Barnham met her under the cover of darkness. Both of them wore cloaks, not only to conceal their identities from any nosy observers, but also from each other.

"Come, milady," he said as he took her hand and led her away from the quiet cul-de-sac they'd chosen as their meeting place. She nodded, an almost invisible motion in the darkness. And he set a course for the one place he knew would offer them the privacy they needed.

Rouge let them in through a side entrance. She'd told Barnham that she didn't want an Inquisitor's appearance disturbing her customers, which suited him fine since he didn't want anyone to know about this private rendezvous. Rouge led them down the hallway and to a small, empty bedroom. Barnham nodded and handed her a bag of coins as payment before leading his companion into the room.

Once the door was secured behind them, the pair let out sighs of relief. They'd made it. They were alone at last.

Safe in the knowledge that they wouldn't be discovered, Barnham's companion lowered her hood to reveal Maya Fey, the village baker.

The knight hung up both of their cloaks before coughing awkwardly, clearly unsure about starting the conversation.

"S-so," he stammered, "how would you like to do this?"

Maya pondered this question briefly before answering. "Well, what do you picture when you imagine yourself with Darklaw?" When there was no response she softly continued. "Me and Nick could go either way, so..."

Barnham dropped his gaze as a blush came to his cheeks. "Darklaw...she begins forcefully, drawing a confession out of me, and then..." A pause as the knight steeled his will. "She leads me to the bed and brings me above her and I-I...I...show her my adoration."

The woman smiled reassuringly at him. "I can work with that. I'd love being adored." She gave him a playful wink as she walked towards him. Though she paused to put out the single lamp lighting the room, cloaking their identities in darkness once more.

Maya purposefully invaded his personal space, leaning in close, before yanking the collar of his tunic down, bringing their faces only a breath apart. "Tell me," she ordered.

"I love you," he whispered.

She sighed. "Oh, Nick," she murmured as she brought their lips softly together.

In Maya, Barnham had found a kindred spirit. He'd suffered so long alone, struggling to suppress his feelings for his superior. Maya had recognized that in him, she'd seen him trying to deny feelings that he knew could never be returned. And she'd commiserated with him, since she was experiencing the same thing. However, rather than her boss, she pined for her best friend.

He followed obediently as she brought him to the bed and guided him above her. He swallowed nervously before ripping his tunic off and throwing it to the floor. His hands shook slightly as he ran them over her body, searching for the ties on her clothing so he could reveal her body as well.

Once she was laid bare, he hesitated. Clearly too long for Maya's liking because she rose, sliding herself into his lap, and began furiously pressing kisses to his face and neck.

"I love you, Nick," she whispered desperately. "I've loved you for so long."

Barnham stroked her back as he willed himself into the proper frame of mind. As he willed himself to look past the many differences, Darklaw's arms would be more muscular from wielding a sword, she was older, and she had larger breasts, though he would never admit to that noting that last observation. He willed himself to look beyond the differences and instead find the similarities between Darklaw and his substitute lover.

He twined her long, dark hair around his fingers, focusing on that trait which the two women shared. "Milady," he murmured as his lips brushed over her neck.

Her hands also tangled themselves in his hair, following the natural spikes. He moaned as he pictured Darklaw sliding her fingers across his body in Maya's place, her cold demeanor warmed over for once.

"Milady," he whispered, pressing kisses against her jaw, too scared to look at his lover's face lest he shatter the illusion. "Milady," he repeated, turning the word into a whispered chant or prayer he spoke it again and again as the pair ground against each other, still partially clothed as a safety precaution.

The woman's hips rocked fiercely against his own, and her cries became more and more desperate. He slipped one of his hands to her undergarments, hesitating at the fabric border.

"Milady, s-should I...?" he asked breathlessly.

"P-please, Nick," she replied, her voice cracking on the name.

That was all the prompting her needed, he slid his fingers beneath the fabric and one by one slipped them inside her. She moaned and pushed back against them. Once she had adjusted and began moving against him, Barnham used his free hand to tend to his own needs. As he raced closer and closer to his limit, his mind filled with images of the woman he desired to help him along.

The pair climaxed almost at the same time, both thinking about the people they could never be with.