"Are you my father?"

Corvo fumbles and misses his next parry, taking a sharp blow to the ribs from Emily's sword for the mistake. It is a blunt practice weapon, fortunately, but he has taught her to always strike hard and fast, to fight for survival and not for honor. He lets out a pained hiss and throws his hand up in surrender before she can follow through with another swing to take advantage of his stumble. Her sword arm drops, and he leans forward to brace his hands on his knees, catching his breath and struggling to gather his thoughts as his mind races over how to answer her.

They'd made the decision early on, he and Jessamine, to keep the complete truth of Emily's parentage from her until she was older. It was unfair to burden a child with such a secret, and at the time, unfortunately, a secret it had to be. Later, when the empire was more stable and Emily's succession more secure, then they would tell her and she could do what she wished with the information. But so much of Jessamine's rule was troubled, made uneasy by conflict and poverty and plague, that any stability they had never seemed to last for long. And when it all came to an end…

Well, it didn't seem very important anymore.

But Emily has always been clever, listening and watching and learning all she could about the world around her. She would have heard the rumors, never whispered with much care even around their subjects, and drawn her own conclusions. She is a few months shy of sixteen now, reigning over her mess of an empire for five long years with more grace and competence than anyone could have expected from her, and she is looking more the regal ruler and less the gawky teenager every day. It was with an empress's demanding tone that she asked the question and with an empress's shrewd gaze that she watches him and waits for an answer.

Corvo looks down. "Yes. I am."

She takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. "Okay," she says, sounding slightly annoyed but not at all surprised by the confirmation. "Is there a reason I had to ask to find out? Why didn't you ever tell me?"

Corvo sighs and straightens up. He gestures toward the bench at the edge of the training room and moves to sit down, leaning his sword against the wall behind him. Emily does not hesitate to sit next to him, but she opts to keep her own weapon in hand, laying it across her knees and tapping her nails anxiously along the blade. Corvo stares at the wall across the way and rubs at the back of his neck. "We always meant to someday," he begins. "It…always seemed a bad time…"

Emily frowns at him. "That's a vague answer."

"It's an honest one. Your mother's rule was never easy, even before the plague, and there were plenty among the rich and powerful set who disliked her policies and would have latched on to anything that might undermine her authority – you've been through enough Parliament meetings by now to know that's true." He shakes his head and lets out another sigh. "You would have had to keep a big secret, and that wasn't fair to you."

"I'm older now," she points out. "I've kept bigger secrets."

Corvo rubs the back of his hand, where the Outsider's mark is covered even now. "I know, but I didn't want to trouble you with anything more. You deal with so much already." In a kinder world, Emily would only just be starting to attend important meetings alongside Jessmine, learning all the complexities of running this empire for her own rule many years down the line. He laces his fingers together to still his hands. "You don't have to… It doesn't have to change anything. I've always been happy just being your Protector and keeping you safe. That's all I've ever wanted."

Emily is silent for a moment. Then she laughs softly. "You know, when I was little and I heard the servants gossiping, I never understood why what they said was supposed to be bad or why it made my mother so upset. I couldn't imagine anything better than you really being my father." She looks up, smiles. "Corvo, nothing will change, because you've always been a father to me. That wouldn't have changed either way; I just wanted to know."

Corvo feels a flood of relief run through him, a sudden easing of old tensions. He's always been afraid of losing Emily and had spent many long, sleepless nights throughout her childhood imagining all the ways she could be hurt or stolen away simply because of her title. That had only gotten worse after her actual kidnapping. But there has also been a fear, from the moment Emily was born and the midwife hesitated to place her in his arms despite Jessamine's direct order, that something else would take her away from him, some shift in court opinion that would see him removed from the Tower and her life. To hear her so plainly proclaim their connection… He swallows a lump in his throat and looks down. "Thank you. I'm… I'm happy to hear that."

She smiles at him again, then lets her gaze drift up to the ceiling. She kicks her leg out and hums thoughtfully for a moment. "I think I would like to start calling you 'Father', though," she says. "I suppose I'll have to make some sort of formal statement to acknowledge you."

Corvo frowns, and not just because her phrasing makes him sound more like her bastard heir than her father. "There's a lot of people who won't be happy about that."

"They'll have to adjust."

"Emily…"

"No, Corvo," she says, cutting in. Her eyes are sharp, and her voice has become firm and regal again. "I've already lost my mother. I'll not deny my father when he's the only family I have left. Anyone who takes issue with that can bring their complaints to me, but they won't change my mind. And neither will you."

He gives her a puzzled look, surprised by the sudden vehemence. "…This isn't really about what you want to call me, is it?"

"No," she admits. Her expression softens again, and she reaches out to place her hand on top of his. "Look, I know that your title only lasts as long as I do. If something ever happens to me, people will try to push you out and treat you like you're not a part of my family. I want to make that as hard as possible for them. Let me do something to protect you for once."

It is a horrible thing, to hear his daughter planning for her own death at such a young age. She's held up remarkably well after Jessamine's murder, but witnessing it has clearly still had its effects. She not only saw her mother killed, she saw everything that came after, the brutal dismantling of so much that Jessamine loved and had worked so hard to achieve. And Emily is already taking steps to protect what she cares for in case she someday comes to the same end.

"You've been thinking about this," Corvo says quietly.

She gives him a wry smile. "Well, I've had my suspicions about you for a while. Although, honestly, I was still planning to claim we were related even if I was wrong."

He sighs and rubs at the back of his neck again. "It's a clever idea," he says after a moment, a little reluctantly. "I don't like you making more trouble for yourself, but if it's what you want, I won't try to stop you."

She squeezes his hand and says, "Thank you, Father." When Corvo gives her a startled look, she laughs. "I did mean that, and not just as part of my clever plan. I do want to start calling you 'Father'." She pauses for a moment, looking suddenly unsure. "I mean, if it's all right with you, of course."

He swallows back another lump in his throat and gives a quick nod. "I would like that."

"Good," Emily says, smiling up at him. She gives his hand another squeeze, then stands up abruptly, shifting her sword back into a proper grip. She clears her throat. "Well, should we finish our match, now? If I remember right, I'm pretty sure I was just about to beat you."

Corvo laughs as he stands. "I don't think we could really call that a fair fight."

"There's no honor in a fight to the death," she tells him, sounding a little smug. "If your opponent is kind enough to give you an opening, you shouldn't hesitate to take it."

He shakes his head, hearing his own words repeated back at him. That had been one of the first things he taught her, only a few short weeks after reclaiming her throne. He had curled her little hands around the grip of the knife he had given her, showed her how someone so small might still damage and disable a stronger enemy, showed her how to escape such an attack with her life. She had been scared but so very brave, listening attentively to his every word even as her fingers trembled around the blade.

Her hands no longer shake during lessons, but the determination in her eyes is as fierce as it has ever been. He reaches out to grip her shoulder and says, proudly, "That's my daughter."

Emily's answering grin is bright enough to light the room.