#corval!mc

The two girls were already waiting for him in their new places at the head table, already looking a bit squirmy.  Jasper adjusting his plate and glass in his hands and moved toward them.

And Edmun skittered into his path.  The pale young man breathed sharply through his nose.

“Jasper,” his slightly strangled voice edged out. “I assume you’ve seen the assignments--”

“Yes, I do believe we have all seen them,” Jasper said.  He waited pointedly for the other to move from his obvious intention of obstructing him.  When Edmun did not, Jasper exhaled softly. “Is there a problem, Edmun?”

“A pro--” Edmun stopped before he tossed himself completely out of propriety. “Sir.  As I understand it, the Matchmaker shares some confidence with you.  And so perhaps you are able to enlighten me as to her reasoning for…” He inhaled dramatically. “My assignment.”

Jasper’s brow arched incrementally. “The Crown Prince of Revaire is a prestigious placement.  I fail to see how you could harbor any disappointment.”

“As a valet,” Edmun deadpanned while a vessel pulsed at his temple. “I am a certified butler.  While Montgomery certainly has seniority by far, there’s no sense in wasting my skills--”

“I am sure I am mistaken, but it sounds like you are implying the Matchmaker has been nonsensical,” Jasper said.

“I… I didn’t mean…”

“Yes.  I am sure what you mean to say is that you are grateful for the chance to learn from a senior staff member like Montgomery and it will be an honor to serve such a highly-esteemed member of the nobility.”

Edmun’s tongue floundered for a return.

Jasper pointedly inclined his head. “Now, if you will excuse me, my tea is getting cold.”

Edmun let him by with a somewhat churlish ‘Yes, sir.’

Jasper was not one to put too much confidence in hearsay, but the sheer amount of anecdotal evidence concerning the Crown Prince of Revaire’s character did make the Matchmaker’s choice somewhat curious.  Montgomery was an old hand, if rather lackluster in personality.  Edmun and the other valet were, frankly, arrogant little things.  Hmm.

Perhaps she did not think subservient servants suitable for-- how had he put it-- such a highly-esteemed member of the nobility.

Honestly, though, he was hard put to imagine any other staff member protesting an assignment to a Crown Prince-- not because of his character-- but because it didn’t suit their dignity.

His assigned maids, a Ria and Sayra, sat near the opposite end of the head table.  Ria’s shoulders had a stiff set to them, and her eyes darted a bit.  While Sayra waited with all due inscrutable placidity.  And both had not touched their plates in deference to his absence, as they had been instructed.  That was a relief.  He didn’t need absolute obedience, but he did need amenable characters if this Summit was to be a success for their lady.

The girls rose from their seats at his approach, but he waved them back.

“Good morning,” he said, taking his own chair.

“Good morning,” they replied, Sayra with quiet confidence and Ria just one moment behind her.  She blushed at her fumble.

Jasper ignored it.  He gave them a few introductory comments about the time they will spend together in the future, and the essential nature of their jobs.  Although it is the ruling class who steers the course of the world, they cannot do it without trustworthy and competent help.  Which was made quite difficult by the young maid a few seats down seasoning her slowly congealing cream of wheat with her noisy tears.

“Oh, do buck up,” a young butler nearby finally told her. “How bad can it be, really?”

She blinked wetly at him, her face gone ruddy and drippy. “I’ve-- I’ve-- It’s the pr-prince from Hise.”

The young butler raised a brow. “Do they have princes there?”

This did not console the girl.  She hiccuped. “I d-don’t want to be kidnapped.”

“Oh, yes, how inconvenient that would be,” the young butler agreed solemnly. “After all, I hear dying from scurvy is quite painful.”

The girl gave a quiet wail.  Another younger butler across her looked sympathetic.

“Oh, don’t please.  Listen, I have the princess from Hise and I have taken the initiative of pulling a volume of anti-kidnapping self-defenses from the library.  You can look over it as well.”

The teasing butler bit his lip around a snort.

“That’s enough,” Jasper finally raised his voice to address them.  Their seatmates around them quieted. “As Isle servants, it is not our place nor does it particularly speak well of us to judge our lords and ladies, no matter where they may hail from.  Keep your thoughts to yourself and do your work.”

A tentative chorus of ‘Yes, sir’s’ ran down the table.

Another young girl, despite her more senior companion’s glares, sort of half-raised her hand in a not-yet discarded schoolroom habit.

“But, Jasper, sir--  What if, if say, you’ve been assigned to someone you think might have unusual interests.  Such as, well-- Such as, say, p-puzzles, or piano forte, or maybe, you know,” she paused and fiddled with her braid. “Poison.”

A barely-stifled collective gasp ran down the table, worse than any penny play of the most purple prose.

Jasper eyed her.  This girl and her companion were given a position with a young man of Corval.  A country of which there was no shortage of lurid tales of evil schemers and courtly machinations.  Though there is no smoke without fire, much of these tales were idle fancy.

Jasper opened his mouth, but this girl ploughed on as if the dam on her anxieties had broken.

“I mean it doesn’t do any harm, right?  To read and prepare in case you have to handle any-- any p-poisons, right?  And practice lying, right?  I’ve heard to be a good servant in Corval you must learn to lie for your master and be deadly loyal.  I’m not-- I’m not going to have to be buried alive beside them if they die, right?”  Her voice shrilled on this last.

From the corner of his eye, Jasper could see Ria’s blush draining away to a horrified palor.  Really.  Although their future charge was also Corvali, he had hoped that the girls would be a bit more sensible than this.  Well.  Better an impressionable person with honesty than a hardened veteran with ulterior motive.  He loudly cleared his throat.

“That is absolutely enough of that, thank you,” Jasper told the panicking girl. “The practice of burying servants with their masters hasn’t been practiced in Corval in millenia.  And in any case, there will be no poison, and positively no deaths during the Summit.  What nonsense.”

He studied them all as they withered under his eye. “It seems to me that you all have much work to do in preparation before the arrivals, so I think it would be best to end breakfast early.”

He stood-- the most senior butler present-- and the others rushed to cover their surprise and stand as well.  The line of servants was dotted with sullen glares at the worriers for denying them their meal.  As they all marched sadly out of the dining hall, Jasper gestured at Ria and Sayra to keep up with him.  Sayra wore her ever-calm face, yet her counterpart noticeably still looked wan with shaking fingers wringing her pinafore’s hem.

He gave an internal sigh.  They had so much work to do.

-

In the following weeks, Jasper wondered not a few times whether the Matchmaker was specifically testing his patience.  And what, exactly, that meant about his future mistress.

Even if he were inclined to speculate on the matter, he hardly had time inbetween the hours spent prepping Ria and Sayra and the incessant pestering of those servants disinclined to just do their jobs.

Of particular annoyance was Dietr, the very newest to be qualified as a butler and given the appointment of the princess from Wellin; Jasper found himself ambushed around every corner, in every common room and parlor, with Dietr’s desperate pleas for guidance in the intricate art of etiquette.  From the proper bow of an earl to a duke on their third meeting, to the correct color of china to serve an impromptu second afternoon tea on-- the boy was near in tears over the most esoteric minutiae of proper behavior, certain that he was beyond under-qualified for his lady and that he would most certainly offend her the very moment she first laid eyes on him.

On top of that, a very petty form of hierarchy was wriggling its way into the staff.  Assignments were furtively compared, and suddenly the butler of a Revairan count thought they could order the servants of a Hisean lord to do their laundry.  The Hisean lord’s servants argued that rank was irrelevant in Hise and anyway, how dare they, etc.  A nasty feud of over-starched knickers ensued.

And of course, there was the incident wherein a maid had three of her fingers broken after she and her partner kept sneaking into the sparring practice room to clumsily whack at each other with wooden swords.  After a thorough dressing-down, they explained they were terrified their future Skaltan lady would deem them useless having never studied the blade.

Jasper was not sure where he found the time to drill his maids in the Summit schedule and etiquette, and have them practice their skills, amidst all of this chicanery, but he knew it had involved not a few cups of very stiff tea.

It was a shame that information about ladies of Corval’s inner sanctums was near impossible to obtain, else he would have had the girls work on ways to enhance their lady’s particular charms.  But with the sheer amount of different cooks and laundresses they practiced on, he had no doubt they would be ready no matter what stepped through that chamber door.  And he himself had the delegation roster down pat perfectly, and felt confident he would be able to assist her whatever her goals may be.

And with his and Sayra’s careful nudging, Ria seemed to largely divest herself of notions of being buried alive.

A success all around.

-

The door clicked softy behind Jasper and the lady’s exit, and Ria immediately slumped with a loud exhale.

Sayra patted her arm. “See?  All that worrying for nothing.”

Ria’s hand flew up to cover the sudden heat washing over her cheeks. “Oh!  I know!  When I think about how silly I’ve been-- Oh, Sayra, how did you and Jasper ever put up with me?”

Sayra knelt by the large suitcases to begin organizing and putting away the mountains of silk and beading and jewels.

“You make it easier than you think,” she said.

“So silly,” Ria repeated. “I’ve been terribly, terribly silly.  And when she is so lovely-- Oh, Sayra, promise me, please, you’ll never tell her all the awful things I was worried about.”

“Considerate as ever. No need to wonder why I love you so much, Mors,” she replied over her shoulder, not realizing what she exactly told him until the words already left her lips and echoed through both of their perfectly acute ears.The mirth completely vanished from Yvonne’s tan visage and any response he had died on his tongue. Never had Mors witnessed her look so vulnerable, so worried before and her hapless expression nearly broke his heart. Back in her home, court life was dangerous (but thrilling, at times, according to Yvonne) and everyone was seeking out each other’s weaknesses, hoping to uncover ways to drag their opponents down and take their place. Loving someone could be deadly, especially if it was the wrong person or your hold on power was feeble. Yvonne wasn’t just frightened of her feelings for him, she also was scared someone would use him to strike out against her and all would be lost. 

Mors still recalled her reaction when he turned up to the Hawke manor, bloody and sore from a bandit fight, and Yvonne was there, waiting for him. Albeit she concealed it well, he was able to espy from her swift, caring movements as well as the anxious, frantic gleam in those striking purple eyes of hers that she had concerned, terrified even, that he might not come home. 

Yvonne cheriesh, no loved him so much that she locked her feelings and heart away so no one would be able to use them against her or the people she wanted to protect. 

Fathoming what he had to do, Mors simply opened up his arms and said softly, “Come, Yvonne. It’s all right.”

Wordlessly, she complied, encircling her arms around his lean, muscled torso, burying her face in the crook of his neck. Strands of her strawberry blonde hair tickled his nose, her scent of lilies and amber wafted all over and ensnaring his senses. He began to relax a little and the tension he felt from Yvonne’s now taut body started to lessen.

“You don’t have to be afraid, Yvonne.” Mors told her. “You know that I love you too, right?”

A small nod was her answer prior to lifting her head and slowly facing him. “But what if you get hurt--or worse--because of me? I love you so much and can’t bear the thought of you gone from this world too soon?” After all, she knew not everyone who came with her to discuss trade and friendship with the remaining leaders of Kirkwall were allies of her and would have no qualms to find methods that would place Mors in danger, just as long as it would inflict enough agony onto her. 

“I worry the same about you, Yvonne. I too have countless enemies that will love to utilize any means to stop me or put me in my place. Yet I won’t let them stop me from loving you or showing it to the world.” His thumb grazed her cheek, tender and affectionate. Yvonne tilted her head so her mouth could brush itself against that thumb, kissing it gently. 

“You’re right and I desire that too, more than anything. But if I lost you because of my actions, I’d never forgive myself, Mors.”

“When it comes to love, there is always a risk,” he added, continuing to stroke her tan face. “I am ready to take it. If I don’t, I know I shall regret it.” The Champion of Kirkwall longed to say more yet did not want to push Yvonne. She had to be comfortable and prepared to overcome those fears rooted inside her derived from her life in court. 

Taking a deep breath, Yvonne digested his words with care, all the while his touch soothed and cherished as she pondered. Mors was right. Even if she concealed her love for him, her heart would ache and rail against herself for such a cruel decision. She took risks before with such uncertain outcomes but at least, with Mors, he’ll still be at her side even if the Corval court admonished her for her decisions or her foes attempted to manipulate their love to further their schemes. 

Well, I won’t allow them. Not today, not ever.

“Then tomorrow morning, let us make our relationship official,” she finally answered placing a hand around his cheek, the corners of her lips steadily turning upwards while her heart became lighter by her intentions and declaration. “We shall be more than allies with a few bedroom perks. We’ll be lovers--and so much more.”

Mors’s wide grin was almost identical to hers now. “I like the sound of that. I cannot wait for tomorrow, to see and love you openly.”

“And I don’t know who I have to thank more: you or your adorable dog.” The said mabari was sound asleep, snoozing a few feet away from the bed. Mors chuckled, his fingertips digging deep into some knots around her shoulder blades and she hissed, reveling in the pleasurable pain. “I’ll accept your thanks for the both of us.”

Amused, Yvonne turned around in his arms and planted a linger, warm kiss on his mouth before leaving a trail of butterfly kisses along his jaw, chin, and neck. “Is that so? Then you’ll really enjoy how I plan to thank you personally, Mors.” One hand snaked down his chest and abdomen, resting near his crotch prior to her fingers tenderly grasped their prize. The smoky gleam in his eyes, the aroused expression overtaking his handsome features were enough of an indication that he had the same thought on his mind.

Yvonne did not expect to awake up to the sounds of bickering, especially from two of Mors’s companions, for she recognized their voices and knew besides the Hawke family and servants, only his friends had full access to the manor.   

She glanced over at her lover, who remained asleep, his face blissful and tranquil. A small, grateful smile curved itself across her lips and reaching over, her fingers grazed his beard and cheek, her touch light enough not to wake him. His whiskers tickled her skin, broadening her soft grin even more. Moments like these were ones she cherished so fondly, for Mors appeared so serene and happy, untroubled by the weight of world. Whatever quandaries awaited him downstairs, she could handle it. He deserved as many hours of sleep as he could get.

Slipping into an aubergine silk robe embroidered with silver and copper threaded designs, Yvonne descended the stairs and found herself observing a crossed Captain of the Guard, Aveline, and Mors’s regaling storyteller and rather dashing and deeply masculine friend, Varric, arguing. Unlike the tall, ginger haired warrior, Varric seemed more amused than anything else.   

“May I help you two?” Yvonne queried thusly, purple eyes roaming first from Aveline, then to Varric. “And please, keep your voices down. Mors is still sleeping.”

“Kept him all night, did you?” guffawed the roguish dwarf, grinning from ear to ear. Aveline scoffed. And yet, Yvonne remained gracefully composed, a hint of a knowing smile dancing on her bronze features, neither confirming or denying his words. Her hair and state of dress of conspicuous enough to answer his bawdy question. 

“We didn’t mean to disturb you or Hawke,” Aveline spoke up, shooting a dirty glare at Varric. “I had originally stopped by to drop something off when Varric over here decided to provoke me with his stories.”

“It’s only one book!” he protested, still smirking away like a bobcat. “And I’m not going to use your real name–I’m simply drawing inspiration from you.”

“Given to the fact it’s you who is doing the writing, that gives me scant comfort.”

Prior they could resume their argument and render her more perplexed than before, the strawberry blonde noble sighed heavily and clapped her hands sharply, akin to a mother demanding the attention of two rowdy children. “Please, enough! Let us resolve this situation before your bickering wakes Mors up. He needs all the sleep he can get these days.”

“It’s nothing, Lady Yvonne,” assured Aveline. “It is merely Varric being himself and writing a book about me without telling me until the very last minute.”

“First of all, the main character is based on you, not actually you–there is a difference. Secondly, it was suppose to be a surprise. I thought you liked surprises!”

“I hate them, especially from you.” Icicles dripped from her voice. 

As much as Yvonne longed to return to a warm bed with a warmer and bare Mors in it, this conundrum had to dealt with first.   

“Have you already finished and published this book or are you still in the process of writing the full story?”

The dwarf shifted his gaze on her, folding his arms as he spoke. “Technically, it’s done and my editor loves the story so far. The writing needs a bit of editing and polishing, that is all.”

Nodding, Yvonne then directed her gaze back on the ginger haired knight captain, who was carefully listening to Varric’s response. A thoughtful impression gleamed in her eyes and Yvonne observed the woman meticulously. Aveline didn’t outright say “no” and now seemed somewhat intrigued so hopefully, there still was a chance at a compromise after all. 

“Aveline, would you feel more at ease if you read Varric’s story first before you make your final decision whether or not the book should be published?”

The said woman nodded. “I’ll admit, doing so would help. That way I can know exactly what Varric is writing.” 

“I promise, I did the main character justice,” reassured Mors’s boon companion. “But I have the first draft ready for reading back at the Hanged Man, if you’re interested.” 

While Aveline was considering his offer, Yvonne quickly added, “That does not sound like an awful idea. The sooner you two resolve this issue, the better for the both of you.” And the sooner I can get back to bed and Mors.

“I suppose I have time to read over the first few chapters.” Aveline answered with a sigh. “And if I like what I see, Varric, then I shall think about letting you and your editor publish the story.”

“Perfect! I promise you won’t regret this.” The dwarf eagerly gestured for the knight captain to follow him as they exited the foyer.

“Why do I feel that I already am?” the captain muttered as she began to trail behind Varric, heading straight for the door. “But we intruded long enough. I’m sure Hawke misses you.” Aveline’s mouth were then curled up softly in good humor. It was only until after they left and Yvonne turned around to witness Mors standing up against the balcony on the second floor, did she comprehend Aveline’s meaning. A small smile resting amicably on his lips, the light of the chandelier above dancing in his warm, dusky eyes and along his sculpted, bare chest, dark hair dusted around his chest, arms, and abdomen. Some marks from their vigorous sexual activities were beginning to show, such as a few of her love bites along his neck and shoulders. 

“I’ve never seen anything like the way you handled that. I’m just so moved. And impressed.” Mors remarked, the smile growing as she ascended the stairs to join him. “Usually, an argument between Varric and Aveline never ends that swiftly.”  

“Oh, it was nothing. Besides, I was more concerned their bickering would wake you up and wanted to avoid that.” She frowned slightly. “Unfortunately, all my efforts were all for naught.”

He reached over to draw her into a tender embrace, pressing his lips to her temple for a brief kiss. “Don’t blame yourself. I was only half asleep when I noticed your absence and only wandered out when I heard the hushed talking. I thought I recognized Aveline’s disapproved tone.” Yvonne felt the corners of her mouth tilt upward in amusement, knowing all too well how...distinct Aveline’s voice was compared to others. Her fingers trailed down Mors’s chest while he tugged at the sash around her waist. The fabric loosened a little bit from his fiddling and the top of her robe opened, revealing her shoulders and upper chest. 

“Looking for another round?” she purred, caressing his abdomen affectionately. Her body arched with pleasure when Mors slipped a hand underneath her robe and tenderly grasped one of her breasts, flicking a thumb over a rosy nipple. He buried his face against her throat, his beard tickling her. 

“Maybe,” he said, timbre muffled. “The bed, it’s not the same without you.”

The Empress’s south garden had a pleasantly situated mezzanine, lined on either side with delicate arcades in which filmy moon-white silk stirred in the evening breeze.  The midday rest period had ended, and now was the time for courtiers to venture out into the weakened heat of the day’s late hours.  Most were accustomed to take tea in this time, and the Empress had provided a splendid spread of strong black tea in tiny gilded glass cups and lovely ripe grapes, plums, and pomegranates.

Only the finest for the newest member of the harem, the Empress smiled.  Around them arrayed servants and other favorites, all half-smiles and faint perfume.

“Your Majesty, you are too generous,” Lady Renn said. “You already arranged my wedding so splendidly.  Why, I could not repay you in several lifetimes!”

The Empress laughed lightly. “I don’t expect it, dear.  As head of the harem, it is my duty to maintain harmony and ensure the continuance of the imperial line.  Your happiness has become my happiness.”

Lady Renn bent her head. “I pray that I will be fortunate enough to repay the magnanimity of the Empress and the Emperor with many princes.”

“As do we all,” the Empress said.

Her expression and tone rang elegantly and tenderly, but they all knew better.  It was not a wish expressed, but a threat.  Sweetness from the fruits, clean herbal tangs from the garden, and dark richness of the steaming tea filled the air.  Lady Renn smiled with sweat on her lip.

“Concerning which,” the Empress continued. She gestured to Dhorée. “This is my personal apothecary and physician.  I cannot sing her praises in a pretty enough tune.  She can be rid of the smallest ailment from headaches to lethargy.”

The Empress leaned in toward Lady Renn, her expression vividly sincere. “But her greatest help to me was in conceiving the Crown Prince.  And she delivered him, as well.”

This was not entirely true.  Dhorée did help with the Empress’s fertility and conception, but she had merely assisted with the delivery.  A crone who lived in some of the best quarters of the palace had been midwife to more princesses and princes and emperors than could be sat a full banquet.  Still, they all knew the game the Empress played, and they all knew their place within it.

Lady Renn smiled at Dhorée. “I have heard.  How clever you are at such a young age!”

Dhorée smiled back with equal pleasantry. “Thank you, my lady.  I am honored by the Empress’s words.”

The Empress’s, and not Lady Renn’s.  It was what the Empress expected.  And Dhorée had four years on the new blushing bride of the Emperor.  And many more years of tireless study besides.  But she couldn’t take it personally; it was, after all, court.

“So, I thought it would be best to give her to your household, my dear.  Nothing is more important than your health, and my darling Dhorée is the best with these matters,” the Empress said.

To her credit, Lady Renn’s eyes did widen with pleased surprise. “Oh, I could never take such a skilled servant from you, Your Majesty.”

“Nonsense.  She is yours.  Your first child will be the hardest, so we must take all precaution.”

“Oh, I have just been married!  You do make me blush, Your Majesty.”

“How sweet!  But really, we should have started this before the wedding.  In any case, there is no time to lose.  And look, you’re both from the same hold.  You will have much in common, I’m sure.”

Lady Renn glanced at Dhorée and back at the Empress.  Her smile did not crack, but it was a near thing.  A daughter of duke, having “much in common” with a palace apothecary?  From anyone else, it would have been a gross insult.  But that was “anyone else.”  This was the Empress.

But it was true.  Lady Renn and Dhorée shared the thin faces and blue-black skin of the clan families who lived along the southern coast of Corval’s inland sea.  They traded in some of the rarest red timber in the world and in shipbuilding.  Arlish and Wellish timber were imported to the area (the local red timber was far too precious to be wasted on ships), and master engineers crafted deadly Corvali frigates and corvettes which were floated down rivers to the outer coast.  The inner location protected the workshops from Hisean raids.

Lady Renn’s father owned many of these timber mills and ship companies.  Dhorée’s father had been a mere cold remedy peddler.  Lady Renn was married to the Emperor of Corval.  Dhorée was being bodily traded from one master to another at this very moment.  So to say they had much in common?  Well, the Empress said so, so it must be true.

Lady Renn bent at the waist, a semi-bow of obeisance. “Then I accept with pleasure and gratitude, Your Majesty.”

-

Striding forward, Silla brushed his uniform straight with absent-minded fingers.  Darkness had just set, and the real business of the day was only just beginning.  The broad hall swept around an exterior wall of the palace, its open casements peering out into the blue dusk.  One could still make out the deep and stark line of the palace walls, a guard’s dark shadow cut into the speckled sky.

The palace steward walking before him was saying something innocuous about their surroundings that happened to also be complimentary towards Silla himself.  Silla smiled and returned the pleasantry.  The guards around them were silent, with silent palms on their silent pommells.  They were not his.

Silla had no disillusions about his own station once the doors to the harem pulled shut behind him.  Out there, he was an intelligence officer in the navy.  In here, he was a guest crawling toward scraps of His Majesty’s benevolence.  There could be no mistakes.

Passing through an intersection of marbled halls, Silla suddenly stopped and a broad grin stretched across his face.

“Farou?  My word, is that really you, Fancy-Foot Farou?” he called out.

Ignoring the guards at his shoulders, Silla strode toward another guard standing on duty just to the side of the intersection.  The tawny young man blinked at Silla.  He smiled despite himself, then glanced worriedly at the other guards and the steward.

Silla continued on anyway. “Farou, you so-and-so, I haven’t seen you since I left the stationing in Skalt.  I’m surprised you didn’t freeze your balls off.  You were always threatening to.”

He slapped Farou on the shoulder and reached for his hand, pumping it enthusiastically.

Farou laughed lightly. “Captain.  It’s good to see you.  Congratulations are in order.”

“Yes, yes,” Silla said. “My sister is quite blessed to have the fortune of serving the Emperor.  My family is honored.”

The steward cleared his throat.  Farou glanced at him.

“Well, it’s been good to see you, Captain.”

“You as well, Farou.  I’m in the city, let me buy you a drink sometime.”

“Absolutely.”

As Silla finally released Fancy-Foot Farou’s hand, the guard passed a small and tightly folded square of paper into his ex-captain’s hand.  With practiced ease, Silla tucked the square into his sleeve out of sight of his escort.

The steward gave Silla a hard-eyed stare with lips pressed thin, but gestured him on politely enough.  The rest of the journey into the inner sanctum of the imperial harem went quietly enough without any disruptions.

“I asked for you hours ago,” Renn exclaimed angrily.

Silla sighed, smiling. “How are you?  I’m fine, it’s wonderful to see you.  Have you settled into the palace?  Oh yes, everyone–”

“Don’t give me that,” Renn snapped.

Silla stared back at his sister, working his jaw.  It seemed not even marriage had changed her.  Her quarters were wide and spacious, washed in the beautiful gold of a thousand candles.  The Empress had even had most of the furniture carved from the hard redwood of their homeland, the rigidity of the wood lending to distinct, hard-lined fluidity in the crenelations and forms.  Servants, eyes cast down, stood quietly around the room waiting to be beckoned to service.

One of them, a woman about his own age, stepped toward Renn.

“My lady, we should begin,” she said calmly.

Renn glanced at her, and her serene face, a cool umber tone and spare in its design.  A crown of braids wove around her head.  Renn licked her lips, and turned back to Silla.  She smiled.

“This is Dhorée, dear brother.  Her Majesty was generous enough to install her personal apothecary and physician in my household.  She is to help me conceive.”

Renn stared at Silla.  Her eyes trembled with fear.  Silla internally sighed.  She had been told, many times, to expect such maneuvers.  And yet here she was, being all too obvious about her personal feelings.  No wonder she had summoned him so urgently.  Not for the first time, Silla wished he’d had another sister, any female relative at all, that he could have used instead of Renn.

Silla bent toward the apothecary, Dhorée. “Her Majesty’s benevolence is boundless.  I thank you on behalf of my sister and family.”

Dhorée dipped into a deep curtsy. “Not at all, your lordship.  I only hope my small skills will be of use to Lady Renn.”

“Please,” Silla gestured toward his sister. “Don’t let me interrupt.  Shall I step outside?”

“That shouldn’t be necessary,” Renn interjected, glancing between them.

Dhorée bent toward the lady. “Not at all, my lady.  I only need a light preliminary exam.”

Renn nodded sharply.  Her head bent, Dhorée approached the lady, and carefully slipped a sleeve back to lay her finger on a pulse point.

“I said this before, but we are grateful– our family wants nothing more than many princes–”

“Please, my lord, I ask for quiet while I examine Her Ladyship,” Dhorée said.

Silla coughed and took a seat. “Sorry.  Of course.”

The long pause drew taut.  The room flickered rhythmically to the quiet breaths of the servants, standing staid at attention, and of the three in the center of the room.  Silla often thought that the dreadful nature of Corvali politics had much to do with their nation’s heat.  Business could never be done in broad daylight; no one wants to discuss contracts and treaties covered in sweatstains.  Everything had to be done in the evening after the worst of the heat finally breaks or in the morning, if you are particularly industrious or sadistic.  Spooky candlelight made one feel, after all, either quite fearful or cruel.  Or both.

Dhorée completed her exam, making her polite requests to the lady.  The apothecary stood.

“Well?” Renn demanded.

“You are quite healthy, my lady.  As expected of your youth and good blood,” Dhorée stated. “I will create a mixture for you to drink the week after your cycle.”

“Can’t you just give it to me now?”

“These things must be done with the correct timing, my lady.”

Renn sighed. “Alright.” She frowned.  She glanced back up at the apothecary. “You-”

Dhorée bent her head.  When Renn did not continue, she said, “My lady?”

Renn glanced at Silla, who looked back blankly.

“No, nothing, Dhorée.  Is your examination finished?”

“Yes, my lady.”

“Then–”

The bell for the outer door chimed just then.  One of the servant girls bobbed to Renn and left the room.  She returned, announcing:

“His Majesty’s messenger sends his master’s greetings.  His Majesty requests Lady Renn’s company tonight.”

Renn straightened.  She was suppressing her glee, Silla could see.  And likely everyone else in the room saw, too.

He stood. “That is my cue to part with you, dear sister.”

Renn was already calling for her favorite gowns and a bath.

“Yes, yes.  Until later,” she said impatiently.  She did not look at him

Really, she spent so much vitriol scolding him for not appearing on command, now she nearly shoves him out the door.

Silla stood and spotted the apothecary still bent to Renn.  His sister had quite forgotten her.  A plant by the Empress, and the girl forgets her.  Silla smiled and gestured to Dhorée.  Hesitating, she looked to Renn, and then nodded back at him.  They quietly slipped from the room, him holding the door for her.

In the antechamber, the Emperor’s messenger and his retinue waited several paces away near the door.  Silla’s own escort had vacated seats for them.  They bowed as Silla entered.  He nodded, and turned to Dhorée.  He stopped her retreat with a soft word.

She looked at him silently.  She wore her mask well.  Corvali court masks, the really good ones, were invisible so that you could not tell just what sort of mask it was.  Often you did not see it until too late.

“I was going to say before,” he smiled, “That I really am quite grateful for your skills.  I know my sister can be difficult–” She opened her mouth for the expected denials, but he shook his head. “I know how she can be, so I’d like to say that I see your efforts.”

Dhorée did not even hesitate.  Not even at what was as much threat as compliment.  She bobbed a curtsy. “You honor me, my lord.”

Silla nodded.  He bid her farewell and rejoined his escort.  As they left, Silla charmingly inquired after a particular set of gardens.  The steward assigned to babysit him agreed to take a route through them.  Silla smiled.  The note Farou had passed him gave him the particulars of a dead drop with the real information he needed.

Despite Renn being Renn, it wasn’t a bad investment at all to place her here, in the heart of the imperial harem.  Not bad at all.

-

It was another month before Silla reentered the palace.

It was enough time to learn what he needed.  He spent the late afternoon drinking tea with Renn and sympathizing with her whispered complaints to him.  She passed him a few crumbs of interesting leads.  He reassured her that her current position protected her from Her Majesty.  When he brought up the subject of the apothecary and her work on ensuring the “many princes,” he was hardly surprised when she put her cup down.

“I suppose,” Renn said carefully. “I suppose I may have been quick to judge.  These servants don’t always get to chose their master.  Some just need the luck of finding the right one.”

“Oh?” Silla smiled. “What a change of attitude.  Am I to be an uncle already?”

“No, Silla,” Renn stated as if he were very slow. “It’s only been a few weeks.  But.  She has helped me with my complexion.  And–” She leaned toward him as if this were some great secret.  She imparted to him an anecdote of how Dhorée managed to move the head of the seamstress department out of Renn’s way when the woman didn’t fit a dress to her liking.  A nasty ailment of the stomach that crippled her for two weeks.

“Well, well,” Silla said. “What busy little bees you two have been.  But all the same, I’d like to speak to her, if you would.  You are, after all, not here to meddle in the lives of seamstresses, but to bear a prince.”

Renn stared at him for a moment, and he could tell she was biting back an angry comment.

“Very well,” she finally said.  She gestured to a servant.

She was as he remembered her: dark like himself and Renn, and crowned with intricate braids.  And that expression which told him nothing.  It seemed to tell Renn that the apothecary was suitably servile and compliant.  He suspected this was not entirely true.

Silla spent some time questioning Dhorée over his sister’s baby-making progress.  Dhorée properly apologized for not producing results beyond what is naturally possible.  They spent some time discussing Renn, the lady herself quite pleased with the topic of conversation.  But the hour approached in which the Emperor would select which wife to summon.  It would likely be Renn.

Silla put down his cup. “I must go.  But first, I’d like to thank you, Dhorée.”

“My lord, I have done nothing–”

“And that is exactly why I thank you,” Silla smiled. “After all, you had a month’s worth of opportunities to tell the Empress my sister has no intention of having an imperial child.”

Renn dropped her teacup.  She gaped at Silla.  Dhorée maintained her bland expression.

“I’m sure that’s not true, my lord,” the apothecary stated calmly.

“No, it’s quite true,” Silla said, ignoring Renn’s sputtering. “For one, I know my sister.  So I know it.  But I know you, Dhorée, know it because I said the words ‘many princes’ when you first took her pulse.  The pulse tells all, and it would have told you exactly what you’d need to know to give Her Majesty leverage.  But–” He gestured at the pretty garden around them, directly adjacent to Renn’s quarters. “But it’s clear that the Empress’s wrath hasn’t descended on us.”

Renn swiveled to stare at Dhorée.  Dhorée remained focused on Silla.

“Perhaps, then, His Lordship could tell Lady Renn to stop inducing vomiting on herself after taking the fertility medicine I’ve made her.”

Silla’s brow jumped. “Renn,” he mock-scolded.

“I–” his sister started, horror etched in her face. “I– I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Is that so?” Silla asked.

“Silla,” Renn said, turning to him earnestly. “Please.  Can’t it just be enough that His Majesty is in love with me?  Everyone knows I’ve been with him the most this month–”

“And what about when he stops summoning you every night?  What about when he gets a newer wife?  What about when you are old and alone?” Silla stated.  He dropped his blithe tone and the playful rise in his brow.  He stared hard at his sister.

She dropped her eyes. “I…”

“You didn’t think about it, I know.  That’s why I’m here.  And that’s why you need to listen to me.”

Renn stared at him. “Why do I… I never wanted children.  I never…”

“You’ll spend nine months being doted on by the entire court, a few hours of labor, and it’s done.”

The lady was silent.  Dhorée gently cleared her throat.

“There’s plenty of time, my lady,” she said.

Renn was silent.  Then the imperial messenger came for her again, and she nodded to Silla’s pointed look.  The lady left with a swish of rick silks and the tinkling of her pearl strands.  Silla did not get up, and did not dismiss Dhorée.  Around them, the garden whispered its secret scents to them, fluttery with tea lights.  The stars were coming out.

Dhorée gazed at him. “Why are you trying to help me?”

“I said before, I know she can be difficult.  Anything to help ease tensions.”

“No.  That’s not it,” Dhorée said.  Her eyes hardened. “Let me ask again.  Why are you trying to help me?”

Silla smiled. “Why don’t you explain it to me.”

She frowned.  She looked as if she was about to stand and stride away.  But she shook her head and said, “If I were informing to Her Majesty, why help dispel Lady Renn’s suspicions?  Why not just have me quietly disappear?”

“Like I said,” Silla stated, leaning back into his seat and crossing a foot over his knee. “I already gave you an opportunity for the Empress to be rid of Renn.  Either you are not as loyal to Her Majesty as she may think, or she is playing a grander game.  I’m interested in seeing which it is.”

Dhorée stared at him, her shoulders back and her neck elegantly long.

“And besides.  You just said if you were informing to Her Majesty.  Implying you aren’t, or at least might not be.”

The apothecary maintained her calm gaze.  She tilted her chin up, her black eyes meeting his.

“I know what I said,” Dhorée stated softly.

Silla smiled.  Around them, the garden sighed sweetly.

-

The affair began two months later.

Lady Renn accompanied the Emperor to the hunting lodge of a friend, and the lady brought nearly her entire retinue with her, including Dhorée.  It went much as these things do:  Silla showed up one day, delighting his sister and his brother-in-law, there was a grand party (the kind with alcohol and poor decisions and backstabbing), her eyes met his across a crowded room, and he followed her into a quiet little room.

She pulled away from that first hungry kiss to exhale, “You’re married.”

Silla breathed, licking his lips as he looked at her. “So are you.  All beings within the palace belong body and soul to His Majesty.”

It didn’t matter.

It didn’t matter that they could only meet in the few instances where Silla was permitted to visit his sister, or the handful of times he had Dhorée spirited out of the palace.

It didn’t matter when Renn had a miscarriage that upset her so much, the Emperor pitied her terribly, and seemed to favor her all the more.  Silla never asked if it had been Dhorée’s doing.

It didn’t matter that they were suspicious of one another, probing the other’s motives with barbed words and traps disguised as scraps of information.

It didn’t matter that Renn grew overconfident, and began an underhanded solicitation of politicians.  She accrued a secret wealth of favors-owed, which Silla drew from time to time.  Dhorée looked the other way.

It didn’t matter that one soiree Silla was accompanied by his wife.  And Dhorée had to smile by Renn’s side while the nobility laughed over delicate refreshments.

It didn’t matter that the Empress still sent flowers to Dhorée on her birthday, and other little gifts.

None of it mattered.  And before they could even take their bearings, Silla and Dhorée were caught up in a whirlwind of their entanglement.

Two years passed in this manner.

-

“I don’t see why you are being so difficult,” Renn said testily.

“Really?” Silla stated, his voice uncharacteristically high-pitched. “You really can’t imagine why I’d object.”

The lady leaned back into her settee, her every movement setting off a glittering music of jingling bracelets, necklaces, and earrings.  Her fondness for jewels and pretty metal had only grown over the years.  The redwood furniture now wore gilding along every edge.  Dhorée quietly poured tea for them.

“You haven’t been promoted in ages,” Renn complained, on the side of whining. “And it’s not just a general’s braids I could get you.  A ministership–”

“It’s nepotisim and bribery, Renn.  You may have forgotten, but the imperial harem has laws,” he hissed.

Renn’s nose snarled. “You think I’m stupid, don’t you?  I’ve taken precau–”

“I don’t think you are, I know you are.  And you haven’t been cautious enough.  If I could find out enough to be alerted to the dire need to come here and scold you, then other people know, too.”

“Fine, fine,” Renn snapped. “You don’t have to get your knickers in a twist over it.  I was just trying to do something nice for you–”

“Stop doing nice things for me.  For anyone, for that matter.  Put your head down and worry about how much the Emperor wants you.”

Dhorée shifted on her feet.  He’d really wasn’t pulling the punches today.  Lady Renn had been summoned less and less lately.  The lady’s complexion furled in angry splotches.  She dismissed her brother with a haughty ring in her voice.  Silla left, his cloak snapping behind him.

Lady Renn was in a mood the rest of the day.  Dhorée brewed a calming tea for her, adjusted the fertility concoction she was still taking with no result (after two years the apothecary would blamed at this point, but of course she hadn’t been), and gave the lady a pressure point massage.

Lady Renn finally let her go at that point.

As Dhorée walked the back halls of the palace, servants made room for her and remade their expression to cool servility.  For one thing, an apothecary was somewhere between a servant and a favored lady-in-waiting.  Except the education was much more demanding, and the stakes were much, much higher.  No servant wanted to ever catch the attention of an apothecary, especially when her mistress held the sort of reputation Lady Renn did in the kitchens, the sewing rooms, and the servant quarters.

Dhorée walked on placidly.

Her little set of rooms had a pleasant view of the northern palace wall, over which a shimmering fractal of ocean could be seen.  She had her own sitting room, a workshop, and a bedroom.  As Dhoré walked across her fine silken carpet, shrugging off her outer robe to throw onto her bed, she found Silla sitting up in said bed.

“Yet another thing I have to hold against Renn,” he said, pushing himself up. “Her keeping you from me.”

“You shouldn’t be here,” Dhorée told him without much force.

He stood on his long legs and reached for her, his rough military man’s hand taking hers scented with acrid herbs.  She let him lead her to the edge of the bed.  He sat back on the emerald silks, holding her at the hip and looking up at her face.  Their knees rested together.

“What is it, Silla?” Dhorée asked quietly.  She curled her fingers in the dense bristles at the base of his neck, kneading lightly.

Silla heaved a sigh and closed his eyes.  He was silent for a long time.  He knew what she meant; they always knew exactly what the other meant now.  They spoke a shared language of insinuation and allusion.  They were the same breed of creature.

“We caught the Bloody Edge a month ago,” Silla finally stated. “Usually he’s so careful, but we kidnapped his husband.  Grabbed him during the ransom exchange.  He was brought in.  And…”

Silla shrugged, looking hard and blank at nothing.  Or maybe looking at something he wished was nothing.

“And this bullshit with Renn– Goddamit.”

Letting go of her, he bent forward and ground the heel of his palm into his closed eyes.

Dhorée removed her hand from the back of his neck.  

“I can’t fix those problems, Silla,” she said.

She lightly ghosted her fingertips along his jaw.

“What do you want?” she said.

Silla looked back up at her.  His dark eyes shone out of his blue-black and handsome face.  Sliding his hands back onto her hips, he pulled her toward him again.  Staring up at her, he placed a soft kiss over her dress near her navel.

“I want you on this bed.  I want you to let me have my way with you.”

Dhorée climbed over him, knees sinking into the feather mattress beside his thighs.  He fell back as she hovered over him.

At first, she brushed it off. She sometimes had to obfuscate some details for her own work, either because of the people involved in a story or the politics behind it. Then she’d worried she was someone’s sidepiece – but the fact he almost always answered his phone made that less likely. She’d looked into it anyway – his name wasn’t on any wedding registries and the name on his medical forms was for a cousin she’d already met. His car, bank account and lease were all under his name alone.

Soat least he wasn’t married, though it didn’t rule out girlfriend or common law spouse.

But lately she was beginning to think it was something else entirely.

Firstly there were the injuries. He said it was bruises from his kickboxing class – but bruises didn’t require bandages. Those were for scrapes – don’t you know I’m clumsy, Glitter? Except he had the balance of a damned cat and she knew it.

Then there were the oddities. Like when he answered the phone and she swore she heard Revairin in the background. He claimed he was in restaurant – but she spoke Revairin goddamnit and she knew the word for pork did not sound anything like the word for interrogate.

And then again, two weeks ago when he’d shone up soaking wet at 1AM. He’d claimed his car broke down a few streets over and he realized he was nearby, was all. Except after he’d towelled off – and she’d darted two doors down the hall to beg a shirt and pants fromher neighbour Zarad – he’d held her like he was drowning, hands shaking every time he let go too much.

So now here she was, seated on Zarad’s couch staring down at the plain manilla folder he’d just handed her.

“I’m not going to like this, am I?” she asked, dread warring withncuriosity.

Zarad, for once, was not smiling or otherwise acting in a devil may care attitude. He hadn’t flirted with her once since she stepped in the door – which was a little like waking upto a yellow sky. Unnerving and wrong.

“Wellbhe’s not cheating on you – or via you,” he said.

“He’sba mobster, isn’t he?” she asked, “or in a gang. Oh God does hework for you mother?”

“Now now, you know very well my father’s wife is not my mother,” Zarad said, “and no. At least not habitually.”

And what did that mean? Without another word she flipped the file open –and there was Hamin. In a mugshot.

“Is this from Vail Island?” she asked after a moment. Zarad snorted.

“Someday, you and I are going to talk about why you recognize Vail Island mugshot letterboards on sight,” he said. “But yeah. Taken three years ago.”

Shenodded, and turned back to her folder – and then froze.

“My boyfriend’s a pirate?”

“Was,”Zarad said. “Now he’s a spy.”

“My boyfriend’s a pirate spy,” she said, looking up in pure disbelief. She turned some more pages – vague mission reports, an arrest records slightly longer than the one Hamin had admitted to alread and – oh those wily bastards. “Did you have any idea?”

Zaradput on his most innocent face. “Why would I?” he asked. “Did you?”

“You know I had an idea something was up,” she said. He nodded.

“To be fair, mobsters and spies aren’t that divorced from one another,”he said. “Good guess.” And then he added, “you should dump him. I’m single.”

“And totally not also a spy,” she said. He just blinked again, that woefully unconvincing look still on his face. “Thank you for the folder. I owe you – but as stated will not repay in sexual favours or body parts.”

“I would never take advantage,” he said. “And not even a kidney?”

“No,” she said. She did all the same cross the floor to kiss his cheek. Quieter, she said, “and really thank you Zarad.” He didn’t squeeze her arm, just brushed his hand across hers.

“Don’t mention it,” he said. “Literally. To anyone. And burn that or something when you’re done.”

“As you say,” she said and without another word left his apartment. The walk to her own apartment wasn’t long – they lived on the samefloor and there were only six units per level anyway. But it was long enough to come to terms with this reality.

Her boyfriend was a spy. Which left her with only a handful of options.Break up and try to forget about him; pretend she didn’t know…

As the door closed behind her she picked up her phone, hitting number three on speed dial.

“Glitter!”Hamin’s voice cut in after only a single ring, “I was just thinking of you.”

“Oh? Good,” she said, “I have a request to make.”

“Foryou, anything,” he said easily.

“Terrific.vPlease stop making plans with me when you’re going to be out of the country,” she said, taking a third option.

“Er,”Hamin said.

“We’ll discuss more when you’re home of course,” she said. “And hello Jasper, I know you’re listening.”

“Ms. Handliar,” Jasper said. Unlike Hamin, who’s voice had the usual cellphone quality Jasper sounded like he could have been right next to her. “I suppose you’ve spoken to your neighbour, then?”

“Michi?”she asked, playing dumb. “Is she a spy too? Oh she’s good I never would have guessed-” she gasped as if offended. “Are you only dating on me to spy on an enemy, Hamin?” she demanded.

“Glitter– Pippa no,” Haminsaid. “Look-”

“You’rebright,” she said, knowing that if let him start she would probably get talked into circles. “This is not a phone conversation. Are you both available in two days time for tea at say…3PM?”

A pause and Jasper answered. “Yes.”

“Terrific. And Hamin, my darling dearest? Do not be late.”

A/N: for the record, Jasper’s not Hamin’s handler (I figure that’s Cordelia or maybe Lyon lmao). He’s more like…the Pippa/Hamin relationship supervisor. Off screen he’s friends with Pippa who spotted him snooping and befriended him XD

And Zarad is not a spy he is a MYSTERY/maybe an information broker and/or a possibly bored person who just Knows People