I did some research on how to fight using a dagger (I had to practice grip with a bread knife), and how to escape chokeholds for your self-defence reference in this chapter. Just enough positions for awkward sexual tension.

Also, because the second game is inching closer and closer with each passing day, I may be updating twice every week. MAY.

Disclaimer: I still don't own Dishonored, only OCs.

MASTER ANTON SOKOLOV'S NOTES ON THE PROPERTIES OF TYVIAN ORE

Although I am aware of the properties of Tyvian Ore, being born in the island myself, I have known very little of its abilities, and thus, I will begin to state what I have gathered over my past months of research. (Take note that these findings may be corrected with additional information later gathered.)

Tyvian Ore is rather uncommon, but not rare, in a typical Tyvian marketplace or trading post. The mining companies from the Isle are rather wealthy, as the Ore is a good conductor for electrical currents and is more durable than any metal yet found. It is because of these reasons that the Ore is rather expensive locally, costing about twenty coins for its average weight pieces; as far as my research tells me, its most expensive selling price is found in Serkonos, where a few grams can be sold for about fifty to seventy coins, depending on how much is being sold.

It is also more favourably used for sabres and bladed weaponry; for instance: the Abbey of the Everyman equips its clergymen, the Overseers, with blades made out of Ore. In the case of scientific interests, Tyvian Ore is one of the hardest minerals in the Isles, and thus can be studied in terms of molecular compatibility and pressure effects, and its malleability and plasticity remains yet to be discovered.

The young Geoff Curnow knew his job was something that came out of surprise. The late Captain of the City Watch, Captain Strudwick, one of the fallen men shot fatally during the attack on the Emperor during that infamous state dinner, was the soldier who used to be in his place, the stars keep him. But Curnow was only one of those men who were destined to be simply an officer of the Watch until the day he himself died for the Empire, but he never thought that he would be suddenly promoted. Either way, he had to carry on the flare in a dark time.

The hounds were coming for him now more than ever.

"Captain," a man of the Royal Guard saluted him as he climbed up the stairs and stood on the roof of Dunwall Tower.

"At ease, officer," Curnow commanded, shielding his eyes from the garish sun that shone mercilessly down on them, bright and cold. The winds that whipped around him brought him the stink from the Wrenhaven and the smell of the sea.

As he walked along the roof, guards prowled about, pistols at their sides, watching out for any suspicious personnel. Curnow strode along the grounds with two more of his Watch guards following as he was doing inspections of the rounds. Avery already put the new set of men on the rooftops to watch the sewers as they were under construction, and Curnow was given orders from his superiors the Royal Protectors to validate the positions and posts they were at.

"And I assume you're the officer in charge?" Curnow raised an eyebrow at a Royal Guard with dark brown hair.

"Yes, Captain," the man saluted, then offered his hand. "Officer Dalton."

"Pleased to meet you, Officer," Curnow shook his hand. "I'm only here to scan past the numbers, so the sooner you answer the questions, the sooner we can both go back to doing what we're doing."

"Yes, sir."

"So," Curnow began walking around, looking at the rounds each man was making. "How many men do you have in total?"

"Twenty, sir."

"And they're all from the Royal Guard?"

"The best of the best, sir."

"They are aware of their positions?"

"Yes, sir."

Curnow caught then from the corner of his eye a number of men abandoning their positions and running to a spot where soldiers began to crowd, somewhere close to the battlements along the edge of the rooftop. More and more of the Royal Guard slowly began to accumulate there until it caught Dalton's attention.

"You'll excuse them, Captain," he apologised shamefully to Curnow, then ran after his men and began to reprimand them, thinking the Captain couldn't hear. "What do you think you slackers are doing? And with the Captain Curnow here no less!" He entered the circle and broke it open, shoving some of the soldiers aside. "What are you all—?"

The Officer cut himself off as his face turned grim. Curnow, frowning, walked towards the crowd of soldiers and they immediately moved aside as the new Captain of the City Watch went into the clearing. And there he saw, sitting in the middle of the Tower roof tiles, a mask. Curnow picked it put slowly.

A plain white porcelain mask with dark cut-outs for eyeholes and black lips twisted into a cruel malicious grin. Even without eyes, it looked like a menace just waiting to see how your blood would spill over its white cheeks and face.

Curnow put it down.

"Bring it to the Royal Protectors," Curnow commanded, turning around and making his way towards the stairwell.

Officer Dalton was stunned. "But sir—!"

"The Royal Protectors need to see it before anything else," Curnow said through clenched teeth. "I don't know if you were at that state dinner, Officer, but I saw that mask only once in my life. Bring it to them."

"There you are," Corvo smirked, fixing something that was laid out on the small table in front of him. "I thought you were never going to come."

Jessamine shot him an exasperated look and crossed her arms, walking towards him. "You told me to come. It's not like you gave me a choice."

He blinked. "Her Highness always has a choice."

She stood next to him in the training yard, which was empty and devoid of anybody, not even Ivanna, save for the occasional Royal Guard who did his patrol round on the far side of the area. The noonday sun poured its cold and harsh light all over the shrubbery and daunting walls of Dunwall Tower's new fortifications: alarm bells, dead spotlights, and more soldiers than usual stalking through the area as if they were an armada of tigers looking for one small mouse. The Royal Protectors and the rest of Dunwall's military were now more than paranoid, but they had a reason to. No other assassin had come that close to killing a regent ever since Empress Larisa Olaskir.

On the table, Jessamine noticed, were guns of different calibre, small pistols amongst large ones. And when she glanced at the far end of the training ground, she saw her Royal Protector was practicing aim, because all of the targets had bullet holes scattered on them. The bullseye marks were probably his recent doing.

He put the gun he was using back down on the table and began packing them into a small wooden case. "Shall we begin, Your Highness?"

Jessamine nodded as her arms lay limp at her side.

He carried the table to the far corner of the perimeter were it wouldn't disturb them. Then she watched as he took the middle finger of his glove between his teeth and began to tug at the leather that covered his hands. Once he got the first glove off, revealing slender and rough palms, he took the other one off easily. It never really occurred to her as an important detail, but he had such nice hands. She clenched her fists, trying to stomp all thoughts from her mind of how his hands felt like whenever he put a friendly touch on her shoulder, an arm around her waist to escort her somewhere or even something as simple as his fingers interlaced with hers whenever she asked him to swear a promise. So warm, so comforting, so…strangely irresistible.

It seemed so innocent before, so why…?

When she thought it couldn't get worse, he peeled the large Royal Protector's coat off his shoulders then body before hanging it on the small table, exposing the grey vest that hugged at his lean torso and a white dress shirt underneath. As he began to roll up his long sleeves up his elbows and before her eyes could continue venturing into forbidden territory, she turned away and felt her face burn.

Corvo had been in her presence nearly every day. Scratch that; every day of her life, every waking hour of every moment, he was there at her side. So why was it that only now, when he was alone with her, in a courtyard, under training exercises for her safety, no less, did she notice how incredibly and dashingly fine-looking he was? Was he always this handsome, or was it just the sunlight in her eyes?

"Alright, let's do this," he spoke, and she turned. Horrifying mistake.

His hair was messily slicked back and the stubble he made no effort to shave began to gnaw at the remaining tan skin of his jawline. The gaunt lines that carved his face, the sharp edges of his nose and jaw and the dark gleam in his eyes made him look so raggedy, so dishevelled, so…roguishly dreamy. As he adjusted the sword at his belt, she noticed that his dress shirt made wrinkles as it folded at the crook of his elbow, exposing lean and muscular forearms that were almost always hidden underneath that black expanse of a coat.

(Damn then; she should order him to get rid of that coat. The first law she would make when she becomes Empress? Change the attire of the Royal Protector into something that…exposed more.)

Her face grew hot.

"Now then," he began. "I know you don't like using guns, so I thought…it would be more probable for you to wield a dagger."

"And you thought right," Jessamine replied. Why did her voice shake just then?

"But I'll give you something special," he reached into one of the small sheathes in his belt and brought out a sharp blade made of steel so polished it might as well be silver, with etchings of ore on its hilt and beautiful designs carved onto its patterns. "It was a gift from…someone I knew. Tyvian Ore: compact, hard to break, and valuable."

Jessamine inhaled sharply; she could be exposed to all the riches her father could afford, and yet she had never seen any weapon this intricate.

"I-I can't just…Corvo, this is beautiful, I can't simply take it," she stuttered.

"My Lady, I insist," Corvo handed it over to her, almost as if he was forcing her to hold it.

"Corvo, I—"

"Take it, Lady Jessamine," he said near forcefully, and the stubbornness in his stunning eyes clued her in that he wasn't backing out.

With reluctance, she took the dagger from him, and her fingers grazed the rough surface of his palm. She could feel herself tremble nervously, and she didn't know whether it was because she was holding a weapon that could essentially kill a man, or because she was standing next to a very attractive one.

"A dagger is the most basic of weapons," Corvo began, striding away from her by a few ways, brandishing another knife from his belt. "It's also one of the riskiest. The reason why people prefer guns over swords is because guns put distance between you and the enemy. The more distance between you and your opponent, the safer you are. But the closer you are, the more dangerous. Even a sword is better to use than a dagger, because swords are swift, efficient. You can still kill instantly with a sword. But you can't kill instantly with a dagger."

Jessamine looked at the glistening dagger of Tyvian Ore. This intricately detailed lovely thing…could end a human life so agonisingly slowly.

"So let's start on grip," he stood next to her and showed her how.

"This is the way you hold a knife," he explained, pointing at his hand. "Keep the blade the same angle as your knuckles here. And don't hold it too low, or too high. Your thumb goes right there, on the knuckle of your third finger."

She nodded and tried to copy his hands, her fingers feeling the cold metal on the hilt of the blade.

"No," he immediately interjected, using one hand to fix her grip. "Your thumb goes here. And keep your fingers tight and relaxed."

As his slender digits continued to fix her own, she tried to supress a shiver. His hands were so warm, and the magnificent sculpture of his palms and knuckles…you would have think the stars above crafted them. She blinked furiously and felt her face grow red.

Still standing beside her, he continued. "So you're right-handed."

She nodded.

"Then you keep your left foot forward," he said, doing exactly that as she followed. "If you move forward, spring forward. Lunge. The left foot must always be in front of you."

She nodded again (and cursed herself for being so stupidly silent) as he walked a few strides away from her as he continually flipped the dagger forehand, backhand, forehand, backhand, so quickly, she thought he might wound himself and his beautiful palms.

"I assume you don't want the first point of offense in the battle to be yours?" he asked, almost like he was gaining consent.

"I came here to be taught self-defence, not offense," she retorted, grateful that she remembered her vocal chords actually worked.

"Very well," he exhaled through his nostrils.

And he gradually took his stance, his left arm, the one not holding a dagger, held in front of him, guarding his upper body.

"This is a typical dagger stance," he continued, prompting Jessamine to follow his posture: bent knees, crouched back, and hand in front of chest. "Your raised hand must always be covering your torso; it's supposed to be for protection of your vital organs near your chest.

"An assailant would probably attack first with a stab," he continued to step towards her until he was right in front of her form, and he drew his dagger arm back, ready to thrust forward. "You need to think fast here, read your opponents movements. So when I thrust," —he slowly moved the dagger towards her— "you grab my arm," —and without warning, with his free hand, he nabbed her tiny wrist and pressed it to the forearm that wasn't holding a weapon— "and push it away. This gives you an opening, a chance to hit my chest or my neck."

Her fingers brushed against the hard skin of his arm before she pulled it back, and she could feel his muscles contract under her touch. Her gaze was flickering away from his face to his chest then back to the arm he had instructed her to hold. She was burning.

"Let's try that again, slower," he walked away and regained his former position.

"Alright," she answered, steadying herself.

And just as he said, he lunged at her slowly, and his arm thrusted towards her. Distracted as she was, by the focused look in his dark eyes, or by the tautness of his torso muscles underneath his chest, she grabbed his arm and pushed it to the side, and pushed her own hand upwards so that the blade of the Tyvian Ore dagger was right next to the side of his neck.

"Good," he breathed, the corners of his mouth twitched up in a smile, and suddenly, she was aware of how close his mouth was to her face. She could smell tobacco.

Her heart thumped in her chest so loudly, she was surprised he didn't hear it.

"You don't always have to hit the neck," Corvo drew back and stood upright, in front of her as he tapped the flat side of his dagger to his thumb as he faced her.

"If you want to stun your target long enough for you to get away, you have to aim at their vital organs." He gestured to his chest, so there was no way she could avoid looking at his muscular torso now. "The upper body houses the lungs and heart. This is mostly fatal, if you hit here. But below, near the abdomen, are the stomach and a few other main arteries and veins. Not damaging enough to be deadly, but deadly still."

Her mind was scattered everywhere and nowhere at the same time. Oh, he was just a touch away, she could just imagine her thin fingers tracing over the groves of his well-sculpted chest, the carving of his abdominal muscles and lean neck—

"I don't like this," she shook her head, trying to distract herself form conversation. "Is it possible that I can simply escape from someone without having to harm them?"

His eyes scrutinised her words. "Hmm, you're right. Let's see…a scenario where a weapon is unnecessary…"

"D-Do you have something in mind?" she stammered idiotically.

He blinked a few times, as if he got a perfect idea, but sighed. "I do, but…forgive me for this, Your Highness."

And she frowned. "Forgive you? What do you m—?"

Suddenly, he moved behind her and wrapped an arm around her neck, his other hand grabbing his own wrist in order to tighten it. He let enough room so her airway wasn't constricted, and it also allowed her to take a sharp and silent breath in. Her cheeks were on fire and her fingers were trembling. She let go of the dagger, and it fell to the floor with a pff as it hit the sand. A true damsel-in-distress scenario. With his body behind hers ever-so closely, she could imagine herself shutting her eyes, leaning back, and allowing him to just take her. But equanimity, as she knew, was the most important aspect of being an heiress; she was only lucky that most of her life was centred around keeping oneself calm in dangerous situations.

And she was currently in a very dangerous situation.

"This is a Tyvian chokehold," he explained, his balmy poisonous breath against her nape. "It doesn't kill; only block your airways enough for you to lose consciousness. Now focus, Lady Jessamine, this is extremely important."

She could faint. Well, she wasn't going to have a hard time focusing if the form of his chest muscles wasn't pressed against the sensitive skin of her back. She could feel each edge of his body through the folds in her clothing. Gods, he was so warm. How could she even pay attenti—?

"First, grab my elbow," he commanded, and she did, her scrawny fingers clawing at the crook which encaged her head. His muscles were so hard against her soft skin.

"Then tilt your chin downward so I'm not holding your neck."

She complied again, and pressed her chin towards her collarbones. But with her nose against the hot skin of his arm, she accidentally inhaled the virile smell of perspiration mixed with cigar ash. She melted.

"Move your foot behind my leg."

And she tried, but the problem was her leg was too far from his, and she nearly fell and lost her balance as she tried to hook her ankle behind his foot.

"Careful," he breathed. She swore to the stars, his mouth was right beside her ear.

"Corvo, I-I can't—" she started.

"Then slowly," he said more intently.

She still couldn't find his ankle, and what was worse was that the more she attempted to hook her ankle behind his, the more she pressed into his body. This was agony.

Then she found the leather of his boots, thank the stars. She hooked her foot and made a small step behind him.

"Now turn," he said. "Sideways. Use all of the force you have to turn."

She did. She made her body move to the side in order to knock him off-balance, but his grip on her was just too strong. She was just flailing like some caught river krust struggling for dear life.

"Corvo, please, this is—" she faltered again, picking up the pieces of her failing composure.

But she asked for this. Was Delilah even right? Was this really the beginning of some stupid crush on her Royal Protector?

"The attacker isn't going to make this easy for you, Lady Jessamine," he continuously insisted. "Catch the assailant off-guard."

She tried again, but was no use. She was so frustrated. Frustrated at herself for letting her silly feelings get in the way of something as serious as defence training, frustrated at Corvo for being so attractively ravishing, frustrated at Delilah for affecting her previously respectable vision of Corvo, now tainted with girly infatuation and smitten affections.

"Come on, Lady Jessamine," he pushed, his grip on her tightening even further. "Wait until the time is right to—!"

With every single rage-filed bone in her body, she moved her feet and threw him off her, and with a hand on his arm, grabbed him and pulled him across her so he landed on the ground in the wake of dust. He grunted as he hit the floor and clenched his teeth as he shielded his eyes from the sun.

She was happy she succeeded…for about three seconds before she realised she could have harmed him.

"Corvo! Oh gods, I didn't mean to…" she bent to help him up, but he waved, supporting himself up with an arm.

"I'm fine, Lady Jessamine, that was…" he let an exhale free and gave a rich smile. "That was good. Good."

She felt the beaming of pride run through her bloodstream. "You did say to catch you off-guard."

He huffed. "I did, didn't I?"

They stood there for a while, her on her feet while he was sitting on the sandy surface of the training grounds, for gods know how long. She thought he would affirm her, give her another beautiful smile, and maybe pat her on the back in congratulations, but none of that happened and neither of them made a move until an officer of the Royal Guard was seen running towards them, looking like he was on the verge of breaking down from exhaustion. Corvo frowned and got up to his feet, dusting his vest as Jessamine looked as bewildered as he did.

"Lord Protector, there's something…" the soldier panted, "…something Captain Curnow wants you to see."

"You can tell Curnow to wait," Corvo strode over to his desk and closed his briefcase with a click of the fasteners. "I'm busy training with Her Highness."

She blushed. It might have been a small thing, but still: he chose her over Curnow. (Then again, it was practically his job to.)

"He insists, Master Attano," the soldier protested. "It's new evidence regarding the identity of the assassins."

Corvo brushed some hair away from his handsome face. "What of it?"

The solider looked like he was trying to choose the words that hurt the least. "He says that…we might know the Isle of which the assassins come from based on the evidence. A-And he said the results might be of particular interest to you as well."

Corvo froze. Jessamine saw his shoulders rise.

"Tell Curnow I'll be right there," Corvo said as he collected his case and looped his coat around his arm. And to Jessamine: "I'm sorry, my Lady, something's come up. Another time, perhaps?"

She smiled and gave a quick nod of the head, grateful that she didn't have to endure any of that pleasurable torture anytime soon. "That would be alright, yes."

"Corvo?"

His eyes suddenly snapped open, and his gaze gravitated towards Ivanna, frowning in concern. He almost fell asleep as they were walking. This wasn't a good sign at all.

"You don't look very well," Ivanna shook her head.

"I'm fine," he replied, his voice weaker and hoarser than usual.

"Oh, yes," Ivanna shot back, crossing her arms, then echoed back in a purposefully horrible deep voice and terrible fake Serkonan accent that was supposed to mimic him. "'I'm fine, Ivanna; no need to pay attention to my obviously declining health.' Your favourite pair of words." She followed with a scoff. "I'm fine, indeed. Or as I like to call them, your favourite pair of lies."

Corvo didn't reply and instead frowned at her mockery.

"This insomnia problem is getting serious," Ivanna reprimanded. "You better do something about it; otherwise, I'm going to ask the Royal Physician to intervene."

Corvo groaned. If there was anything he hated more than his sleeping problems, it was that irascible old man Anton Sokolov barking insults and curses down his back. He missed the old Royal Physician; at least he didn't go about the palace frowning at every single annoying thing.

"I'll try to get some rest tonight, then," Corvo said.

"Try?" Ivanna raised an eyebrow.

Corvo shrugged. "Would you rather that I say yes and lie?"

"Is this about the evidence they found on the rooftop yesterday?"

Corvo mood dropped stayed silent.

That mask, that horrid white mask that he only saw the assassins wear, was from his hometown. His Isle. He could recognise the simple paintwork and contortion of expression. The same masks used for the celebration of the Fugue Feast in Serkonos, the same masks that appeared at the state dinner months ago, were the same masks that had attacked the Emperor when he was in Karnaca all those years ago during the first time they met. It was hauntingly familiar and sickening. Like Serkonos was beckoning home the child that tore apart other kids' limbs out on the muddy streets.

Ivanna knocked on the doors to the Emperor's office, and only seconds after did she swing them open. Euhorn sat at his desk, reading the piles upon piles of papers that scattered the tabletop, while his daughter helped Secretary Varnham sort through his files. The whole room stopped just to watch the Royal Protectors step in, then quickly resumed its hectic system once Corvo closed the door behind them.

"You called for us, Your Majesty?" Ivanna asked.

"Indeed I did," Euhorn said matter-of-factly, trying to hide his tone of frustration. "I just need you to do a few things for me, is all."

"Your Majesty, is everything really alright?" Corvo inquired after Ivanna.

Euhorn didn't look up from his work. "Oh, everything's fine, dear boy…other than the fact that Parliament has gone up in flames ever since the day that they found that evidence. Jessamine's been trying to defend you in the Council, you know. It's been hard for all of us."

Corvo tried to steal a glance at the heiress, but she wouldn't meet his eyes. Her face was red with blush and she tried to desperately hide it with the papers she was holding. She had been fighting for him against those horrid and rabid animals that Dunwall called their Council? It was embarrassing enough as it was, and what a way for role-reversal: she had been protecting him when it should normally be the other way around.

He bowed his head low. "I'm sorry, Your Majesty, it was my—"

"Don't apologise, Corvo, the last thing I need is an apology from you," Euhorn reprimanded, looking through his papers.

"Is there anything we can do to help?" Ivanna prompted.

"Yes," Euhorn didn't look up from his work. "Go to the Council right now and tell them not to make a decision without my consent or I will have their heads. Give these papers to them; it'll keep them busy. Pacify them if you have to, maybe throw out a Northrop or two to stir up some trouble. Contact Duke Theodanis about this and inquire him about the matter. Oh, and send correspondence to the Pendleton twins for a tally on the voter tally."

Ivanna took the papers and she and Corvo made their way to the door—

"Not you, Corvo, I want you to stay."

Corvo stopped dead in his tracks at the Emperor's words froze him. Ivanna left the room, giving him a look that spoke of pity more than anything else and mouthing a quick 'Good luck,' before vanishing behind the closing door. The Lord Protector turned to Euhorn and kept his head low.

"Is there something I've done wrong, Your Majesty?" he asked.

"No…no, actually, I just need you to hear something," Euhorn filtered through the documents until he found the right one. "Ah, here it is. Secretary, have you read this yet?"

Randolf Varnham shook his head. "No, Your Majesty."

"Well, no matter," Euhorn read aloud from the document for all in the room to hear. "Listen to this: 'The High Parliamentary Council of the Imperial Crown of the City of Dunwall has therefore opted to suspend," —Euhorn put emphasis on the word 'suspend'— "the services of the Royal Protector Master Corvo Attano, who is off Serkonan descent, until further notice. The reason of which is due to the newly-found evidence regarding the assassination attempt on our Emperor Euhorn Jacob Kaldwin the First on the 3rd day of the Month of Rain, 1822. The evidence assumes that the assassins who strove to kill the Emperor were also of Serkonan heritage, and that because a Royal Protector is from Serkonos as well, he must be kept under special surveillance until the court finds him free of regicidal intent.' How foolish!"

Corvo held his breath and kept his eyes downcast.

"Ah! And here's another senseless one," Euhorn cleared his throat. "This one says: 'The Emperor's daughter, Lady Jessamine Kaldwin, brought up arguments the other day against the Parliamentary Council regarding the innocence of her Royal Protector, Corvo Attano, who many now suspect to be the mastermind behind the staged assassination attempt on Emperor Euhorn Kaldwin the First. Her arguments, according to the Council, have been considered without evidence and based on emotional attachment rather than logistics, thus proving her statements null and void.'" The Emperor scoffed. "Can you believe this nonsense? How on earth am I supposed to run this city if my Council keeps making rubbish like this? Do they really think I'll sign any of these?"

Jessamine clenched her fists around the book she was holding. "And they still have the nerve to call me 'Lady'."

"B-But the evidence that the assassins are Serkonan isn't confirmed, Your Majesty!" Secretary Varnham protested. "There are still files from the Overseers stating that their heretic assassin and his group of killers are the ones behind the attempt—"

"No, they're right," Corvo interrupted suddenly. "The masks the assassins used were definitely of Serkonan origin. They're the ones painted and used for the Fugue Feast in Karnaca. I saw the evidence myself."

Jessamine shook her head in defeat. "Corvo…you didn't do this…it's not you…"

The look in her eyes tore him to pieces. He still didn't understand why the Emperor's daughter, of all people, would care enough to redeem his already damned soul. She spoke up for him at the Council, trying to clear his soiled reputation, and yet it was all in vain. And she knew. He couldn't allow her efforts to go wasted. Even if he would do her a kind deed every single day for the rest of his life, it wasn't enough to pay back what she was doing for him in front of her father's Parliament.

"And I know it isn't me," Corvo finished for her. "But somehow, all of this evidence is pitted towards me. Your Majesty, please, I beg of you, I'm innocent."

"Listen, Corvo…" Euhorn locked eyes with him, and spoke almost in the tone of a father. "I trust you. My daughter trusts you. And I'm confident that you didn't do this. In fact, I would think of you the last person to ever stage such a crime. But that doesn't mean I still don't have the right to accuse you. If the Council finds something and turns the argument to proclaim you guilty, if all of Dunwall is convinced that you were behind the crime, even I, the Emperor, am powerless to stop you from being sent to Coldridge Prison."

Corvo gravely nodded his head. "I understand, Your Majesty."

"Good; and watch your back, Corvo," Euhorn waggled a finger at him. "I don't want to see my daughter's Royal Protector publicly executed because of a crime he didn't commit. You're free to go."