To make a confession: I've been reading The Selection series in order to get inspiration for the whole "choosing-a-soulmate" thing. I'm being a bit more patient with it than I ought to, but notice that I'm not dwelling too much of the luxury specifics being given out to the candidates. Oh, no, good sirs and madams; we're delving into what really matters here.

We're now taking a little segue from the murderous and killing lessons and taking time with the little interactions between Corvo and Jessamine before the Choosing Ceremony, where one of our candidates officially becomes Royal Protector.

Not to spoil you or anything, but it's Corvo.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own anything from Dishonored, with the exception the OCs and a copy of the actual game for XBOX 360.

AN AUDIOGRAPH RECORDING BY MISS ADELAIDE RAVENS REGARDING LADY JESSAMINE KALDWIN

Lady Jessamine turned thirteen years old just yesterday. I gave her a textbook as a birthday present; quite pathetic, I know, but she actually treated it as an item of immense value, much to my astonishment. She put it together with her other books, a collection that she had been building up over the years, and we shared her cake as we continued to discuss the history of Morley that afternoon.

She's a sweet girl. I've never been this lucky as to tutor the daughter of the Emperor, and, as I can infer in her little mannerisms, she has proven herself capable of being in a position of leadership; she's courteous, kind, thoughtful, and often prioritises the needs of other before her own wants. It's hard to find those characteristics in the hard-heartened gentility of Dunwall, so how much more the daughter of an Emperor?

I'm blessed to have known her for all these ten years. They have been long and hard, with their own trials and sufferings, but they have been well-spent moments; I feel I might have learned from her more than she has learned from me.

A Fugue Feast passed by. It had been ten months.

And he missed home.

Unlike the warm air of Serkonos, the cold walls of Dunwall Tower were indifferent and unfeeling, and kept away the humid sun away as if it was a garish plague. The marble halls were cold, the red wine lacked tannins, the velvet carpets were too leathery and the chandeliers too blinding. Although he was more than familiar of the map of the immense towers, of its rooms and corridors, of the servants' names and how to address the Emperor and Empress properly, the more and more he began to adapt to Dunwall, the more he realised that he was changing into something the city wanted to mold him into, something he didn't want to be. Perhaps he missed his simple lifestyle in Karnaca, perhaps just longed for the simple company in the streets or the dingy walls he used to call a home, perhaps he missed the roguish company he recognised as his friends. He wrote often to his company back in his hometown, and they wrote to him back, but the letters almost felt empty and devoid of emotion, despite their heartfelt wishes and love. Their handwriting on paper lacked the true experience of familiarity and friendship he always knew and yearned for. He missed Beatrici. He missed Alfeo. He missed Gisella and her affectionate company. (Was this sexual frustration talking? Maybe so, as he hadn't had any intimate connections with women as of late.)

The only thing that reminded him of home was the garden at the rooftops. It was lush, green, full of flora that bloomed everywhere. The scent of dew on the grass in the early dawn and the sweet aroma of the flowers was enough to bring him to the green grasslands and trees of the neighbourhood plantations in Karnaca, a place he never thought he would miss so much. Whenever the candidates were busy resting, drinking wine or having chats with the Dunwall aristocracy, Corvo would walk about the gardens, sinking the sights of the city overhead, and sitting by his favourite bench, the one underneath the shade of the marble gazebo.

The other day, he remembered, he was sitting on his bench, watching the boats on Wrenhaven River sail under the construction of the huge metal bridge that hung suspended over its tranquil waters. He was toying with his dagger, a beautiful thing made of Tyvian Ore, crafted by the finest blacksmiths in Karnaca. It was a gift from Gisella Nervetti and her family.

He smirked. Gisella Nerevtti. Gods, he used to be such an idiot in his youth; he liked to think that he was at least a little wiser than he was before he started to craft a close relationship to her. Now that it had been ten months, he had gone and reviewed their whole relationship in its entirety, and gods, he missed her—

"Adelaide, please…I can't…"

Corvo turned his head to the side, where he saw the young Lady Jessamine with her governess, a young woman clothed in white and grey, walking along the garden paths a few strides away from him. He managed to lock eyes with the older lady, Adelaide, who gave him an awkward smile; she was holding onto Jessamine's hand as the heiress tried her best to hide behind her governess' legs. The Serkonan continued to stare them down with bewilderment.

"I'm sorry, she's just shy," Adelaide explained, looking down at Jessamine.

She peeked out from behind her tutor, nervously shaking her head at Corvo. "I-I'm not supposed to speak with you."

Corvo scratched his chin in confusion; about a few months ago, this was the girl that was waving to him after he won the sparring competition, smiling like she had the world given to her on a silver platter. But ever since then, their relationship began to rot because it hadn't been attended to; it had just been brushes in the hallway and shy glances from her end of what he assumed to be their own rapport, until it faded back into nothing.

"I won't hurt you, if that's what you're afraid of," Corvo reassured.

"No, I really can't," Jessamine pushed, looking almost sad.

Corvo parted his lips as if to speak, but she ran back to the Tower in haste, refusing to know whatever he had to say, leaving her governess alone with him. Adelaide sighed and looked back at where the Emperor's daughter fled off to, attempting to follow when she stopped herself after a few steps.

"Do I look that threatening?" Corvo stood up from his chair, looking down the pathway Jessamine ran.

"No, Master Attano, it's simply…" Adelaide tried to find the words and let herself falter. "His Majesty didn't tell you yet, did he?"

"No, whatever it is you're talking about," Corvo crossed his arms, his confusion growing with each second.

"I thought the Lady Protector informed you before," Adelaide replied, frowning at the Serkonan.

"She must've left me out intentionally, or I wasn't listening."

The governess gave off a sigh. "If I remember correctly, the Lady Jessamine is prevented from talking to any of the candidates until the 1st Day of the Month of Nets, in which she has to interact with them during a scheduled basis until the Choosing, to get to know them personally."

Corvo blinked. That's why the Lady seemed so quiet, even among the other candidates.

"She mustn't simply pick a Royal Protector based on combat skills alone;" Adelaide continued, "she should be able to build a relationship of trust between her and the candidates until she finds a more favourable one amongst them."

The Serkonan nodded in understanding. "It's quite a while until the Month of Nets."

"Yes, precisely about seventeen days away. Not to mention that you still have to wait for the schedule to come out, and you might not even be first. Patience is a virtue as it is a skill and talent."

Corvo huffed and looked away, trying to lose his line of sigh with the steel framework of the building bridge over the river.

"Why so sombre-looking, Master Attano?" Adelaide frowned with concern at him. "Either way, it's mandatory that you must speak with her. Although admittedly, I feel like you're one of the only candidates who expresses some sort of care for meeting her. Don't worry, I won't hold it against you; it's one of those special skills that girl has. She can make anyone fond of her in a matter of days."

"Like magic?"

"Not magic, Master Attano; it's called charisma."

Corvo sat in the comfort of his quarters, reading one of the books on his shelf as the dark night sky began to fill with sick grey clouds that blocked the moonlight.

It would be fourteen days until the Month of Nets.

He didn't understand why it was so important to him that he would meet and finally talk to Lady Jessamine; after all, everyone was going to do it, he wasn't some sort of special case. Maybe it was because he felt that they should get to know each other more, or it was his usual thirst of curiosity to be quenched. Who was this Lady Jessamine? Who was she behind her title and her family name? Why did she need a Royal Protector so badly if Ivanna could fill in that position just fine? What was her favourite colour?

He didn't need to know everything, but just enough to know if the girl he was being told to serve was worth his respect. In that sense, it might have sounded rude, maybe even arrogant; true, she was an heiress, a future Empress, another person in the long line of rulers that would govern the Isles, but if this was going to be the girl that he was going to protect literally until his dying breath, then he was going to have to know if she was just some snot like the disposition of Dunwall's high society gave off. She didn't seem like it, however, but there seemed to be some sort of—

A knock on his door interrupted his train of thought.

He got up to answer it, expecting the Lady Protector at his doorstep, but to his surprise, he had to look down in order to properly answer.

Standing in front of his room was a young girl about Jessamine's age, perhaps a year older, clad in the royal chefs' uniform, complete with stripped shirt, pants, and a white, stained apron. Her hair was short and dark, her skin was pale and wan, and her dull eyes were ringed with black circles that probably signified she didn't get a generous amount of sleep. In her slender hands, perhaps her only defining feature, she held a white envelope lined with stripes of gold and teal, which she flipped constantly to read the lettering at its back.

He recognised her barely. If he remembered correctly, she was the baker's apprentice.

"You're Master…Corvo Atteno, right?" she read aloud from the envelope, her voice wobbly, but hoarse and mature.

"Attano, yes," he corrected her pronunciation.

"This is for you," she handed over the envelope to him, and he reluctantly took it. "It's from Jessamine."

"Lady Jessamine?" he frowned, looking at the flap to see his name written in a hand that was both fluid and scraggly, like that of a child trying to write script. He could see why the girl mispronounced his name; it was because the 'a' in his surname looked like an 'e' due to the handwriting.

"Yes, she told me to give it to you," the girl said. "But don't tell anyone. It's a secret."

"A secret, hm?" Corvo scanned the envelope again.

"By the way, I'm Delilah," she introduced herself, her voice quieter when she said her name. "Jessamine said if you wanted to reply, you should write a letter and give it to me."

Corvo crossed his arms; the fact that she called the heiress 'Jessamine' so comfortably when on a normal day he was forced to call her 'Lady' simply unnerved him.

"And why should I give it to you when you could just read it and disrespect my privacy?" he asked skeptically.

The young Delilah gave him a snotty little smirk. "You can't approach her, but I can. Besides, do really think me that rude? You really shouldn't be threatened by a little girl like me."

He opened his mouth to reply, but shut it once he realised that his retaliation was both pathetic and horrible.

"You know what?" she said apologetically, holding up her hands as if in surrender. "We shouldn't be fighting. We should be friends." She pointed her thumb to her chest. "I'm the only connection you have to Jessamine, and one of her few good friends in this Tower. I want to increase that number."

Corvo was confused by that innuendo. "So you want to help her become friends with me?"

She nodded promptly. "Precisely that. She's a good person; she deserves more than boring ladies and lords as company."

He shifted his standing position. "And what makes you think I'm not boring?"

Delilah gave him a baffled smile, as if he was asking the easiest question in the known world. "Are you kidding me? Other than Braddock Swindle-whatever, you're the most interesting Royal Protector candidate I've seen. Word's been going around the servants ever since you bested him during that one tournament; some say back when you were the head of the Grand Serkonan Guard, there was one time you killed off ten men with only three knives."

"Actually, I was just an Officer—"

"And there was that one rumour that says when you rescued the Emperor at that one banquet, you cut of this man's head with a blunt bread knife." She tapped her finger on her chin thoughtfully, and before Corvo could speak, she beat him to it. "Is it true that Serkonans keep the heads of the men they killed on a special shelf in their houses?"

"I…what?" he asked, his perplexed face barely satisfied her. "No…no we don't; where did you hear that?"

"I heard it from one of the chefs—"

"Forget it; that isn't even important," he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose before waving the envelope in front of her eyes. "Where do I find you so I can give the reply?"

"You can find me in the Tower kitchens most of the time. If I'm not there, I'm usually in the gardens tending to the roses." She gave him a wide smile as her head tilted to the side curiously. "I love roses."

That last phrase didn't fit the sentence that well, and the tone in which she said it sent his nerves crawling, but it didn't sway him as much as he thought it would. "Very well. Expect it tomorrow."

"Tomorrow," she reiterated as he retreated back into his room. "Goodnight, Attano!"

He didn't reply, but she was kind enough to close the door for him. He walked over to his table and turned on the lamp; instead of using the letter opener that was somewhere inside one of the many drawers in the desk, as he was lazy to get it and found it quite useless, he carefully opened the envelope and brought out the neatly folded parchment inside. The paper itself smelt of lavender, and gods, he was so close to falling into some trance if he inhaled it too much.

He opened it and tried as best he could to decipher the heiress' hand.

Corvo Attano,

I am sorry for my otherwise rude and scared behaviour earlier in the gardens. I am not too keen on breaking the traditional guidelines of the choosing of a Royal Protector, but Father's rules are Father's rules.

But there was nothing said that I could not write to my candidates. So, let us start from the beginning.

My name is Jessamine Kaldwin. I turned thirteen years old during the Month of Earth, on the 3rd Day, to be specific. I love talking walks in the Tower gardens and my favourite colour is yellow; my favourite subject is history and I like to eat the small little cakes that my friend Delilah Copperspoon bakes for me. (I bet you have met her; tell me how she's like! She is my best friend here in the Tower.)

I know I am nearly a year late in telling you this, but I was absolutely delighted by your win in the training room. It has been so long since I have seen someone fight that well; and this is coming from someone who watches Captain Avery train nearly every day. That is a compliment.

I wrote to you because I wanted to get you to know you better, and that is also why Delilah is acting as our courier. Unlike the other candidates, you are by far one of the most interesting. It has been a very long while ever since a foreigner from another Isle became a Royal Protector candidate; then again, there has been no one who was not Gristolian who became a Royal Protector. I am not sure if you will become the first. I guess that is up to me. My patience does not outweigh my curiosity.

I await your reply. You are a very strange face amongst all the competitors, and I am a rational soul as to question why.

Yours faithfully,

Jessamine Kaldwin

Her childish signature was written more neatly written than her whole letter combined, appearing as just simple scrawl, but the loops and curves in her name were pleasing to look at.

Earlier, he found it a tiring thought to actually think of what to write back, then go through the trouble of phrasing it politely for the sake of her position in the regal state of court, but now, he was probably more delighted by this charming letter than he thought he should have. He didn't know if it was because the Lady Jessamine was flattering him, or because it was just adorable that she took time to give him this.

He took out a paper and pen from the drawers of his desk.

"And remember, my Lady," Adelaide said, stacking up her books neatly on the table. "Review your Serkonan history. It's not that bad, but there were a few mistakes in your answers earlier, more than that of all the other Isles."

"Yes, Adelaide," Jessamine sighed in relief, knowing her daily lesson was over. She stared at her books, the words spinning in her head, making it ache mildly.

"Don't be discouraged, my dear," Adelaide comforted her. "You'll be doing better next time. We should take a break."

"I agree," the heiress sighed and put her head on the table, stretching out her arms across the desk.

"I'll be back then in…how many minutes would you like?" Adelaide stopped by the door, opening it halfway.

"Whatever you see fit," Jessamine replied, looking out of her long windows, watching the slow movement of the Wrenhaven River.

"Would fifteen minutes be enough?"

Jessamine nodded, trying her best to smile, despite her tired mental state.

"Very well. I'll return shortly then, my Lady."

The governess closed the door, leaving Jessamine alone in her room. She stared out onto the horizon of Dunwall, lined with tall buildings and chimneys. The cloudy day brought no sign of rain, but the grey clouds blocked nearly all rays of sun. Along the river, she saw the construction of the bridge her father ordered to be built; its steel skeleton was already being completed and forged with each passing day.

She closed her eyes and tried to leave her mind blank, clearing it out to rest her head from information overload. She stayed like that, motionless, meditating, almost dozing off into a little nap before a knock sounded on her door.

"Adelaide?" she asked, rubbing her eyes. "It's barely been five minutes."

The door opened, and in stepped the young Delilah Copperspoon, a white envelope in her hands. She waved it happily, as Jessamine gasped and ran over to her friend. After a brief embrace, the baker's apprentice handed over the letter to the heiress.

"He gave it this morning," Delilah stated, clasping her hands at her back.

"Thank you, my friend," Jessamine gave her a smile "I'll give you the reply maybe later this afternoon."

"Understood," Delilah opened the door. "The usual place?"

"The usual place."

Delilah left the room, allowing Jessamine to rush to her desk and open the letter to read it. Seeing his handwriting for the first time was clearly interesting; it was harsh, violent, sharp, almost like an animal's claw marks, all the more so his signature at the bottom of the note, which looked more like random slashes of ink than a name.

Her Imperial Highness Jessamine Kaldwin,

Madam:

At first I was filled with dread at the thought of sending you notes in secret, as this violates the many terms your father the Emperor has set for the traditional choosing of your Royal Protector, but, of course, I could not resist replying to your letter once it amused me so. Let me begin by introducing myself in the same manner you have in your previous note.

My name is Corvo Attano. I am about nineteen years old, and I will turn twenty by the 25 th Day in the Month of Nets. My favourite places in the Tower are the gardens by the waterlock and my own room; my favourite colour is black (if that indeed counts as a colour; Ivanna corrects me often by saying it's a shade, not a colour). My best friends currently reside back in my hometown: Alfeo Pozzi and Gisella Nervetti, and her brother Eliseo. I come from the capital city of Karnaca in the Isle of Serkonos, and it's been my home ever since; well, that is, until I came here.

If I may inquire upon one thing, however, it's why, among all the candidates, did you choose me to be the most interesting. I've known myself for longer than you have, and I cannot find one thing certainly likable about myself. If this is the case, then how more so the daughter of an Emperor? I simply must know why; this is an option to answer, to comply with my requests is mandatory in comparison to yours.

Also, may I request that your friend Delilah Copperspoon should be able decipher believable rumours from plain ridiculous tales.

I have the honour to remain Your Highness' most humble and obedient subject,

Corvo Attano

Delilah acted as an agent of intersession, delivering letters and running in-between Jessamine's quarters and the Tower dorms all while catering to the commands of the chief baker, her teacher. She found it almost adventurous, however, since she felt that an entire relationship hinged on her sprints through the palace.

The letters were very few, but they continued to flow for the past days.

Corvo Attano,

I thank you humbly for your letter; you truly do not understand the happiness I felt upon receiving it. Reading your hand was such a pleasurable experience, seeing as how you rarely talk; I can only infer that your words flow well and better on paper. And although you stated in your previous note that it is mandatory for me to answer your questions, I feel obliged to do so anyway. It is the least I could do for you.

The reason, Master Attano, that I find you interesting is the fact that you look different from all the other candidates. In comparison to their bright clothing, yours is dull; in comparison to their fair complexion, yours is tan, in comparison to their confident demeanour, yours is quiet and humble. I have rarely seen Royal Guards of that behaviour, so imagine my surprise to have one of my Royal Protector candidates as such!

I apologise if you misread that and feel offended. One can decipher what I wrote as racial prejudice, and I mean no such thing.

Yours faithfully,

Jessamine Kaldwin

Her Imperial Highness Jessamine Kaldwin,

Madam:

I deeply apologise for the tardiness of this reply. I know you have been waiting for this letter for nearly a week, as our makeshift courier Delilah tells me over and over. Although, you must understand, the training that the Lady Protector puts us under is usually so vigorous and tiring that I often feel too fatigued to write back. However, it was always my intention to reply, and I didn't intend to break that promise.

On a personal note, I know your interest in me has nothing to do with racial prejudice. Although I do find it flattering that you find me indeed interesting, I, for one, must admittedly say that there is nothing at all interesting about me. I am just like any normal Serkonan merchant, who came from a poor family in Karnaca. Most of the locals from the Isle would tell you that their situation is similar to mine.

I hope you receive this in time, and that I have the luxury of which to write more.

I have the honour to remain Your Highness' most humble and obedient subject,

Corvo Attano

Corvo Attano,

If you may have noticed, unlike before, I took it upon myself to become spectator to some of your training sessions, since as of late, I have taken an interest to them. I assume now since you train early in the morning, you have become acquainted with Joshua Avery, the Captain of the Royal Guard. Respect the man; he has quite a lot of experience in combat, as much experience, I dare say, that can compete with that of Ivanna. Many of the candidates say he is quite the fetching young man and I, as a young lady of their calibre, am inclined to agree.

Next time you train, you will be pleased to know that I am a part of your small audience up in the balustrade. Wave at me, if you are not busy trying to not die. I do not want a head rolling simply because you want to catch a glance.

Yours faithfully,

Jessamine Kaldwin

Corvo Attano,

This may be the last of the letters that I may send to you. Father has already become suspicious of my constant borrowing of his stationery to write this. So do not be surprised if I do not reply after this last note, although a reply would be appreciated greatly.

The first week of the Month of Nets will come in just a few days. The schedule will be released soon, as I have overheard from Ivanna and Father. I do not know if you are the first, but I guarantee you, I will give you a present during our first meeting. It will be a surprise, so do not inquire what it is.

I am excited to see you soon.

Yours faithfully,

Jessamine Kaldwin

Her Royal Highness Jessamine Kaldwin,

Madam:

Nothing can be more said from my end of this delightful rapport except the aforementioned thought that I am looking forward to our meeting. I thank you for your time. It is truly a great privilege you bestow upon me to write and maintain some sort of secret relationship. The thrill has been short, but enjoyable.

I have the honour to remain Your Highness' most humble and obedient subject,

Corvo Attano

Then the scheduled meetings with Jessamine were released on the 1st Day of the Month of Nets. But, apparently, Corvo had to wait a week. The day he would meet the heiress would be the 8th Day, as the first person to meet her was Elyza Wallerman. So he waited. It was a week without letters, without Delilah, without even a sight of the Lady herself. He was surprised that he didn't grow insane over those seven lengthy days. Adelaide was right; patience is a skill, but skills can be acquired.

Then the day came suddenly, faster than he expected it to come. Corvo felt like this was the moment that all his months in Dunwall culminated to. He was supposed to leave a good impression on her, he knew. All the candidates knew.

Last time, Lady Jessamine invited Elyza to her parlour. But this time, the heiress invited him to the gazebo in the garden, where she first spoke to him, where they first locked eyes.

That day, he dressed up well in a coat that Ivanna had left him with earlier that morning, one with muted teal hues, probably since she was tired of his wearing black every time he was called for attendance. So he put it on and wore a simple dress shirt, pants and boots, and looked at himself in his dorm mirror. He had tried his best to tie his hair into a ponytail, but most of the short locks fell in front of his face messily. He grimaced at his own appearance, but left the room anyway, since there was nothing he could do to fix his horrible untidy self. It marked the beginning of his defeatist approach towards this endeavour.

The gardens were empty, devoid of any guests or aristocracy that it would be filled with on a normal day, and they were replaced by men of the Royal Guard to protect the heiress. A handsome man in the Captain's uniform was pacing in front of the pathway, and his face lit up in both relief and annoyance when he spotted Corvo, accompanied by Ivanna, stepping out into the grounds.

"Corvo, there you are," the man said exasperatedly, wiping his face. "Gods, you're fifteen minutes late."

"Fifteen minutes, Captain," Corvo reiterated, walking along the path to the gazebo as the Captain and Ivanna followed him.

"This is Lady Jessamine we're talking about," the Captain stressed.

"Captain Avery, please," Ivanna retorted before he could complain again. "Corvo's been with us for nearly a year, you must have gotten used to his mannerisms. Particularly that of tardiness."

"I haven't," Avery sighed again before gesturing to the gazebo. "She's waiting there. Be nice, I don't want to clean your blood off that expensive marble."

Corvo inhaled sharply and nodded, stepping a few ways before the steps of the gazebo. Ivanna and Avery didn't follow him and instead conjured up their own conversation and commentary about his unsettled disposition as they walked away.

The gazebo that he thought used to be his haven in a foreign city became even more daunting now that this was his rendezvous point with her, the young girl who, if he was chosen (with an unmistakeable emphasis on "if") to become her bodyguard, would be the heiress whose life he would become responsible for. Its white columns became threatening, and its steps even higher than he thought they were. The guards that were posted at its foot moved aside to give him room as he walked up, then closed him in, sealing him inside like some caged animal ready to meet its doom.

When he thought it couldn't get worse, all of his tension multiplied when his eyes landed on the girl sitting on his bench.

It was an odd feeling, looking at her from this close. Normally, she would be feet away from him separated by the rules of court, an armada of guards, or his general unethicality, but now he could observe her in great detail. The young girl was wearing all black, with her dark hair tied into a tight bun at the top of her head, secured by a gold pin. Her smooth face and bright eyes were masked behind a book so much so that she didn't even notice him come in; Corvo was too nervous to even bother wondering what she whatever she was so immersed with. On her lap, he noticed, there was a box wrapped with black paper.

He had to clear his throat for her to look up.

"Oh!" she exclaimed with surprise, upon recognising his person. "I didn't…notice you come in."

"You looked like you were enjoying your book, my Lady," Corvo bowed his head, trying his best to suppress his smirk.

"This thing?" she held up the book she was reading earlier, a leather-bound monster of a book with its title embellished in gold on the cover: 'The History of Dunwall by Walpole Burnham'. "It's for my lessons; it's nothing, really."

He nodded, secretly uninterested.

"So," she started. "Do you want to start all over again? No more notes?"

Corvo couldn't help but stifle a small laugh. "No more notes, Your Highness."

"Alright," Jessamine sat up straight, lifted her chin up, and grinned, and putting a hand on her chest, spoke proudly. "My name is Jessamine Kaldwin, heiress to the throne of Dunwall."

Corvo bowed an inch too low, his tone intent and true. "My name is Corvo Attano, one of the candidates for you to choose as Royal Protector."

Jessamine scooted over to the side and patted the side of the bench she left empty. "Come, sit."

Corvo, frowning reluctantly, hesitantly complied with her command. He sighed as he sat down, staring at the small little boats sailing along the Wrenhaven. They sat in silence for a while before she perked up again in surprise.

"I almost forgot," she handed over to him the wrapped black box, and, as he took it into his calloused hands and inspected it like it was some kind of packed explosive, she bobbed up and down in excitement. "Your birthday is on the 25th, am I right? Happy birthday."

He looked at her as if he knew she had stuffed dead rats inside. She gave him such an innocent grin that it could be considered with malicious intent.

"My birthday isn't for another week," he said curiously. "Will I die if I open this?"

"It depends on whatever you define 'dying' as," she explained. "Just open it. You'll never know if it's that pair of shoes you've been wanting since you were a boy."

Corvo blinked curiously as he began to unwrap the black paper that bound his apparent gift.

Jessamine's smile grew wider as he completely peeled off the wrap to reveal a thick black leather book with its title bright on the spine: 'The History of the Karnaca and the Serkonan Peoples by Walpole Burnham'. He frowned in discernment as he leaved through the contents of the publication, catching a few familiar names and wars and years, complete with neat footnotes and bibliography.

"You always said you did like black," she commented as he browsed through the page of the list of Dukes. "I tried my best to look for one with that cover. It wasn't easy."

Corvo was so overwhelmed by her act of kindness that he closed the book and put it on his lap, opening his mouth and closing it again in an effort to try and say something that would break the silence; this happened many times until he was able to taste a pathetic gratitude at the tip of his tongue. How pathetic was it that the heiress, the person in a position higher than him, someone he was there to impress, was the one giving gifts to please him?

"Thank you, Your Highness, this is…" —and the words disappeared again— "…this is wonderful. I'm sorry I came without something in return."

She shook her head. "Don't worry; I didn't expect you to bring anything. Besides, it's the least I can do for your strenuous efforts in sending me letters despite your hectic schedule."

She expected him to answer or carry on the conversation, perhaps by remarking or commenting on his aforementioned hectic schedule with Ivanna and Avery, but instead, he said nothing and put the book beside him on the chair. Her brows knitted in confusion; usually it was the candidates that would initiate conversation, not her. He really was different.

"You're the silent type, I can tell," Jessamine interrupted the serenity. "You don't talk a lot."

"I don't like talking sometimes," Corvo licked his lips, looking at his fidgeting hands. "Besides, what else do I have left to tell Her Highness? You have all my letters."

"True, your language seems more complicated and longer on paper."

"You said it yourself: my thoughts flow better on paper. So there's nothing left for me to say."

"But I don't know enough for me to really 'know you' as a person. You should open up and talk to me and introduce yourself; that's the reason you're here right now."

"And that's the reason you sent letters as well, Your Highness. Silence is necessary for a good meditative soul."

She raised her eyebrow at him. "And you're a good meditative soul?"

"I like to think of myself as one," he replied, the corners of his mouth turning up into a small smile. "Well, in comparison to everyone else here in this Tower."

Jessamine's smile reversed itself into a discontented frown, and her tone turned bitter as well. "Oh, so everyone in this hectic Tower indulges themselves headfirst into their work, too busy to mind themselves and their spiritual health, something that obviously outweighs their jobs, jobs that are basically responsible for keeping this whole Empire on its feet…and that's a bad thing?"

Corvo froze; he might have struck a nerve in her there, and that wasn't good. Still, it didn't erase his stunned expression upon realising she was a thirteen-year-old who was aware of the responsibilities her position entailed in the Dunwall government; when Corvo was thirteen, he was busy stealing a crate of pears from their neighbour the merchant. He sat for a few moments in silence, trying to find out what to say.

"I didn't mean it like that, my Lady. Silence should be integrated into their work system, not so much as an everyday requirement that would completely erase their efforts in government."

Jessamine looked up at him with a discerning gaze; Corvo looked back at her with a raised eyebrow.

"You're very odd, you know," Jessamine commented. "When I was with Elyza, she was trying her best to adjust to topics that she thought would interest me…books, history, and the like. And here you are talking to me about your political opinions."

Corvo smirked. "Aren't I charming?"

Jessamine's smile returned. "No."

He sighed in reply and opened his book again, browsing through a few of the pages. Jessamine looked over his shoulder a bit and pointed to a name on one of the latter pages.

"I know this one," she said, and he read the name as she recited it. "Cremona. They're one of the richest families in Karnaca, and they own one of the oldest wine plantations in Serkonos. I heard there was an incident how many months ago where their latest heir's manor just detonated." And she leaned back and gestured with her hands an explosion. "Boom!"

Corvo watched as he drew back her hands and shake her head in remorse, as if she could have done something but failed to. "I heard that's where you saved Father. You were ambushed by…" she counted on her hands, "ten men or so, I think. Then you pulled these daggers from your scabbard and just eliminated them. Delilah told me you cut off their heads to display on your home shelf."

"I…don't do that," he frowned. "Nobody in Serkonos does that. Don't listen to Deiliah; all of those rumours aren't true."

"But it's true you saved Father, right?"

He looked at his hand, where, if he concentrated hard enough, he could still feel the burn of the explosion, the bandages on his hand. "I did. But I just saved him from one man, with a sword. That story's changing with every single retelling."

As he clenched and unclenched his fist, all of a sudden, he felt small arms wrap around his chest, and when he looked, he saw that she was hugging him. He blinked curiously.

"Then thank you," she whispered.

He couldn't help but smile a bit and pat her shoulder; this was perhaps the only intimate contact they ever had throughout the entire conversation, and he was probably the first to ever get her to hug him. "You don't have to thank me, Your Highness. It was something anyone would have done."

"But you, of all the Serkonans in that party, of all the people in the world, were right there, at that exact moment, for you to save him."

"And here I am because of it."

EDIT (8th March, 2017): I am indeed aware that, in the canon material, Delilah is ousted from Dunwall Tower at around this time. However, since she continually appears later on in the story in a bunch of different scenes, consider her prolonged cameos here the only aspect of this fic in which it is canon divergent. Damn Arkane and their shoehorns.