfort of her touch."

"Should I make her leave?"

"No!" Illario cried theatrically, reaching for her hand and pressing it to his chest. "Then I would not be able to focus at all, my eyes searching for her. Imagining where she should have gone."

She clicked her tongue in mock sympathy. "Well, we can't have that."

"Can I persuade you then to grant me another moment in bed, with you, amore?"

A flicker of her iron will and sense of duty sparked in her steel eyes, but was doused in the soft smile that followed.

"Only one."

She climbed back into bed and let him pull her against his side.

Content to have another moment, Illario closed his eyes and let his fingers play with one escaped curl by her face. "I have been thinking."

"Never a good idea."

He pinched her rear and muffled her indignant squawk with his lips.

"Let me rephrase it, then," he grunted, catching her hands when she went in for a playful attack. "I have been wondering about us. About our future."

"And where have your wonderings led you?"

"My cousin," he admitted. "He married the woman he loves; his family is growing."

Mira turned very still. She opened her mouth, closed it again, and cleared her throat. "And you now want this yourself." It wasn't a question.

Illario let go of her wrists to gather her in his arms once more. "In part. You know I am not fond of children - aside from the rare outlier."

The ghost of a smile pulled at Mira's lips. She knew how fond Illario had grown of his nephew. "Then what is it you want, Illario?"

"You, amore."

"You already have me."

He shook his head.

"No?" Mira raised a brow. Her voice shifted into that playful tone he loved so much, the one she only ever showed him. "We share a table. We share a bed. We share a bath, every now and then. I borrowed your shirts, and you borrowed my cloak for your scarecrows. What more of me could you want?"

Illario swallowed; he knew exactly what he wanted to ask her, but the words caught in his throat. The old fear of not being enough, not being the kind of man she would say yes to forever, wrapped itself around his neck like a strangling cord.

Mira's hand brushed along his chest, then cradled his jaw. "Talk to me, Illario. I usually have to tell you to shut up, so what got your tongue?"

"Fear," he said, truthfully.

Truth between us. And no one else. That had been the promise they had given each other that day in the pond, when their relationship finally settled into its current shape.

"And what are you afraid of, mi corazón?" Mira murmured. "Not me, I hope."

"No, not you. Just…" His eyes pleaded with her to help him.

"I will not say no to you, Illario," Mira said calmly, her thumb brushing over his cheek. "But I need to hear the question."

He exhaled slowly. "You once said that my heart was safe with you. I have lent it to you, as you have lent me yours. But you know me," he chuckled nervously. "I am a greedy man. And I want your heart to be mine alone. Forever."

A slow smile spread on her lips before she replied.

"I promised to keep your heart safe. And I will do it, forever if that is what you want. But you know me, too, Illario. I am a very jealous woman. If my heart is to be yours forever, then yours will be mine."

He nodded. "Yes. It's yours."

A moment of silence.

"You still haven't asked," she reminded him.

Of course, he laughed, feeling the tightness in his chest ease and fall off. Of course, she'll make me actually say the words.

"Mira. Love of my life. Goddess of my sleepless hours. Tormentor of my dreams," he started, voice carrying like an actor on stage, his gestures wide. Then he took her hand, sober now, and more quietly he added. "Would you deign to give your hand in marriage to this unworthy man?"

Mira's eyes danced with humor. "Not to an unworthy man, certainly not. But to you? Yes, Illario, to you I would."

His heart skipped a beat, then another before it finally settled back into its usual rhythm.

"You said yes," he breathed.

Mira laughed softly.

"I believe I did."

"I had a speech prepared if you refused."

"I'm sure you did," she replied dryly.

"It was very dramatic."

Slowly, she sat up, then leaned down for another kiss. "You'll have to save it for another occasion. Your moment in bed is over."

He groaned and buried himself under her pillow. "There she is again, my lovely, cruel lady."

"And yours to torment you forever," Mira called over her shoulder as she walked out the door.

Forever.

Hidden under her pillow, surrounded by her scent, he grinned.

Something is off.

That was Illario's first conscious thought. His first instinct made him listen to the silence of the room with his eyes still closed.

No footsteps. No breath besides his own. No shadow looming over him and blocking out the morning sun.

Carefully, he cracked one eye open, just enough to catch a glimpse from under lowered lashes. His right hand stretched as if rolling over in his sleep and slid under Mira's pillow to grab the knife she kept there.

The second his fingers closed around it and his body coiled to roll out of bed, he knew what was wrong.

Mira's side was cold and empty.

Not only was she gone from their bed, but also from their room.

"Huh." It wasn't that late, and she usually didn't sneak away from their room since the first few minutes after waking were usually a time they just lay there together. Not talking, just being with each other before the rhythm of the day caught up with them.

Something must have driven her from their bed.

A nightmare maybe?

Or-

A creaking board down the hallway outside their bedroom made him pause and listen. Footsteps - calm, certain, familiar.

He was already smiling when the door opened to reveal Mira, wearing one of his shirts and carrying a tray.

"What is this?" Illario murmured when she climbed onto their bed and set the tray between them. "Is it my birthday again?"

Mira chuckled. "No, you still have to wait a while for that. But you've been working really hard for the past weeks, and I've decided you deserve a day off."

Illario's hand paused halfway to the food. "A day off?"

"Don't want one?" She asked over the rim of her cup. "I can always drag you down to your study and make sure you stay bent over your desk all day."

"Bending me over my desk? Will you use the new toys I brought home that we haven't got around to play with yet?" He let his tongue linger deliciously on every other word. "Tell me this isn't just an empty threat, amore."

Setting down her cup, Mira looked at him seemingly unaffected by his flirting. "I don't make empty threats. Ever. Today though, I have other plans for us."

Illario's playful smirk dropped a little. This sounded less like a fun day off, and more like a list of chores she had ready for him - chopping more wood or getting rid of the weeds in their garden. Or maybe, making new scarecrows - though the old ones were still serviceable, and he wasn't sure where to get new bones from. The last enemies to invade their little island were nothing but ash.

Then he saw it, the little gleam before she reached for one of the plates.

"Tomorrow, though," she said, "I'll happily use all the new toys on you while you stand bent over your desk."

He swallowed against his suddenly dry throat, and shifted slightly to accommodate the growing tightness in his lap. "And today?"

Mira bit into her breakfast and chewed slowly before answering. "You'll see."

Half an hour later, Illario and Mira walked side by side along the shore of their island home, a basket and a blanket under Illario's arm.

Somewhere at the back of his mind, the pile of work that was still waiting for him on his desk was screaming at him, but the sun warming his face and the salty sea air soon silenced it.

Rounding a rocky outcrop, Illario found himself on the small beach he used for training in secret all those weeks ago - months, he corrected himself.

The stony path slowly transformed into soft white sand, making them both take off their boots and walk the last few steps on bare feet. The sun-warmed sand tickled between his toes, and far out on the glittering waves, Illario spotted seals playing.

Were it the same two he had watched so many times? The ones that had reminded him of a time long ago and two little boys playing?

He wanted it to be so.

The gentle brush of lips against his cheek and the blanket pulled from under his arm pulled him from his thoughts.

Mira shook out the blanket and placed it close to the high rocky cliff walling in the beach. At this time of day, its shadow was just a small sliver, just enough to set down their blanket. By the end of the day it would reach the water's edge.

Illario sauntered over to her, setting the basket down by the blanket. "Well, amore, you've successfully abducted me from my paperwork. What's your grand plan?"

Mira quirked a brow and pulled her shirt over her head. "You're usually not one to ask stupid questions. We're on a beach, alone. We can do whatever we want."

He watched as Mira's pants dropped next to her carefully folded shirt, revealing her shapely legs. His own clothes followed before he even knew it. "I might have an idea. Or two."

"Like I said. Anything. We. Want." She tapped him on the chest, then dashed away, calling gleefully over her shoulder. "But you have to catch me first."

Sand went flying as he went after her. On a normal day, he easily outran her. His longer legs simply made more ground than hers, but here, on this small stretch of sand, he didn't get the chance to build up speed. Mira wasn't running in a straight line; she jumped and turned, like a hare trying to outrun a predator, slipping out of his reach just seconds before he could catch her.

Finally, she made a mistake, turning toward the water. She hesitated just for a breath, but it was enough for Illario. Hooting gleefully when his arms finally closed around her, he used his momentum to gather her against his chest.

Mira struggled and cursed. Only in play, he knew, if she truly didn't want him to manhandle her, he'd already be bleeding.

Sloshing into deeper water, Illario panted, "I advise you to hold your breath, amore."

"Don't you dare," Mira threatened, holding on tightly to his shoulders and neck.

He grinned. "Oh, I dare."

Then he let himself topple over, making sure it was his back that hit the water. Once the waves crashed over his head, he let her go and came back to the surface.

Mira wasn't there.

"Mira?"

He turned, expecting her to have surfaced somewhere close by. But there was only water.

"Mira!"

A sudden tug at his ankles sent him crashing back down under water. Another tug, this time on his smalls.

Spluttering, he came to his feet and found Mira a few feet away, waving his stolen small clothes at him.

"If you think this will stop me, cara mia," he called out, "You are sorely mistaken."

Her smile didn't waver, not at his words or when he started chasing her again. Soon, both their laughter echoed off the cliff walls.

When he finally caught her, she didn't make any attempt to shake him off, but let herself be pulled into his arms and a breathless kiss.

"Got you," he murmured against her lips.

She pressed closer, her seawater-soaked smalls revealing more than they were concealing. "You do. And what will you do, now that you have me?"

"You said, anything I want, right?" He raised a brow, hands sliding up to her breastband, loosening the knot, then slowly - layer by layer removing it.

"Anything we want," Mira confirmed, reaching between them and closing her hand around his length. "And this is what I want. Any objections?"

"None," he rasped, then bent down to kiss her again. His lips followed the movement of her hand below, a slow and gentle teasing that made his stomach clench in anticipation.

All too soon, she stepped back, chuckling at his blank expression when his mind needed a second too long to register what was happening.

Then she curled her finger at him, luring him toward their blanket. He followed her like he was in a trance.

"Let me," he interrupted huskily when Mira moved to take off her panties. Kneeling before her, he took his time to hook his fingers into her waistband, his lips trailing a path south from her navel. Worshipping every inch of skin he laid bare.

"Illario," Mira whispered when his breath brushed over her lower lips, then gently kissed those, too.

His tongue slid in between them, tasting salt and sea and her.

She uttered his name again, voice shaking now, making him groan against her heat. And like she had taught him a month ago, he now took his time to undo her. With patience, endurance, and skill.

Her fingers curled into his hair, holding him against her as she came against his tongue. His own hard length was throbbing and weeping, demanding the attention Illario had denied it so far.

But he wasn't done yet.

Still kneeling, half on the blanket, half on the sand. Illario pulled Mira down on his lap; her arms and legs wrapped themselves around them almost instinctively.

Illario groaned some undefined word, just as she sank down on him. Maker, she was so warm and tight, he almost lost it there and then.

"Do you want me to move?" Mira asked, her words thick from the first peak she was still coming down from. She rocked her hips, just a fraction, then cursed when he grabbed her rear tightly, holding her utterly still.

"No," he hissed, resting his face on her chest. "I- need a moment, just- just stay with me like this. Please."

Damn it, even her soft chuckle seemed to vibrate along his shaft. "Anything you want, mi courazon."

"I want-"

"Yes?" She asked, almost innocently, lifting her chest with her next breath.

Illario shuddered when one hard nipple brushed his cheek. Without a thought, he turned his face toward it, running his tongue over it, then sucking it into his mouth.

"Yes!" Mira hissed.

Letting go of his last control, Illario's hands grabbed her rear even tighter, pulling her hips roughly toward him. Then let her slide back.

He heard Mira croon something into his ear, though his mind didn't register the words; he only knew it wasn't a plea to stop.

Again he pulled her against him.

And again.

He let go of her breast, then caught the other and sucked it hard, making her cry out in pleasure.

By now, Mira was moving on her own. Legs hooked behind his back, she rode him, mirroring each of his muffled groans with one of her own.

Maker, he didn't know how long he'd last.

Illario had lost all sense of time and place when he felt Mira's movements becoming more urgend. She was close, but he was closer.

Using one arm to support her weight, while she kept up her pace, he maneuvered his free hand between them, his thumb just reaching her sensitive nub, still wet and swollen from his earlier attention.

Mira's head tipped back when he started to run his thumb in circles, her rhythm faltering for half a breath before picking up again. Faster than before.

"Make them hear you, amore," Illario rasped. "All the way in Treviso."

"You- first-," Mira panted, snapping her hips and making him see stars. Once, twice.

Illario cursed, then his breath caught in his throat as his peak crashed down on him.

"Don't stop, don't stop," Mira whispered. His pleasure-addled mind didn't know if she meant him or herself as her hips kept moving.

Through the stupor of his orgasm, he kept moving his thumb; his lips found her breast once more.

When Mira finally shattered against him, she cried out his name - maybe even loud enough to be heard in Treviso.

Their weight shifted as she slumped in his hold, the sand under his knees did too, and they both toppled over - panting, trembling, limbs still entwined.

For a few long and blissful moments, Illario just lay there - Mira in his arms, the sun on his skin and her fingers playing with his hair.

"I think," he started, his voice husky, "I should have a day off more often."

Mira hummed into his shoulder.

"At least, once or twice a week," he continued. "Maybe three times."

Her lips slowly meandered from his shoulder up his neck, then along his jaw. "Hm, I'll give you one day a week."

She cut off his protests with a slow kiss.  "And maybe the occasional longer lunch break," she added.

"One day a week and a long lunch break every day."

She kissed him once more, deep and languid, then murmured against his lips. "One day off a week, long lunch break every second day, and I'll throw in a massage once in a while as needed."

"And if I need one every day?" he asked, not even trying to sound innocent.

"I might be persuaded if you ask nicely." Her tone became more serious. "You only have to ask, Illario."

He caught her face and held her at a short distance, really looking at her for a moment, all serious now. His eyes asked, when his mouth wouldn't, if she truly meant it.

"I told you before, words have meaning," she said calmly, "I don't say things that are empty. So, if I offer you something, you are allowed to take it."

His eyes burned, throat suddenly too tight to speak. So he just nodded and pulled her tight.

"I love you," he croaked into her hair.

"I love you, too."

He held her a little tighter, listening to the waves break against the shore.

Tomorrow there would be letters waiting on his desk. Training. Chores. Arguments over something ridiculous. Work that never truly ended.

Today, there was only this.

Illario lifted his hand to shade his eyes as he looked from the balcony of his former room out over the gardens. The early afternoon sun sparkled on the calm blue waters that stretched to the horizon, and the scent of a myriad of flowers below hung heavy in the air.

This used to be home, he thought - the sight, the scent, the familiar layout of his room. And yet, standing here, he felt nothing but the urge to return to the island and its clear, salty air and the sound of waves crashing against the nearby rocky cliffs.

But he couldn't, not while Lucanis was still talking to Mira in his study. For a while now, he had noticed Mira becoming restless; her routine walks around the island had become more frequent. The sound of her steel sword pommeling the training dummies now filled their home's courtyard more often than not.

"I need more to do," she had muttered to him when he asked what was wrong.

"You have a task," he had reminded her. "Of guarding me and to keep me-" his voice rose to resemble hers. "from drowning in ink and self-pity."

She had told him that he no longer needed her to do that. And now she was down in Lucanis' study looking for something she could do in addition to her guard duties.

"Can't let you out of my eyes entirely," she had told him with a soft kiss when he playfully pouted that she was planning on leaving him.

A soft sound behind him tore Illario from his thoughts and made him look over his shoulder. Rook stood in the open door to his room, face pinched as if just having bitten into a lemon.

"Are they done?" Illario asked when she remained silent, hovering at the threshold but not entering.

Her eyes narrowed, as if even that innocent question offended her. "No."

He expected her to walk away then. Rook had avoided him whenever she could, always watching him with unveiled hostility. A look that didn't suit her at all; her face wasn't one made for scowling.

With Mira, he had seen her laugh freely, talking as much with words as with her hands. Lucanis himself, in a rare moment of openness, had told him that Rook was the sunshine that balanced the darker aspects of his life. Even with Caterina, Rook smiled more often than not.

It was his fault, of course. And he didn't really blame her; he was just tired of it.

"Can I help you with something?" he asked.

"No."

Illario couldn't help but tease, "I remember you being a lot more verbose than this, my dear Rook."

Her cheeks burned an angry red, the same shade as her hair. "That was before you proved yourself to be the one behind all of Lucanis' misery."

"Not all of it." He corrected mildly. "Caterina did her fair share; others as well. But I admit that I played a large role in it."

He watched her bristle. Nothing he said was a lie, and she knew it.

"You betrayed him. Sold him out." Each word came hard and clipped.

"I spent a year in a cell for it," he reminded her with a friendly smile. "And despite saving your and Lucanis' lives, I am still under house arrest. At least he has forgiven me."

The words were meant as bait. Rook had been spoiling for a fight ever since Illario's sentence had been changed. He was certain that she wanted to end what had been started in the Opera house almost two years ago now. But he knew she'd never start that fight by herself, no matter how much she wanted it. She wasn't a troublemaker.

But he was.

"I haven't," she seethed.

He let his smile grow into a lazy grin, while watching her face for the tiniest reaction.

"I wonder why?" he crooned. "I am family now, my dear. Family should forgive each other. Your husband has. Your child adores me. Did you know, he calls me-?"

Crack.

The sound of her fist slamming into his jaw echoed through the room.

Illario had seen it coming. The punch was born from rage, and while strong, it was sloppy. He could easily have sidestepped it, but chose not to.

The second one hit him unprepared.

As did the third.

The iron taste of blood filled his mouth, and he could already feel bruises forming along his jaw and cheek. He braced for another punch, but nothing came.

Looking up, he found Rook standing before him, fist still clenched, breathing hard. There was blood on her knuckles -his or hers, he didn't know. Then her eyes widened.

"Maker," she gasped, taking a hasty step toward him. "I am so sorry, I didn't mean to-"

He lifted his hand, blindly reaching for the chair he knew was somewhere behind him with the other, and let himself drop onto it.

Carefully, he tested his jaw, opening and closing it a few times before saying, "You did mean it. And don't you feel better now?"

A multitude of emotions warred on her face - anger, regret, trepidation, triumph, sadness. Had no one ever taught her how to hide her every thought from being plainly written all over her face?

He expected her to run away now, to seek a quiet corner to sort through her feelings, but when she finally moved, it was with a quiet resolve.

She pulled a handkerchief from one of her many pockets and offered it to him.

"I am sorry that I hit you," she said again, then blushed. "But I do feel better now."

"Good." Lightly, Illario dabbed at his split lip and winced. "You hit a lot harder than I expected."

A lot harder than last time. But he wasn't stupid enough to say that bit out loud.

"Caterina made me practice," she mumbled, still looking flustered at her own rage.

The sentence made him sit up straighter. He had assumed that Lucanis had trained with her, teaching her at least a few basics so she would have to solely rely on her bow. But if Caterina herself had taken over her training and it hadn't broken her yet, then the little elf must be a lot more resilient than he had credited her.

"Next time when fighting a larger target," he advised. "Bring them down to their knees first. Once they are on the floor, you have an easier time finishing them."

"It wasn't my intention to kill you."

"Not today anyway." He grinned, and despite the pain, his smirk grew even wider when she scowled at him.

"You have a real knack at pissing people off, you know."

Illario chuckled. "My cousin would tell you that's my talent."

Rook scoffed, and for the first time she really looked at him. He wasn't sure what she saw, but after a moment, her shoulders relaxed with a deep sigh.

"I'll go and see if there's still some ice in the kitchen," she said, pointing at the door. "Should feel good on your bruises."

"Thank you, I would appreciate it."

She turned and walked to the door, her fingers twitching by her side as if moving along with an internal argument. At the door, she looked back.

With a crooked smile, Illario said, "Welcome to our family, Rook."

It was barely past midday, yet the numbers and letters were already swimming before his eyes.

Illario leaned back in his chair with a groan, rubbing his face. He had worked late into the night and had risen this morning before the sun came up to join Mira in their usual morning training bout. The pounding in his head had greeted him when he opened his eyes and had only grown worse since he had taken his seat at the desk hours ago.

His stomach was growling, reminding him he hadn't eaten since the small breakfast he had made himself this morning.

He needed a break.

Pushing away from his desk, Illario stood and stretched, only now noticing the stiff pain in his back. His ribs still hurt where Mira had kicked him during their morning training.

Trudging along the hallways, he was greeted by one of the servants Lucanis had sent over to help with the chores, allowing Illario to actually have time to do his new job.

It had felt strange at first to suddenly have three others living with him and Mira on their quiet little island when it had been only them before. He had been distrustful, fearing they were only there to check on him and report back.

But other than taking care of the laundry, cleaning the rooms, and cooking meals, neither of the new additions to their household paid him any special attention.

Upon entering the kitchen, Illario was ready to quickly slip into their cellar pantry and find a bite when his eyes caught sight of Mira standing by the stove, stirring a pot of something deliciously smelling.

Normally, he would have tried to sneak up on her and press a quick kiss to her bare neck, but after their training bout this morning, he wasn't sure that was wise.

They had quarreled. No, that wasn't entirely true. They had done their normal routine, then a practice fight, just bare hands, no weapons this time. He had landed a hit to her face that had been aimed for her shoulder. He tried to apologize, but Mira's already sour mood that morning it only went downhill from there.

After that, he landed a second hit, this time to her back, when she didn't spin out of the way fast enough; she stopped talking altogether.

That was hours ago.

Maybe he should just return to his desk. It wasn't like he didn't know what hunger felt like or how to function without food. Caterina had made certain of that. The feeling of his stomach clenching painfully, then going numb after the second day with only the occasional cup of water was still vivid in his mind.

Back then, Lucanis had borne it so stoically when Caterina simply said, "Another day." It had made the burning rage in Illario flare all the brighter. Right then and there, Illario had sworn to himself that he would never again allow himself to go hungry for anything he craved.

Cautiously, he took a few more steps, watching her shoulders tense, then deliberately relax again. She knew he was here, but didn't glare at him. A good sign. Yet he wasn't so foolish as to take this as an invitation to go closer or even speak, so he just sat at the table and waited. Once she was done cooking her food, he would fix something for himself.

Mira sighed heavily, her back still to him, then muttered, "Anything I can help you with?"

"No, amore, I- I just wanted to quickly cook something, but you are already here, and I don't mean to rush you, so-"

She nodded and kept stirring. Silence fell over the kitchen, heavier than Illario had become used to over these past months. For painfully long minutes, he stared at his twiddling thumbs, wishing he could go back to this morning and change what had happened.

He must have hurt her more than he had realized. It wasn't the first time either one of them ended up with a bruise or two, but then, he had never hit her face. That small details somehow made it worse.

Finally, he could hear the clinking of plates and cutlery. Looking up, he found Mira sliding into her seat, a plate of steaming pottage before her - another sat close to him.

"You made me food…"

Mira's hand stopped halfway between her plate and mouth. She frowned. "Why wouldn't I?"

"Because you are angry with me."

She set the spoon down and calmly stated, "I am not."

"I just thought-" He motioned to her face and the deep purple bruise on her cheek. "Because-"

A sharp sound escaped her throat. "You thought I was pouting because you landed a hit?"

"No. I thought you were angry with me for hurting you."

One shoulder moved in a half-hearted shrug. "We were training. Accidents happen."

Her tone was dismissive, not of him, just her injury. He knew that, but it still felt like she was dismissing him with the same shrug. Like she had done before, back when they were nothing to each other.

He was about to call her out, when he saw something flicker in the steel-grey of her eyes. Not regret, but similar.

"I am sorry, Illario," she finally said. "I am not angry with you, but myself." She nodded toward his plate, and only started talking again when the first spoonful hit his tongue. "I was distracted this morning. Over something small and silly. My form was off because of it, and those two blows you landed only sent the message home."

"What message?"

"That I have become idle and slow. The past weeks have been so quiet - no one trying to kill us, no job to hone my skills but taking another fucking, scenic walk around the island." She raked her fingers through her hair. "And now, I start complaining, like a child."

Illario reached out and took her hand. "You are not. You are bored out of your skull."

Mira threaded her fingers through his, watching their hands rest on the table. "Maybe I could ask Lucanis for more work?"

A cold, sharp pain stabbed behind Illario's ribs. Just for a second, before he corrected himself. She didn't say other work, just more work.

"You could," he said carefully, then slowly shifted his features into a playful pout. "You aren't planning on leaving me, are you? Going out into the world to be all heroic, while I drown here in ink and self-pity."

She snorted and told him that she was not.

"Besides," Illario grinned. "If you were to leave now, I'd have to assume that you can't stand the fact that I beat you in a fight."

"You did not beat me," Mira replied, a sharp edge in her tone now. "Admittedly, you've got your old shape back, but I'd still wipe the floor with you - lost form or not."

Illario leaned back, watching her with a challenging expression. "Maybe we should have another bout later. See if this distraction wasn't just an excuse for you losing your edge, amore."

"You're on," Mira growled.

While they were finishing their meal and then clearing away their plates, Illario knew he would eat his words later. But she was talking again. Smiling even, though her bruise made her wince.

Hours later, their second round of sparring done and the grime and sweat of the day already washed off, they lazily drifted in their small sun-warmed pond.

Their match had ended without a clear winner. Both of them had found themselves face down in the dirt more than once, laughing when they pulled the other down with them.

Now, there was silence again. Not the cold and heavy kind from earlier, but rather comfortable and warm and-

Spite becoming Human ("Shadows", chapter 11)

I had been playing around with whether Spite should become human or remain a spirit in this fic. A bit like with Cole in Inquisition. Funnily enough, with Cole I usually pick the spirit route. But as the chapters progressed, and Spite's connection with Lucanis and Ria (that fic's Rook) grew, I knew that making him choose to be human was the right thing.

But then I wondered, how? Not the magical bits, but whether it should be a big moment with lightning and thunder or something more intimate. Where and when?

This was the scene:

This is what I want. Being here, with them. Forever. Not just as someone watching from the outside. Not just a half-life. I want a real one. Love, anger, sadness, hunger, pain, happiness – all of it. So, I decide. The second I stop fighting the pull, it all falls away. Easy. Like throwing off a suffocating blanket, everything slips from my shoulders. The pain that has been churning like a maelstrom inside me for months subsides and disappears. My nose is the first to notice the change – the smells around me draw back, become fainter, less defined. I still scent Ria’s jasmine among the others, but the storm that used to thread through it is gone. “Huh.” I huff. Then my eyes prickle. I blink. The world changes but stays the same. Everything is still where it was before, but muted - the colors less intense, the contours less sharp. Sounds too. As if the world has taken a breath and forgotten to exhale, half of them are missing. The soft rustle of air against the stone outside. The stretch and pull of the stones in the hearth as the flames heat them. My mind is suddenly so quiet. It is…nice. “…but we can’t just-“ Lucanis’ voice breaks off abruptly. His head tilts, and a frown starts to furrow his brow as if searching for something. I know what he is looking for, but he won’t find it. The last remains of our bond dissolve and leave only a faint echo lingering in my bones. That too will disappear, sooner or later. A flicker of confusion crosses Lucanis' face - a brief, lost look - before his eyes snap to me. “Spite?” he asks, and his jaw slackens.

And this is what I wanted. Just all three of them, sitting in the dining hall, having a meal. Lucanis and Ria are teasing each other. And Spite is realizing that this is exactly what he wants. A real life, not just a shadow of one.

And it is just the quiet moment, one heartbeat, he is still half spirit, half human, the next the change is made.

The focus remains on him, not some spectacle around him. His sense shifts from otherworldly to purely human. His connection to Lucanis - that bond that chains them together - dissolves. From now on, he and Lucanis actually have to talk. Spite can no longer smell shifting emotions and he is weaker than before.

But the one thing that isn't apparent here is the line:

The last remains of our bond dissolve and leave only a faint echo lingering in my bones. That too will disappear, sooner or later.

It is the first hint that Spite is left with a "gift". He will get the fire magic he always wanted. Also, his wings will be fire too. ❤️‍🔥

Ria (Rook) almost losing herself to the Shadow in her grief ("Shadows", chapter 15)

I won't post it here because this spans over three different scenes. But basically, it shows Ria trying to obsessively clean the Lighthouse - like she is possessed. When Spite watches her, he describes her:

She is muttering to herself, shifting between pacing and reading, then pacing again. Only one candle burns on a small side table; the light seems to bend around her, casting her face in a half-shadow.

Throughout all three scenes, Ria is always half in shadow or turning toward the shadow and away from light sources.

The Shadow doesn't truly possess her, but he uses the cracks in her mental armor (caused by the loss of her best friend) to make her vulnerable, to whisper to her and cause her pain.

Spite - I am so sorry for everything I put you through - he is just a new human. He is all alone with Ria and doesn't know how to help, everything he does seems to make it worse.

At the very end, when Lucanis finally returns to the Lighthouse, this is what Ria sees:

I catch a glimpse of brown eyes, not purple ones. The scent of coffee caresses my face. He doesn't say anything, just stands there calm and still - the candlelight illuminating his face. Like a sunlit rock that the chaos of the world can't touch. My feet pause, breath hitches. "Lucanis." And the world stands still.

Lucanis is the light here, giving both Ria and Spite enough stability so the Shadow can no longer hook his claws into Ria.

So, I was playing quite a bit with literal light and shadow imagery, and only a few actual hints that the Shadow was involved in the scene.

But yeah, those are my two scenes. And now that I went back to read them, I remembered that I wanted to make a continuation of their story. Shadows ended in quite a few loose ends. Well, once all those WIPs have cleared, this is what I will be doing. ☺️

This was a long one. Anyone still reading, thank you for listening to my personal scene commentary. 😅

It was the height of Antivan summer, and the sun had been baking the city mercilessly for the past month. The rain from yesterday didn't bring the fresh air and cooler nights Rook had been begging for; instead, it turned every room into a sweltering steam bath and made the air too thick to breathe. It clung to skin and clothes like a wet, hot towel.

"Ugh…."

Rook was lying on the giant bed she shared with Lucanis, arms and legs spread as wide as possible to keep the skin from sticking to the rest of her body. The silken sheets, usually pleasantly cool to the touch, felt like they had already started to fuse with her skin.

With monumental effort, she turned her head toward the balcony and was glad to find the sun was already dipping behind the horizon. At least it wouldn't get any hotter today.

The red and orange sky turned the calm Rialto Bay into a fiery sea that seemed to mock Rook in her miserable state.

She wanted nothing more than to get rid of the thin slip of a nightgown she was wearing and toss herself into the water. Drifting on the gentle waves and watching the moon rise. But for that, she'd have to get up, walk all the way down and out into the gardens and-

She didn't even have the energy to end the thought.

The door whispered open and silent footsteps crossed over the carpet to their bed.

"Rook?" Lucanis asked softly, his tone carrying the hint of a smile.

Rook grunted, her cheek stuck to the sheets, keeping her from turning her head to look at him.

The mattress dipped when Lucanis sat beside her. Usually she would have curled into his warmth; today she whined, "Too hot," and rolled to the other side.

Light fingers brushed away the hairs that stuck to her sweat-slick brow.

"We could go down for a swim," Lucanis echoed her earlier thought.

"Can't…," Rook huffed. "Water too far away."

"It is only a few minutes across the gardens."

"Too many."

Suddenly the mattress shifted again when Lucanis jumped to his feet. Before Rook could ask, she heard his boots flying into the corner, cloth rustling. Footsteps again.

Then hands slid under her back and knees, and she yelped as she was hoisted against a warm, firm chest. Her mind blanked for a moment when she felt skin instead of silk.

"You're naked," she murmured, dumbfounded.

Lucanis grinned down at her. "Only half-naked, can't have the servants run screaming."

"What now? You can't carry me down to the water."

He snorted. "*Mi amor*, I could carry you around the whole city without breaking a sweat." He paused. "Well, I am already sweating, so today you just have to take my word for it."

Then his eyes flashed purple, and Spite looked down at her. "We won't walk," he chuckled. "We will fly."

Rook's stomach clenched with excitement. Only once had Lucanis allowed Spite to fly with her. "Really?"

Spite was already moving when he gave her another grin and then stepped out onto the balcony. Outside, the air wasn't any less warm, but a slight draft made it feel almost bearable. Spite's arms tightened around her, black and purple wings burst from his back and spread wide-

Then they were airborne.

Holding on to his neck, Rook let out a joyous laugh as the gardens rushed past them. Within seconds they were over the bay, gliding just above the waves.

Rook released Spite's neck and stretched her hand, letting her fingers skim the water. The cool drops jumping up at her touch and onto her bare arms felt divine. She wanted to dip her whole body into it.

"Just a moment," Spite murmured as if having read her thoughts. Then turned back toward the shore and, as gently as possible, set them both down on the private dock in the garden.

Rook stood up on her toes to kiss his cheek. "Thank you."

"Anytime."

Then Lucanis was back. "Ready for another swimming lesson?"

The night was filled with masks and glittering jewels. Half-hidden daggers flashed in the light of hundreds of candles. And the crowd was a lively field of brightly colored cloth.

A Crow maskball. Teia had offered to host this year, closing the Diamond for the public. Not all the houses were represented, of course. As always, some found a reasonable political excuse not to mingle.

House Dellamorte had accepted. Much to Illario's delight. He had missed this.

The noise, the revels, and the dancing, of course.

Illario prowled the edge of the dance floor, waiting for Mira to finally arrive so he could continue pestering her to dance with him. She hadn't said 'no' specifically - her exact words had been, "If you ask one more time, I will burn down another building". From her, that was almost an encouragement to keep asking.

From behind his plain silver mask, Illario watched Lucanis lead Caterina to her chair. For quite some time now, the old woman actually looked her age, leaning harder on Lucanis with each step. He chased the thought away before the realization of what this meant could settle.

Despite all, his grandmother's sense seemed sharp as ever. She must have felt his eyes on her. Her face snapped up, her dark gaze scanning the room; it caught on him for half a second before sliding away.

With a small, triumphant smirk, Illario slowly drew back into the crowd. His costume for the evening had been a deliberate choice - like all his "battle gear".

In the months since Lucanis had changed his status from prisoner to family under house arrest, people had been whispering all around him every time he set foot into Treviso. Most stopped talking altogether when he walked by, and then watched him from narrowed eyes.

He was so fucking tired of it. Was it too much to ask to do it politely when he was out of earshot? Despite the island offering little entertainment aside from Mira and Illario yearning to return to the city to go shopping with her, visit cafes, or go dancing, the persistent hum of disapproval always made him sigh a breath of relief when he could finally turn his back on the city.

But work had him come to Treviso more and more, sometimes not returning home to Mira and their calm island for days.

Tonight, with everyone being masked, he was finally given a chance to move about mostly unnoticed.

His suit for tonight was surprisingly plain - for his standards. Not too drab as to draw attention by sticking out like a sore thumb, either. A sober shade of blue and charcoal grey, silver buttons and an uninspiring silver trim around the cuffs and collar.

He wore his hair down, gathered at the neck with a simple leather string. And the mask he had chosen covered half of his face.

The only thing remarkable about him tonight was his height. No way to hide that without bending over. But Viago was among the crowd, as well as a few other men around his height. So long as Illario wasn't standing right next to Lucanis, he should be fine.

So far, at least, it was working.

People bowed and smiled at him as if he were any other person in the room. Some offered easy but shallow conversation here and there. He didn't dare to talk too much with people who knew him better, but not talking at all would be rude - and boring. Also, he was curious how long it would take people to figure it out.

In the shadow of a column, two figures dressed in almost similar plum colored suits and cloaks stood and talked. Their eyes darted across the crowd.

Hernando and Julio. Illario immediately recognized them by their posture and the way Julio waved his hands about. Those two were the only ones who had remained remotely friendly with him even after all that had happened.

He hadn't been so stupid as to hope that any of his old friends would still stick with him, but these two hadn't avoided him. On the contrary, they gladly talked to him. It had felt good, even if at first, Illario had been cautious. But he was short on any kind of friends these days, so tossing them aside wasn't something he could afford if he ever hoped to not just rely on Lucanis' protection or the distance from Treviso to not be killed by his own people.

A slow smile broke on Illario's lips. Let's see how long it would take them to recognize him.

"…told you," Julio hissed with a knowing look.

Hernando snorted. "The evening is still young; he will show up. Not like him to miss something like this."

Of course, Illario thought, they are talking about me.

"Good evening, gentlemen," he greeted, keeping his voice on the softer side.

Both of his friends flinched, like children caught at doing something they shouldn't.

"Say, Miguel, is that you? Nice threads," Julio said, mistaking Illario for another of their old friend group.

Illario bit back a smile. No one was supposed to reveal themselves. That was the fun of an evening like this: hiding your identity for as long as possible. You could dance and talk and drink; others could make their assumptions about your identity in silence. And even make a bet. Lots of money was lost on evenings like this. In the past it was usually to Illario. He didn't need to see a face; most people shouted out their identity with too many other little things; they might as well have embroidered their name on their cloak in big letters.

Technically, lying was considered cheating, but this was Antiva. Cheating was part of the fun.

But then, no need to lie. Just answer with a truth, just not the truth the other was asking for.

"Indeed," Illario smirked and let the other two inspect his suit. "I might wear this more often. Any betting started yet?"

Julio chuckled; the sound sounded wrong, but maybe it was because of all the noise around them. "Only one bet currently running."

"Oh?" Illario raised a brow, but hidden behind his mask, the others thankfully didn't see. "On who?"

"Our little traitor," Hernando sneered in a low voice. "Señor Dellamorte the annoying."

Something cold pierced Illario's sternum. And for a second he thought that it was a real blade, but an almost casual brush of his hand over his chest revealed nothing amiss.

"What about him?" Illario asked, fixing his smile before it could slide off his lips.

Julio leaned in, whispering, "Whether he dares to show up at all. You'd think his cousin had enough sense not to force his society on us on every occasion."

"Well, neither of them was ever good at reading a room, right?" Hernando chortled.

Julio clinked his glass with Hernando's. "Sad but true. And to think Illario always lauds himself for being able to see through people."

"He is too full of himself to see anything." Hernando nudged Illario's ribs lightly. "But then again, him actually believing we'd truly take him back as our friend, when he never was to begin with, it's so pathetically funny."

"Maybe that could be his new moniker," Julio suggested, barely containing his mirth. "Illario, the pathetic."

For one foolish heartbeat, Illario waited.

Waited for Julio to laugh.

For Hernando to admit it was all a joke.

To say his name.

Neither man did.

Instead, Hernando joined in. "Illario, the-"

Ah, of course, Illario thought bitterly, while the two men thought of new and not very clever titles to bestow upon him. He smiled through it.

And it isn't like there were no warning signs; a treacherous little thought came unbidden into his mind. Then a series of memories played before his mind's eye: conversations shifting abruptly, smiles freezing, then awkward laughs, too many reassurances. He had seen it yet chosen not to see it.

Why?

Because, just this once, I wanted to be wrong.

When Hernand and Julio finally changed the topic, Illario excused himself with a numb smile; his cheeks already hurting with the effort, he mumbled something about getting himself a drink and left them standing.

All around him, people danced and sang - and laughed. At him? No, but it surely felt like it.

Too many whirling colors, too many voices.

His chest felt like it was being crushed by all of it.

Air.

He needed air.

Holding on to that crumbling smile with a vengeance, Illario stumbled through the crowd. Someone clapped him on his back.

"Too much wine already?"

He didn't wait to see who it was, and forged on, throwing open the closest balcony doors and staggering out into the night.

Blood rushing in his ears, face burning, he grabbed the railing with a white-knuckled grip. Almost painfully, he forced that first breath of cool evening air down into his lungs.

You are a grown man, damn it.

A Crow. We should know better than to trust too easily.

Pull yourself together.

Steps behind him.

Doors closing, swallowing the sounds of the revels within.

Then, "Illario? Are you alright?"

Mira.

Another breath, easier now.

Glad for the mask, he turned. He didn't even try to shape his mouth into something resembling a smile. His face might crack if he tried.

"Mira, amore." Could she hear the rough edge in his voice? He hoped not.

Behind her dark mask, shaped like bird wings, her grey eyes watched him. First with worry, then suspicion.

"What happened?" she asked.

Illario didn't dare to let go of the railing. His hand, he knew, would be shaking. The lie "Nothing. I am fine." was already on his tongue, but it caught behind his teeth.

Truth between us. And no one else.

That had been their promise.

With a sigh, Illario released another long breath, then softly said, "I- There was some unpleasantness with some old…acquaintances. Nothing terrible. I should have expected it, really."

Mira took a step closer, the dark dress she wore whispering mysteriously. "Nothing terrible, huh?" Her hand caught his chin, keeping him from evading her probing stare. "Then why do I feel like going in there and ending a few bloodlines?"

A short sound broke from Illario's throat, not really a laugh but close. "Because you are a bloodthirsty woman."

"Only when I have my reasons." She now cradled his cheek. He knew she would use those gentle hands in not-so-gentle ways if he pointed out the ones who hurt him.

And that knowledge was more than enough to calm his racing heart and steady his hands. It wasn't the whisperers that mattered. The whole world might mutter the word "traitor" until it grew hoarse. He just needed to remember to trust his instincts again.

And so long as Mira was there - calm, caring, and with that aura of a painful death - he could bear the consequences of having ignored them.

Turning his head, he kissed her palm. "I think I am fine now. So, let's not crash the party just yet. Not when I still want to whirl you across the dance floor."

"If we were to crash the party now, then there would actually be space for us on that dance floor."

With a chuckle, Illario pulled her closer, feeling her hard muscle under the flowy dress. "We can always dance here."

She didn't move. Just stood there, in his arms, then tilted her head.

"Does dancing with me mean that much to you?"

"Anything with you means the world to me."

He felt her relax against him.

"I don't like dancing in front of people," she admitted. "My old dancing master told me, I move like I'm wearing full armor."

"I have seen you move while training," Illario murmured, gently guiding her into the first steps of a slow dance. "Just pretend we are practicing in our courtyard."

She didn't resist his guidance; though a little tense at first, she soon followed his steps smoothly.

"Do I get to slam you to the ground when the music ends?"

Laughing freely now, Illario spun her around, making her curse. "No, amore. But you can help me win the demasking competition and then have victory sex with me wherever you choose."

Her steel eyes glinted with humor and the competitiveness he loved so much. "We win this together."

He whirled them around once more, both laughing now, then held the balcony door for her, bowing slightly.