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The spacious audience chamber was almost completely silent. No servants hurried to and fro, and no parlor maids were dusting the priceless sculptures and vases on the windowsills.

Birds sang outside, hailing the early summer evening. Jessamine hadn't expected the meeting to run this long. The light was growing rosy, wind rustling in the trees. The grandfather clock in the corner ticked on, its mechanism inordinately loud in the hush.

Count Berthold Angevin of Wynnedown slowly set aside another sheet of paper. His hands were more wrinkled than they'd been six months ago, when Jessamine had visited his estate in Morley.

He was thinner, too. Age was taking its toll on him; his sallow skin still showed some lingering effects of the chest cold he'd just recovered from.

Jessamine pressed her hands flat on the table. Her palms were sweaty, and condensation fogged the polished wood around her fingers. It took every ounce of her assembled poise to stay still and keep her expression impassive.

This was a delicate operation, as complicated as the finest embroidery. She would not ruin all of their progress by drumming her fingers on the table in impatience.

The two younger dignitaries behind Count Angevin were blank-faced and silent. They had refused their seats, choosing to stand instead. Neither of them had moved further than an inch since they'd come in. Their hands were clasped behind their backs, their eyes staring straight ahead.

Behind Jessamine stood only Corvo, watching over the proceedings as was his wont. Her advisors had clamored to be allowed into the meeting, but after giving it some thought, Jessamine had decided to honor Angevin's request for privacy. It'd been a gamble, but so far her instinct hadn't steered her wrong.

"Well," the Count said at last in his raspy voice. He touched his fingertips to the small stack of papers he'd read. The veins on the back of his hand were swollen and blue. "Everything seems to be in order..."

Jessamine held her breath, counted to two, then allowed herself a polite smile. "I'm glad you approve of the final draft, Count Angevin," she said.

His age might have been marching inexorably onwards, but his brown eyes were still sharp and all-seeing. The coarse hair at his temples was almost completely gray. The rest of his hair was still dark, though, just like when Jessamine had been a wide-eyed ten-year-old, peering into her father's office as she listened to the two men debating heatedly amidst clouds of cigar smoke.

Even at ten years old, she'd known she was destined to take up her father's mantle of power. But if someone had told her that she would one day sit across from Count Angevin, on the cusp of finalizing what her father had tried to do for so long, she would not have believed them.

And yet here they were. This morning, her maidservants had clad Jessamine in one of her finest dresses. It was dark gray, embroidered with black roses and adorned with small, glittering jewels. Jessamine's neck ached from the weight of the many pearl-encrusted pins that held up her beautifully twisted bun.

If the Count knew that Jessamine's dress and jewelry were worth more money than any of his underlings made in a month, he did not show it. He looked stoically back at her across the long table. A single candle stood before him, ready and waiting to melt the wax that would become his seal, should he choose to accept the trade agreement.

The clock ticked on. The back of Jessamine's neck prickled, some subconscious awareness sitting up and taking note. The atmosphere had shifted subtly. Her gut feeling told her it was time for just a little bit of coaxing.

"Perhaps it is sentimental," she said with a half-smile, glancing towards the windows with their warm golden evening light. "But I have always shared my late father's belief that Gristol and Morley have been at odds for far too long. I do think it is time to bury the hatchet, as they say."

Berthold Angevin raised one bushy eyebrow--not disbelieving, exactly, but mildly skeptical. "Your proposal is certainly more generous than Euhorn's ever were," he answered.

Jessamine did not rise to the bait. He was testing her, she knew, waiting to see if she'd take offense on her late father's behalf. There was no reason to, however; Euhorn had been quite unwilling to give Morley so much as an inch in their failed negotiations.

"Morley has much to offer," she said instead, diplomatically.

Angevin snorted, the corner of his mouth curling. "An economy as fragile as glass, traitors and their brood, and waves of refugees bound for Karnaca?"

"A strengthened Empire," Jessamine countered. "Creative, hard-working people who deserve to be allowed to flourish."

The Count leaned forward a little, folding his frail, wrinkled hands. His eyes were piercing. "Under Dunwall's tutelage?"

"No. Under yours."

Sweat beaded on the back of Jessamine's neck. She gestured at the stack of paper. "As you've read," she said, "I am not interested in creating a second Gristol. I wish to leave your ways as undisturbed as possible."

One of the dignitaries shifted his weight from foot to foot. Jessamine allowed herself the briefest glance at the young man. He looked uneasy, brow furrowing like he was trying to find the hidden trap in the Empress' words.

She very nearly smiled. He would not find anything, because there was no trap. She had the distinct advantage of meaning every word she said.

Berthold Angevin gazed thoughtfully at the papers. To anyone else, it might have looked like he'd just skimmed them, but Jessamine knew that he had already memorized half of their contents. He'd always had a knack for reading quickly and retaining an extraordinary amount of information from it.

Slowly he began, "And the Insurrection..."

"Won't be but a note in the history books," Jessamine interrupted firmly.

This was the point where she deviated the most from her father's approach to the issue. He'd always insisted Morley needed to be kept low, its politicians watched carefully, to avoid a repeat of the bloody uprising that had taken so many lives.

When, as a gangly teenager, Jessamine had begun to counter that almost 20 years had to have been enough time for the country to atone under Gristol's thumb, and that at one point old debts had to be laid to rest if a new common future was to be forged, he'd called her naive.

Angevin gave her another long look. The table felt wet under Jessamine's sweaty palms, but the shield of her composure held firm. She leaned forward, trying to put all her conviction and determination into her voice.

"I will not lord it over you, nor blame grandsons and granddaughters for the misdeeds of their ancestors," she said, willing him to believe her. "You have my word."

She winced right after the words left her mouth. A sharp stab of regret and trepidation stole her breath. Too much, too open, her father's spectre scolded her. She could almost hear his disapproving words. This is not the time for grand speeches about forgiveness!

Another point that they'd disagreed on. Jessamine felt that mercy was never untimely.

The Count's eyes widened a little, but he remained silent. He hesitated for a long moment, fixing her with an unblinking stare, then glanced up and to her left.

It took Jessamine a moment to realize he was looking at Corvo.

Corvo had barely moved since a footman had shut the heavy doors. As was custom, he'd done a circuit of the room while they'd waited in the hallway. The audience chamber was large, and though a number of soldiers had been patrolling outside all day, Corvo still insisted on checking every nook and cranny for anyone who might have sneaked in.

Then he'd taken up his customary position behind her chair. For a moment, as Jessamine turned to sit down, their eyes had met.

At the time, her heart had been beating wildly, her stomach quivering with nervous determination. She must've worn a wide-eyed, anxious look, because Corvo had leaned slightly towards her, a small furrow of worry forming between his brows.

Fleetingly, Jessamine wondered if he was sore from all the standing he'd been doing over the past few days, as the meetings and councils dragged on and reluctant accords were wrangled out of cantankerous politicians.

His quiet presence had lent her strength. She hoped he knew how grateful she was that he went through these long negotiations without complaint, a pillar of calm support at her back.

Jessamine didn't look up at him, but she could picture Corvo's stoic expression, his repeated glances towards the windows. A Royal Protector's work was never done, even when the Empress shut herself in a room with three politicians and proceeded to talk for hours.

His hand was never far from his belt, where his sword and pistol hung, and his widened stance and relaxed posture were deceptive. He could be halfway across the room in a single second, blade shining and ready.

Whatever Angevin had looked for in Corvo's face, he appeared to have found it. He straightened up in his seat and took a deep breath.

"Your Imperial Majesty," he said formally, "on behalf of my country I, Count Berthold Angevin of Wynnedown, gladly accept the New Eastern Trade Agreement."

He gestured to one of his subordinates, who produced a pen and a red clump of wax. The Count put his signature on the paper, then heated the wax in a small metal ladle above the candle.

Thick red dripped onto the paper. He gently pressed his signet ring into the wax, leaving his family's ancient coat of arms beneath his signature.

Jessamine held her breath for several long seconds, until the ring detached from the cooling wax with a small crackle. Then she sucked air into her lungs, a breath so deep that her ribs felt the constraints of her corset.

Relief washed through her. A warm rush went all the way into her fingers and toes. Her heartbeat sounded loud in her ears, and she only just managed to tamp down on her smile before it turned into a grin. She pressed her fingers to the polished wood, holding on tight to her self-control.

Words hovered on the tip of her tongue, teetering and over-eager. If her courtiers had been present, she would have held them back...

But she had not found Berthold Angevin to be the cunning and egotistical politician her father had warned her about. Perhaps age and prolonged illness had softened him. To her, he just seemed to be a man concerned for the peasants under his care, trying to better their lives and loath to risk another famine.

She allowed herself a sigh, and for him to hear it. She squared her shoulders and said, "I will not fail you, or your people."

One of the dignitaries' mouths fell open. He stared at her in surprise, then shared a wide-eyed look with his companion. The other young man was frowning, his lips a thin line of disapproval. They didn't trust her words, and suspected some dastardly hidden agenda behind her earnestness.

Unexpectedly, the Count smiled. His eyes crinkled at the corners, wrinkles digging deep into his cheeks.

"I know you won't." He placed his hand on the stack of papers and paused. "If I may be so bold..."

Jessamine nodded. "Go ahead."

Berthold Angevin sat back in his chair. He folded his hands on the table, gazing ponderously down at his fingers. "I was advised," he said, "that you would be less shrewd than your father, more straightforward..."

He looked at her, carefully weighing each word he said. "I have found this to be true, but I do not think it a weakness as my councillors implied. Too many of us forget that you need a heart, and not just the skilled hands of a puppeteer, to run an Empire."

Jessamine blinked, surprised by the unexpected praise. A part of her--the part that still tried to emulate Euhorn, play her cards closer to the chest--bristled with suspicion. Did Angevin just want to butter her up? Perhaps he hoped to secure himself some favors in the future...

But Jessamine's instincts told her that the Count was sincere. If he had used to be fond of dissembling, time had softened those edges. So she only said, "Thank you."

She cleared her throat and dragged her hands towards herself, surreptitiously wiping away the condensation her sweaty fingers had left on the table.

"Count Angevin," she said, rising, "please allow me to escort you outside. It has been a long afternoon..."

"And my bones aren't as used to sitting still for hours as they once were," the Count said, with a small smile. He stood up too, slower than she had, and grunted painfully though one of his assistants drew his chair back for him and the other hurried to offer him his arm.

The walk through the audience chamber seemed to take minutes. Jessamine's heels clacked on the marble floor. The papers felt heavier in her hands than they'd been when she had set them before the Count, like his signature and seal weighed heavily with importance.

A banked wave of feeling was bubbling just under her ribs, a heady mixture of triumph and melancholy. Her father had tried so hard to secure this trade agreement. Letters had gone back and forth, and arguments had happened behind closed doors for as long as Jessamine could remember...

And now it was done. Euhorn had been dead for only half a year, but already Jessamine had wrangled into submission one of his oldest and most frustrating projects.

She was not entirely sure how she'd managed it--she certainly wasn't cleverer than Euhorn had been, and she was so young, lacking his decades of experience...

Would he have been proud of her? Or would his relief have been overshadowed by disapproval of her methods? He'd been a good Emperor, and an affectionate and doting father, but in some matters he'd been so very stubborn...

Her heart fluttered almost queasily in her chest. She pushed the thought away and kept a small, placid smile on her face.

This was not the time for her lingering grief. It was a moment of triumph, of long and tiring work finally yielding results.

The scent of melted wax still hung in the air, buttery and warm. When she glanced sideways at Angevin's face, she found a small smile there, softened with relief.

Outside, her secretary was waiting with General Tobias, looking at their group with identical expressions of anticipation. The General especially seemed not to have slept well in days; dark bags sat under his eyes, and there was a yellowish cast to his skin.

"It is done," Count Angevin said to them before Jessamine could so much as open her mouth, smiling wryly. "The agreement is signed. The Empress made me an offer I could not refuse."

A wide grin stretched across General Tobias' face, exposing his tobacco-stained teeth for a brief moment before he caught himself. He cleared his throat and squared his shoulders.

Her secretary, who was much harder to excite, looked at Jessamine. "Would you like for me to send an announcement to the Dunwall Daily Gazette, your majesty?"

"Please do," Jessamine said, nodding, and passed the papers into his capable hands. "And send word to Parliament as well."

The secretary bowed. "It will be done, your majesty," he said, with his usual curt efficiency, and hurried off down the corridor.

"Count Angevin," said one of the dignitaries, at last breaking their prolonged silence. "It is late, and you are still frail..."

Angevin waved that away impatiently. "Nonsense," he said. "I am healthy and hale. --Though the hour is much later than I thought," he admitted, glancing towards the windows, where the light of the slowly setting sun was now throwing long, orange shadows across the hall.

They said their farewells. Jessamine produced the expected smiles and pleasantries, for once grateful for the diligent etiquette lessons that she'd hated so much as a child. The words came automatically, but with enough feeling that she did not sound like she was reading from a script.

Berthold Angevin's bow seemed a little lower than the one he'd greeted her with. The dignitaries bowed too, then all three of them went off towards the guest wing, where spacious and comfortable lodgings awaited them, with a fire already burning in the hearth of the Count's bedroom to ease his arthritic joints.

"Your majesty, this is marvelous news!" General Tobias blurted out as soon as Angevin and his entourage had disappeared around a corner. "How in the Void did you... your father tried for years... this is incredible!"

He spoke in a hissed whisper, as though a spy might overhear them through a wall. Jessamine suppressed a smile. The General was a good thirty years older than her, but with his eyes shining with excitement, he looked almost boyish.

"I promise I will tell you all the details tomorrow," she said, resting her hand briefly on his arm, "but for now I must retire as well."

"Of course, your majesty," General Tobais said, sobering a little. "It's been a long day."

He bowed, one hand clasped to his heart. "I will drink in your honor tonight," he said, his gaze bright and proud. "Rest well, my lady."

Over Jessamine's shoulder he added, "Good work, Lord Attano," and Jessamine caught a brief glimpse of Corvo's eyes widening in surprise; he hadn't expected to be addressed.

To anyone else, it might have looked like Corvo hadn't done anything except stand still for a couple of hours. But he'd been on high alert the whole time, tense and ready, listening for any unusual noises from out in the hall.

He was the reason she'd felt safe enough to agree to Angevin's request to speak to her alone.

"Yes," Jessamine said. She turned to Corvo. "Thank you, my lord. Today's success belongs to you as well."

Corvo politely inclined his head, but shifted from foot to foot, mildly uncomfortable with the open praise. It could have been Jessamine's imagination, but she thought his cheeks looked a little pink.

His eyes traveled up her arm and fixed briefly on her shoulder, before he finally looked her in the eye. For the first time since she'd taken her seat in the audience chamber, their gazes caught and held.

The hallway shuddered to a stand-still. General Tobias's presence faded as though a window was fogging up between them. Even the weight of Jessamine's dress sunk away, the constant pull on her shoulders and hips fading.

Jessamine's breath got stuck in her chest. Her heart leaped into her throat.

Only a week ago, Count Angevin had arrived with his entourage, sending a wave of frenzied activity through the Tower. It had swept her away, pulling her into endless meetings and roundabout arguments with her advisors, until she'd gotten quite distracted.

Now, that shroud was yanked away. Though she saw Corvo every day, Jessamine felt as though she had just returned from some faraway voyage, rejoining him after a long absence. His presence was almost overwhelming in its novelty, from the breadth of his shoulders to the golden sheen on his dark hair...

His eyes were solemn and calm. The buttons of his coat were freshly polished, shining golden in the evening light. He'd tied his hair back into a low ponytail, which he usually never did, but clearly he'd wanted to do his part for the Tower to leave a good impression on the Count.

The stressful week had taken its toll on him as well: there were dark shadows under his eyes. While he hadn't sat up at night perusing old papers and letters, perhaps he'd paced his bedroom too, wondering what mood Angevin would be in the next day...

Jessamine realized she'd been staring at him vacantly for far too long. Her cheeks went red and warm, her face prickling with fluttery embarrassment.

"Good night, General," she said faintly, congratulating herself for even remembering his presence. "Please give my regards to your soldiers..."

From the corner of her eye, she saw General Tobias bow, and he said something in farewell, some pleasantry that Jessamine barely heard. Her gaze felt stuck to Corvo by some strange magnetism, like her eyes wanted to look their fill of him after the hectic week...

Corvo blinked at her, mildly confused by her continued scrutiny. You're making a fool of yourself, her father's voice scolded mildly in her head. Jessamine turned on her heel and began to walk.

The corridors and stairs to her rooms passed in a blur. Her heart was beating faster again, a quick pitter-patter against her ribs. She pressed her lips into a tight line, staring straight ahead.

To anyone passing them, she might have looked irritated. But she was really just trying not to grin outright, or skip along the hallway like a girl, twirling her skirts and laughing.

It was done. The agreement was signed, Angevin's wax seal cooling in her secretary's office...

And Corvo's footsteps were right behind her, a dear, familiar echo, and she wanted to slow down, encourage him to walk by her side... she'd loop her arm through his and press their shoulders together with a conspiratorial smile...

She couldn't do that, of course. It would be far too familiar a gesture. The halls were full of servants and butlers who might see.

(And some of them already gossiped about her and Corvo, whispering that surely there was more going on between them than a simple collegial relationship... the Empress was so young and impressionable, and Lord Attano, while Serkonan, was quite handsome...

At first, the rumors had been only embarrassing. Flustered and blushing, Jessamine had spent whole evenings pacing the length of her bedroom, wondering what exactly her courtiers knew.

Was there a chink in her armor somewhere? Had she stared too long, smiled too much, and given herself away? She'd thought she had grown quite good at ignoring the way her heart tripped and stuttered when Corvo offered her his hand to help her down from a carriage, or smiled at her, or gifted her with one of his rare, low chuckles...

But when the weeks passed with no changes to Corvo's conduct, Jessamine had found herself relaxing a bit. He still bowed to her in greeting each morning; on some evenings they played chess; once in a while, they shared a drink. He acted no more or less reserved than usual.

Corvo was too honest. If he'd suspected something, Jessamine would have noticed. Her secret was safe. This gossip was just the normal ebb and flow of courtly boredom, catching her up in its current.

For a while, it had been almost funny. Then Jessamine had caught wind of a rumor that she'd ordered Corvo into her bed, at which point her faint amusement had turned to molten rage.

She would never, ever do that. The thought alone was repulsive. She'd spent a week quietly fuming, glaring at any chambermaid who looked at her for too long. She fell back into the habit of biting her nails, much to her maidservants' dismay.

Finally, she'd forced the matter from her mind. It wouldn't do to stride up to her more gossip-hungry courtiers and shout that she would never coerce Corvo into anything, and their minds were sick and twisted. So she'd tried to let it go and pretend that particularly vile rumor had never reached her.)

Either way, as much as she wanted to walk beside Corvo and squeeze his arm in giddy affection, this was not the time. There were too many eyes on them. And she couldn't know if he would've walked with her because he wanted to, or just because he did not wish to displease her.

Excitement and triumph still thrummed through her like a plucked string. She quickened her pace, heading for her private quarters.

Waiting in the antechamber was frankly torturous. Corvo moved around in her private drawing room, checking under furniture and behind curtains to make sure no one unsavory was hiding there.

He'd done this for years, and Jessamine understood that it was necessary. But she still found herself sighing impatiently, biting her lower lip.

She fidgeted with her sleeves, pulling restlessly on the tiny black gemstones that'd been stitched to the cuffs. Her corset was doing most of the work of holding up her heavy dress. After a full day of wearing it, her back definitely felt the strain though, her hips aching a little from the pull of several layers of petticoats.

Finally, Corvo knocked on something, in their oft-used signal that it was safe for her to come in. It sounded wooden--perhaps he'd chosen a side table or the back of a chair--and Jessamine almost ran through the door, holding on to her composure by a thread.

The door fell shut behind her. Briefly, she took in the room--some thoughtful servant had put a vase of white roses on a side table, and a tea tray waited by the couch--then she finally let out the shout that'd been building, like water filling her mouth.

"Yes!"

The quivering tension in her snapped. Jessamine skipped into the room, then bounced on the balls of her feet, her skirts swirling around her. She wanted to shout like a little girl, run a lap around the table and jump up and down.

She spread her arms and laughed giddily. Something pulled at the hair by her left temple, and with her next little bounce, several bejeweled pins slipped out of her hair, clattering to the floor.

Her gaze fell on Corvo, who watched her from beside the table. Corvo, who wore a small, understated smile, his eyes honey-bright and gleaming with pride...

"Corvo!" she called, high-pitched and breathless. Before she knew what she was doing, she had seized Corvo's hands and pulled him into a stumbling twirl.

They turned twice around each other, too uncoordinated for a dance. Her skirts flowed and billowed around them, the tiny jewels clicking against the leather of Corvo's boots.

She let him go, gasping for air, and pressed the backs of her hands to her hot cheeks. "Is this real?" she asked, impulsively. "Did we really--? It's been so long..."

The week's tension and stress flowed off her like water. She breathed in deep, sucking air into her lungs until her ribs felt the boning of her corset.

This time, it would work. She'd told herself that again and again, a mantra that sustained her when the Count looked down his nose at her advisors, and when her oldest councillor made a thoughtless remark about the Insurrection that'd soured the mood for a whole day.

And now it was done. Like unclogged veins, goods and money would flow from Gristol to Morley and back again, after over two decades of frosty diplomatic silence...

--Then Corvo's hands were in hers again, warm and rough. She didn't recall reaching for him. Her heartbeat pounded in her palms, and she wondered if Corvo could feel it through his calluses.

"Did you see him?" Jessamine demanded, unable to suppress her wide grin. Another pin dropped onto her shoulder, then slid off and fell to the floor. "He was-- he was happy. I didn't just convince him, he was glad in the end that it was done..."

Corvo nodded quickly. He squeezed her hands, his eyes bright and vivid, golden and amber in the evening light.

"I wanted to make him happy. I mean--" She laughed a little, self-consciously, and gestured with their joined hands. "I really wanted him to know that I-- I want us to move past the Insurrection, and not have it cut Morley off from the rest of the Empire like some contagious disease..."

Her bun drooped a little. Several strands of hair had come loose, wafting gently around her face. It might fall entirely, tumbling onto her shoulder as the weight of her long hair pulled out the last of the pins...

All of a sudden, Jessamine froze. A cold trickle of realization ran down her back.

She was not a commoner freely celebrating some great accomplishment. She was the Empress of the Isles, and she was making an utter fool of herself.

She let go of Corvo's hands, letting his fingers slip limply out of her palms. What in the Void was she doing?

This was beyond unbecoming... She was lucky that her father was not here to witness her embarrass herself... She was acting like an exuberant girl, rushing into the room like she had, then dancing around with her Royal Protector...

The initial sting of shame had been near-painless, a thin knife leaving a shallow wound. But now it swept over her like ink spreading through water.

Her face went hot, then numb. Even her ears reddened with embarrassment. For a second she felt dizzy, like she might have to stumble to the nearest chair to sit down.

"Sorry--I'm sorry," she blurted out, then sank her teeth into her lip. Another small humiliation, stacked on top of the pieces of her dignity that lay shattered on the floor; an Empress did not apologize, let alone twice, like a meek girl...

The smile slid off Corvo's face. He shook his head, looking dismayed, and raised his hands.

Jessamine spun around, turning away. A sick surge of regret tightened her throat. It was cowardly to turn her back to him when he relied on her line of sight to talk to her, but--

She didn't want to see the unease in his eyes. Although she knew very well how badly she had just misbehaved, if Corvo of all people looked at her with disapproval, the shaky, brittle feeling in her chest told her that she might burst into tears.

Just because they had known each other for years, and had become something like friends, didn't mean that he... even if her knees went weak when he smiled at her, she had no right to...

She was still his Empress, and owed him dignified and level-headed conduct. She was not supposed to holler like an uncouth sailor, let alone pull him around the room in a mockery of a dance...

The flowers on the side table were a welcome distraction. She forced herself to lower her head to smell them, barely taking in their sweet fragrance. The white rose petals were soft and fragile against her fingertips.

She pulled a larger rose forward to sit at the front, pushing a smaller blossom out of the way. Her bun slid very slowly down towards the nape of her neck. Before long, it would fall, and then she would stand before Corvo with her hair undone like some unchaste harlot...

"I suppose this is not entirely good news," she said into the silence. Her voice was too loud, trembling a little with forced levity. "I'll have to travel to Morley again soon, and I know you hate seafaring..."

Corvo touched her elbow. It was just a barely-there brush of his fingers, but Jessamine stilled like he'd seized her by the shoulders with both hands.

Corvo did not touch her casually, ever. Not in public, certainly, and even in private she could count on one hand the times she'd felt his touch when there was no steep staircase to help her up, and no uneven pavement threatening to trip her high-heeled feet.

Her heart clenched and hammered against her ribs. Weak-kneed, Jessamine turned to face him.

She didn't quite dare look at him head-on. Instead, she caught brief glimpses: his mouth was pressed into a thin line, an unhappy frown between his eyebrows. His signing was deliberately slow, and for a moment Jessamine feared he was rightfully cross with her for turning her back to him, but then she spotted the concern in his eyes.

'I do not care how sick I'll get on the voyage. I will be honored to accompany you.'

Forgetting her shyness, Jessamine stared at him, her lips parting. Whatever she had expected him to say--an admonishment for her behavior, a stiff excuse that would allow him to leave--it was not that.

Corvo's eyes widened in alarm. Belatedly, he drew his right thumb and index finger quickly from his shoulder to hip, crossing his body: 'Your majesty.'

"I've told you to dispense with the titles when it's just us," Jessamine heard herself blurt out.

The words were oft-used, and came quite naturally despite her flustered state. They were a small foothold, and she seized upon them gratefully. The lump in her throat softened somewhat, and her chest no longer felt quite as tight.

Corvo smiled a little, looking relieved as well. He took his time again, pointing at her slowly, then drawing a small circle with his raised thumb. 'Are you alright?'

"Yes," Jessamine said, wincing. A fresh trickle of embarrassment hit her, though this one was less shameful and roiling, and almost refreshing in its simplicity. She simply had not meant to make him fret.

Cautiously, she glanced up. Corvo looked only questioning and mildly worried. His eyes were warm, and held none of the judgment and disdain she'd imagined...

Of course not. It was just Corvo.

Her mortified daze cleared, like a veil being drawn away. The tight band around her chest that had nothing to do with her corset loosened, and she took what felt like the first full breath in minutes.

He always insisted that the hidden rules and subtleties of court were lost on him, and Jessamine knew well that he preferred honesty over anything else. He was probably the last person in this Tower who would fault her for shouting her relief and triumph into the still air of her drawing room.

"I-- I only felt... foolish, for a moment," she found herself saying, the words coaxed from her one by one. "I'm the Empress, I shouldn't..."

She gestured vaguely towards the room at large. Some feeling returned to her face. She had to be beet red by now. Corvo hadn't asked her to explain, and perhaps this was another misstep, justifying her actions, but...

Corvo gave her an assessing once-over. His gaze went from her drooping hair, to her flushed cheeks and fidgeting hands. He straightened his back, his shoulders squaring, like he'd come to an abrupt decision.

'Forgive my bluntness,' he signed, holding up his hand and pulling it decisively down in front of his face, 'but I feel that you deserve a do-over.'

Jessamine blinked. "What?"

It could have been just the rosy evening light playing a trick on her eyes, but Corvo's cheeks seemed a little pink too. His mouth was tight, uncertain. He looked embarrassed, but determined to see this through.

'It is rare for you to be so unreservedly happy,' he told her. 'You do not often get to celebrate such a monumental achievement. It is just the two of us. I wouldn't want decorum to sour your well-deserved triumph.'

"Oh," Jessamine said. Her face warmed quickly, again, just when she'd begun to calm down. "A-- a do-over, you said?"

Corvo nodded. His gaze was carefully direct, questioning.

Embarrassment burned in Jessamine's face and ears. What did that even mean? Was she supposed to retreat to the antechamber, then run back into the drawing room like an actress making a second attempt at a difficult scene?

Her heart leaped with hope. She fidgeted with her sleeves again, running her nails along the embroidery. She couldn't possibly... or could she? What was stopping her? (The tattered remains of her dignity, which had suffered enough. Her father's spectre, the weight of his imagined disappointment...)

But what did it matter, if it was just her and Corvo? A small, rebellious voice rose at the back of her mind, growing louder. What did any of it matter--dignity, decorum, the yawning gulf between Jessamine and every single citizen of her Empire--when it was just the two of them?

He wouldn't laugh at her. Not Corvo. And anyway, it was his idea, not hers, and perhaps that meant she could go along with it under the guise of indulging him...

"Well--alright," she blurted out, before she could second-guess herself. "Go stand here," she beckoned Corvo over to the table, "and I will just--"

She darted over to the door. Her chest felt fluttery and light. Mortification clamored in her ears and nipped at her heels--what in the Void was she doing?--but if she moved quickly enough, perhaps it could be held at bay by the uncomplicated warmth in Corvo's eyes...

Holding on to the doorframe, she glanced back. Corvo stood by the table, like a dancer waiting for his cue. A nervous cackle pressed itself upward in her throat, and she only just managed to turn it into a snort.

She went out into the antechamber and left the door ajar. Her fingers and toes had gone hot and tingly. Her knees felt watery. Perhaps, before long, the weight of her dress really would get to be too much, and she would have to sit down...

Her feet wanted to pace, her hands longed for a fan or a handkerchief to fidget with. She waited, forcing herself to stay still.

There was Corvo's knock, a quick rap of his knuckles against the tabletop, to let her know the room was safe.

Jessamine didn't give herself any more time to hesitate. Heart pounding wildly, she burst into the room again, though this time, she shut the door more firmly behind herself.

"We did it!" she said, then giggled helplessly at the strangeness of repeating herself. "Count Angevin signed the trade agreement!"

Corvo smiled, his eyes fond and bright with relief. 'He did?' he asked, lowering his pointing finger from his lips and then extending the thumb and pinkie, affecting surprise.

"Yes! He's-- he signed it!" Jessamine repeated, and couldn't hold back the giddy laughter anymore. She snorted, too loudly, entirely unladylike, her face flaming as sweat beaded at her temples.

'That's wonderful!' Corvo's hands stretched up, then lowered, touching his flat palms twice to an invisible wall.

He reached for her, and Jessamine realized her own hands were already outstretched. She hurried forward, nearly staggering, the pull towards him like a fishing hook buried behind her navel and urging her on.

"I'm so relieved!" Jessamine blurted out. She gripped Corvo's hands, barely noticing that her own palms were sweaty. "This is-- good, for the people of Morley--"

She gasped for breath and felt her smile falter a little. "It's not-- perhaps it is not quite what Father would have wanted..."

She broke off, hesitating. That unwelcome tremble in her heart was back, a nervous sadness teetering close to guilt. A rush of resentment followed quickly; she did not want that uncertain quiver here, souring her mood. Not when Corvo was here with her, going through this strange charade just so she could have her moment of triumph.

She put some starch in her spine and firmed her resolve, determined to chase the maudlin feeling away. "It doesn't matter," she said to Corvo, who'd begun to look slightly worried again.

She squeezed his hands. He did not seem to mind that her palms were damp. Her heart soared unexpectedly, recovering from the blow that the memory of her father had dealt. It felt like dry kindling catching fire, crackling and bright once more after just a single spark.

She was steering the Empire now, not Euhorn. Whether he would have disapproved of her generosity was of no consequence.

Jessamine took a deep breath that rubbed her chemise against the boning of her corset, and left those thoughts behind her. They would likely come back the moment she was alone again--the wound of her grief for her father was still raw enough that it oozed painfully when prodded.

But she did not want it here, in this room where she was holding on to her Royal Protector's callused fingers while his thumbs rubbed gentle, absent-minded circles into the backs of her hands...

"I can't believe it's finally done," Jessamine said, a little dazed. "It's been a week, and at some points I really was not at all sure whether it'd work out..."

Corvo untangled his hands from Jessamine's grip. She didn't have time to feel self-conscious, because he immediately signed at her, making clear why he'd pulled free of her hold.

'It worked because you made it work,' he told her. He raised his fists and tapped his wrists together, one over the other, insistent. 'You invested so much time and effort into this, and today it paid off.'

Jessamine bit her lip to suppress the half-embarrassed smile that wanted to stretch across her face. Her pulse seemed to beat right up in her throat. "But my advisors--"

Corvo shook his head, just once. 'It is you whom the Count trusted to keep her word that the Insurrection would be forgiven. Not your advisors.'

Though she tried to suppress it, a grin slipped past Jessamine's control. She couldn't help it. Corvo always insisted that he was rhetorically unskilled--but he had a way with words, a method of putting things simply that cut through the tangled worry in her head.

His praise, when earned, was never insincere, and it warmed her far more than the simpering flatteries of her courtiers. A giggle bubbled up in her chest, fizzing like sparkling wine. Her hands gripped Corvo's on their own volition, pulling him forward.

Within a second, they were twirling around the room again. Corvo made the small, smiling huff he did in lieu of laughter.

Jessamine pulled him into a tight turn that had her skirts flaring out around her and slapping heavily into Corvo's legs. Her bun partially unrolled itself, landing heavily on her shoulder. Pride shone in Corvo's gaze, brightening his eyes.

Jessamine grinned at him, and for the moment she didn't care that her face was red and her hair in utter disarray, and that her etiquette tutors would have covered their faces in despair if they could've seen her just now...

Suddenly, Corvo's hands were on her waist, careful but firm. He lifted and spun her around, and Jessamine yelped, laughing, clutching at his shoulders reflexively. Air rushed past her ears. A few strands of her hair brushed Corvo's cheek.

Her skirts whirled around them, petticoats billowing. Corvo set her down, and for a moment his hands were broad and warm and welcome around her middle, more intimate than anything else they had ever shared. They were so close that his breath puffed warmly against her face.

Then Corvo's eyes widened as he realized what he'd done. He released his hold on her instantly, taking a step back. His right hand curled and drew inward to his chest, starting to apologize--

"No, no!" Jessamine exclaimed, waving hectically to stop him. She caught his hands before they could finish. "That was-- perfect. I--"

A sudden tightness constricted her throat, cutting her off. She hesitated, lips trembling, as realization hit her: she had no words to tell him what it meant to her that he'd shared these moments with her, touched her and smiled at her as a friend, not a bodyguard...

Corvo was so kind. That was all it boiled down to, really. He was honest and sometimes quite serious, ferocious and deadly in battle, and utterly dedicated to the task of protecting her. But most of all, he was kind.

Jessamine's feet moved on their own, raising her onto her tiptoes. She hugged him, stretching as high as she could to wrap her arms around his shoulders.

He went utterly still. Even his breath stopped. Jessamine pressed her nose to Corvo's shoulder and held on. Shivers rushed down her spine at the feel of him in her arms, solid and dependable and so warm...

After a moment, he moved to hold her in turn. His arms came carefully around her, loose and ready to withdraw at a moment's notice.

Jessamine leaned closer, a tangled surge of feeling trapped in her throat. She didn't care whether he could feel her corset, or if she smelled of sweat, needing only to feel him in her arms and her shoulders under his hands.

The length of her hair slid down her back, heavy and unbound. Her shoes creaked in protest, but she didn't let go.

"Thank you," Jessamine whispered, so quietly that she barely heard her own voice. It was just a breath of sound against Corvo's ear, but as close as they stood, she was sure he heard her.

Corvo shivered a little. His arms tightened around her, and he stroked one palm very gently down her back.

She felt him freeze right after, like he wondered whether that had been acceptable. Jessamine squeezed him in response, daring to suck in a deep lungful of his scent. He smelled like laundry soap and the oil with which he cleaned his pistol, and something spicy and familiar that was uniquely him.

They parted reluctantly. Jessamine's hamstrings stung when she lowered her heels back to the floor... but oh, she could have stood like that for an hour, just basking in the warm closeness of Corvo's presence.

Corvo was so close that she could see the first hints of stubble growing on his chin. The embroidery on Jessamine's dress scraped gently against the polished buttons of his coat. The urge to kiss him was like a wave, rising and familiar, pressing hot and snug against her heart.

She could almost imagine it. His lips would be pliable but chapped, and Jessamine would run hers lightly along the closed, trembling line of Corvo's mouth, until he relaxed and bent his head and perhaps cradled her cheek in one broad palm...

Corvo let out a shaky breath. His hand came towards her face, slowly, giving her ample time to pull away. For a weightless, thrilling second, Jessamine wondered whether she'd expressed her desire out loud.

But Corvo just picked a stray pin out of the hair by her neck, tugging it out so gently that she barely felt the pull.

He glanced down at her hands. Jessamine automatically held out hers, and he dropped the pin into her upturned palm.

The silence stretched, just straddling the line between soothing and tense. It was not quite the type that needed to be filled with words. Longing burned harshly in Jessamine's chest. Oh, how she wanted to fill the hush with other things, like getting up on her tiptoes again and touching her lips very gently to that small smile at the corner of Corvo's mouth...

"Let's drink," she found herself saying instead.

As soon as she'd spoken, she had to fight down the inappropriate urge to laugh.

Where in the Void had that come from? Here she was, standing closer to her Lord Protector than she had any right to, with her hair loose and her cheeks warm... they were so close that she felt his breath against her forehead, and the first thing that came to her mind was alcohol?

Corvo raised his eyebrows, starting to smile. "I'll get us some whiskey and we can celebrate," Jessamine said. Her old governess' voice screeched distantly in the back of her head, but she felt light and warm. "There'll be lots of toasts in Dunwall tonight."

Corvo snorted. He raised his hands, signing into the tight space between them. 'You are aware I cannot hold my liquor?'

"I am," Jessamine said. She couldn't stop smiling. "You can take sips."

'A single mouthful, even.'

Jessamine laughed. "I see you're feeling brave!"

Corvo smirked. His eyes on her felt-- different, lingering, heavy with the focus of his full attention. Somehow, it made her think of that earlier moment when it'd felt like he had rejoined her after some long journey. Perhaps Corvo was experiencing something similar now, seeing her clearly for the first time in a week.

Some of Jessamine's self-consciousness came rushing back. She raised her fingers to her hair, which was still undone, an unruly flood of black that caught and tugged on the jewels stitched onto her dress.

"Wait--" she said, smiling anxiously. This nervousness felt different though, prickling strangely in a way that was almost pleasant. "I should fix this..."

Which found Corvo on his knees, carefully picking up the fallen hairpins while Jessamine pulled the remaining ones out of her hair.

Jessamine had begun to bend down, and he'd instantly stopped her with a hand on her elbow. For some reason, he'd blushed under her questioning look, and signed something convoluted about the weight of her dress, the unyielding clutch of her corset, and finally just knelt, determined.

She stared at the top of Corvo's head, his neatly combed-back hair and the black silk tie that held it in place at the nape of his neck. If someone had told her this morning that her Royal Protector would be collecting fallen hairpins off the floor tonight, she would have thought them mad.

Corvo rose, holding a handful of pins. He blew on them a few times to get rid of any dust that might've clung to the jewels--a wholly unnecessary gesture, Jessamine knew, since the servants prided themselves on keeping the Tower's floors shining and clean.

"Thank you," Jessamine said. Her voice came out low and serious.

She winced a little, but Corvo didn't seem to mind; he just nodded solemnly He felt the odd gravity of the situation too, like he'd given her something more than just hair adornments.

Jessamine used her reflection in the window to twist her hair into a disheveled roll. She pulled too hard, and her hair was slippery and unwieldy. Tiny strands got caught painfully between her fingers. How did her maidservants do this every morning?

It was definitely her fanciful imagination, but Corvo's pins almost felt warmer than the ones she'd been holding... She stared down at one of them, rolling it between her fingers. The little pearls glinted. Corvo had held this pin, an oddly intimate thing to think of, since nobody but herself and her maidservants ever touched her jewelry...

She caught her own eye in the window. 'Stop it,' she mouthed to herself, and pressed her lips into a tight line to suppress the giddy, girlish smile that tugged on her lips.

The dying sunlight threw long, grainy shadows across the courtyard below. The gold-red hues of the sky faded into powdery dusk. It was enough to cast her watery mirror image back at her. Outside, guards patrolled and servants hurried to and fro, hauling crates of freshly delivered food down to the back door that led to the kitchens.

The pins pricked at her scalp, poking out of her improvised bun at unwieldy angles. Jessamine bit back curses and stuffed a few stubborn strands under the bulk of it, jabbing another pin into the mess in the hopes that it would hold.

Finally, she turned to face Corvo again, one hand patting nervously at the sagging side of her hair.

He'd moved to rest his hip against the table, the only sign of fatigue she'd seen of him all day, despite the hours upon hours he'd spent standing behind her chair. Now, his eyes widened a little. His lips parted. One of his hands rose, then dropped limply back to his side.

A finger-thick strand of hair chose that moment to flop onto her shoulder, taking with it a single pin.

"F--" Jessamine caught herself just in time. She pushed the pin back into the bun, tucked her hair behind her ear, and cleared her throat. "Um-- how does it look?"

Corvo shook off his daze. His hands hovered, hesitating. The pause grew long enough that Jessamine raised an eyebrow, but finally Corvo passed the spread fingers of his right hand in front of his face, drawing them together as though gathering something invisible under his chin: 'Beautiful.'

Jessamine's breath got stuck in her chest. Color rose blotchily to her cheeks. Her whole face felt warm, caught off-guard by the unexpected compliment.

Corvo blinked slowly, then his mouth half-opened in shock, like he had not meant to be quite so effusive. His hands sprang into motion. He signed so quickly that Jessamine almost had trouble keeping up, despite all their long years of practice.

'What I meant is, you look very regal and entirely composed. It is as though you've just been to see your maidservants. I see no difference in your...' He gestured hastily to her hair.

Jessamine snorted with startled amusement. "Now you're just humoring me," she said dryly, well aware that her own hairdressing skill was very inferior to her maidservants' nimble hands. "But I'll allow it."

Corvo looked relieved. 'You will?'

"Yes." Jessamine swallowed down a quiver of nervousness and held his gaze. "You did say that decorum needn't interfere here."

Corvo smiled. He hesitated, a little flicker of apprehension tightening his face, then signed slowly, 'I meant it.'

"I know you did. You never say what you don't mean." Jessamine's fingers went to the fabric of her dress again, smoothing down her slightly wrinkled skirt. Her mind felt oddly calm, even while her hands fidgeted. "A most commendable quality, my lord."

Corvo let out another breath of near-silent laughter. This time, a little bit of his voice sneaked into it, warm and rough.

The hair on the back of Jessamine's neck rose into goosebumps. Corvo was usually so careful never to let his voice be heard... that he sometimes forgot his reticence with her, even if just for a moment, was a precious gift, unlooked-for but no less welcome.

Surprise passed across Corvo's face, along with a flicker of anxiety. For the first time, Jessamine realized that his ears were still bright red; perhaps, in his way, he was just as nervous as she was, and probably felt a similar anxious shiver in his chest at their banter.

He bowed to her, not as low as he normally did. 'Thank you, your majesty.'

She took a breath, trying to shake off the deep grip of affection and feeling that'd clutched at her.
"There's the honorific again," Jessamine pointed out. "I'll let it slide."

A small spark of mischief glowed in Corvo's eyes. 'Your lenience does you credit.'

Jessamine snorted. "Wait until I get an entire glass of whiskey into you."

Corvo bit his lip to suppress his grin, with little success. He looked-- younger somehow, vulnerable, as bright-eyed as she felt. No longer as aloof as he seemed to everyone else, or as gravely serious as he could be. For now, he was just... her friend.

He made a warding gesture Jessamine had so far only seen from the more zealous Overseers who worked at the Abbey. 'Void preserve me.'

Jessamine laughed. On impulse, she reached out to squeeze Corvo's arm. Her hand lingered for a moment, then she guided her steps past him to the door.

There was no one here to see her but Corvo, and she knew he didn't mind. So she made no effort to restrain the fizzing energy that still raced through her. She hiked up her skirts, grabbing handfuls of fabric, and ran into the antechamber, her feet eating up the floor in long, unladylike strides.

Her petticoats billowed behind her. The lopsided bun held, but just barely; from the precarious pull of overtaxed pins on her hair, she could tell it would not stay up for much longer. She would have to be careful not to stick her head out into the corridor, lest anyone see her state of disarray.

Jessamine took a deep breath, smoothing her face back into blank calm. The mask was thin and fragile, but that didn't matter much; the only man who would reliably see through it was waiting behind her, and he did not mind.

More than that, he'd welcomed her--her laughter and excitement, her thoroughly inappropriate conduct. Jessamine suppressed a small, secret smile, and nudged the door open to send for a servant.