The sun was setting as the little group approached the tavern at the Guard Barracks. There were many such institutions in New Serene, but De Sardet had insisted they come here.

"My family is paying their wages," she said easily, as though it were a feat everyone's kin was capable of, "so I know no one's going to start any fights if I accidentally get drunk and offend someone."

"Do you plan on being offensively drunk?" Vasco had asked.

"I never plan on it, but Kurt will tell you that I'm hardly a picture of discipline when it comes to wine."

Kurt smiled and shook his head, "She's terrible - actually the worst drunk I've ever seen. She attacked me last time. It's how I got his scar." He gestured the mark on his face and she shoved him, playfully.

"That isn't true. He tells people it was me, but the escort we had on our way to Theleme told me he got it when a practice dummy fell on him."

"Right enough, though you're hardly a practice dummy," he smirked, "And you didn't fall… I pushed you over." Vasco listened, amused at their banter. Kurt opened the door to the tavern and led them to one of the tables towards the back.

It had been a good day, all things considered. They'd found a lead on the Naut's family by dressing up and sneaking into the back of a warehouse at the dockside. The whole thing had an air of hijinks to it, a deliciously stark contrast to the events of the previous few days.

As they'd walked away from the dock, peeling back layers of costume, Kurt had felt almost untouchable – the sweetness of success intoxicating. De Sardet had been giddy too, swaggering through the cobbled streets as she bowed theatrically with the tricorne to random passers-by.

"I would have made a handsome Naut," she'd said at one point, on catching her own reflection in the windows of a closing general store.

"And she's discovered us, at last!" Vasco had laughed, feigning horror, "It's all about looking good."

"And that'll be why they tossed you out then?" De Sardet had countered, winking.

"Careful not to cut yourself on that razor wit of yours, Legate," Vasco had warned with a smirk as they'd continued on. It was a merry dance of words, light and easy between friends. The heist they'd just succeeded in was now a common bond, illicit and private and contained between the three of them.

Kurt revelled in it, delighting in being part of the sort of hair-brained schemes he'd missed out on due to his duties training the royal children.

Now, as they sat in the tavern, De Sardet turned to him, "Can I send messengers from here?"

Emboldened by their adventures, Kurt called for a Private he half recognised and informed him that he would be running an errand for the legate. Having sent the young man to invite Siora, De Sardet then tossed a purse of coins at Kurt, "This is your domain, Soldier. And I believe we're in the market for something scaldingly alcoholic."

"Scaldingly? Are you sure? Wine was quite enough last time."

"Afraid I'll really hurt you this time?" he heard the challenge there - the invitation - and felt the hidden implication that if she beat him again, she'd have him dancing.

"Terrified, m'lady. Terrified," he mocked and snatched the purse from the table, crossing to the bar.

By the time he returned with a bottle of something strong and unpleasant, Vasco and De Sardet were laughing at something he was not privy to, and he felt the familiar spike of exclusion.

"Kurt!" The legate smiled up at him, "I was just recounting the time my cousin got himself stuck on the battlements."

"Ah yes. I wasn't there that day, but I heard about it. You were very brave, as I recall," he took a long gulp from the bottle and offered it to Vasco who took a similarly large swig.

"Not that incident," then as an aside to the Naut, "Though that was good."

"There should never be more than one 'stuck on the battlements' incident in one family," Kurt grumbled. He'd quite forgotten the second event until she mentioned it, but true enough, Constantin had been drunk and had decided to declare to the whole of the city, that his 'sweet cousin' should succeed him to the throne were anything to happen to him.

"He couldn't see the irony of it," De Sardet smiled, "Risking himself to name his second in a principality he didn't rule. We had to carry him down between us."

"We did," Kurt smiled, "I'm glad his friends thought to fetch you and not his father."

"I think it was a matter of self-preservation – I can't imagine my uncle looking too kindly on their goading him to climb up there again in the first place. I know I was always thoroughly chastised when we did anything untoward."

"I was under the impression you were a well behaved child," Kurt said, offering her the bottle. She took it, had a tiny sip of the liquid inside, and pulled a face. Then, sensing the eyes of her companions on her, she inhaled through her nose and swallowed a not insignificant quantity of liquor. She coughed and pushed the bottle at Kurt again.

"Scaldingly alcoholic, indeed…. I was good at not getting caught. On the rare occasions I did, it was generally for something truly idiotic."

"Like what?" Vasco pressed.

She flushed, "Well, I might not have beaten him like he continues to imply, but I did get Kurt into rather a lot of trouble once."

They resketched the night he'd almost lost his posting – when she'd stopped the carriage and insisted they duel. He found that the process was another verbal dance – a back and forth of details and insight, De Sardet leading some verses as he led others.

And somewhere along the retelling, he realised that his feelings for her now changed nothing of what had been – what he felt for the woman before him was entirely different from what he'd felt for the adolescent girl then. Neither set of emotions was more or less valuable than the other – they were simply… different. And that was fine. There was no reconciliation needed because the past was a concrete thing – untouchable and unchangeable.

His conscience felt lighter, and he silently drank to his newfound ease before passing the bottle on.

Siora arrived soon afterwards and the stories continued, increasingly drunken accounts of capers they had witnessed or been party to. They deep in the second bottle as the tavern began to empty and the staff began to sweep the floor.

"I should go to bed," Kurt murmured, reluctantly, "Since I'm already here."

"No!" Siora objected, slightly too loudly. She lowered her voice and gestured them all to come closer, conspiratorially, "We should do another disguise, since I missed the first one! Vasco – you and Kurt swap clothes! Then Vasco can sleep here and it'll really confuse the others come the morning!"

"Or get me in trouble," Vasco countered, swaying slightly.

"But it won't… because… you'll be Kurt. And you can tell them what to do."

"If I'm Kurt, can't I just… come home?"

"No! You're a Coin Guard," she said, nodding sagely. Kurt was vaguely aware of a ludicrous plan materialising around him but felt no need to put an end to it. He'd been privy to madder schemes, thought up by Constantin or other guards, and had long ago learned that they would either run their rather harmless course, or blink back out of existence when something else caught the attention of the participants. Still, he resolved not to drink any more, in case things got out of hand, as they occasionally did.

"Swap clothes!" De Sardet repeated with a cackle, and Kurt became aware, in that after-the-fact way brought on by too much alcohol, that both the legate and Siora were dragging him outside and attempting to undress him. Vasco, meanwhile, walked easily along behind, unashamedly shedding clothing.

They swapped body armour, as Siora insisted. They stood in a tight circle, snickering at their genius in subterfuge, when Vasco began a wheedling motion that the legate and Siora swap attire too. This seemed to take little persuasion – the legate removing her coat in one simple, fluid motion - and led to the island native perfectly mimicking De Sardet's walk to many raucous howls of laughter from the other three.

Then something glinted in Vasco's eyes – mischief, trouble, mirth… a combination of all three. Striding with shoulders wide, he crossed to Siora and wrapped an arm around her waist, tipping her backwards into a swoon.

"Your excellency!" he said, doing his best to copy Kurt's accent, "What would you have me do to you… at you… I mean, for you!"

Kurt was suddenly and absolutely sober. He watched, horror stricken as Siora replied, giggling,

"Mind my ridiculous cousin!"

Kurt flicked his eyes to the legate and found her bent double in laughter, "Oh you silly fools," she sang, "You must know by now that Kurt won't ever address me as Excellency."

"Greenblood," Vasco amended, still trying to mimic Kurt's voice "Come… train with me."

"Alright," Kurt heard himself say, "I think we've all had a bit much to drink tonight. I'm going to bed."

And yet he stood there, frozen to the spot. He wanted to go, to witness no more of this peculiar pantomime, but he didn't want to let the others walk the legate home in the state they were in. Loud, obviously moneyed, armed… it was an invitation to bandits. He cursed himself for joining in their revelry earlier – even if he were to take her home, his skill would be impeded by the amount he'd had to drink.

The legate seemed to have come to the same conclusion and he watched her fix her gaze on the middle distance, trying her best to force her eyes to focus.

"Kurt's right," she said, sounding remarkably clear-headed for someone who had – moments before – swapped clothes with an acquaintance, "Let's go back. This way."

She pointed down the street and they set off at an ambling, sideways sort of pace. Siora and Vasco laughed at the head of the little entourage, continuing their make-believe as Kurt and De Sardet.

"Pay them no heed," the legate said softly, coming up alongside Kurt and hooking her arm through his, "And I haven't had nearly as much as you all seem to think. What did you buy? It was dreadful!"

"How did you manage to avoid drinking it?"

"After a certain point in proceedings, you all stopped paying any attention to me, so I just held onto the bottle for a good while before passing it on," she shrugged, easily, "I am the tiniest bit tipsy, but fresh air is helping. I have to say, I rather like Siora's coat."

Kurt stopped and took a step back from her, looking her up and down before stating simply, "You look like you were born to this place."

"I rather feel like I was. I know it's been… hectic, since we got here, but I don't regret a second of it," she caught his thoughtful frown, "Do you?"

"No. Not for a second," he said and was surprised he meant it. She beamed across at him and resumed her place at his side, arm tucked in his

"Do you think they're drunk enough to let us sleep upstairs tonight, without it causing too much of a furore?"

Kurt stared ahead to where Vasco and Siora were discussing – rather heatedly – whether or not guns were 'cheating'. "I think if we sit them before the fire, they won't notice a thing and we can hijack the bedrooms."

De Sardet leaned across then and kissed his cheek – softly, suddenly, all too briefly. Then she ran ahead, knocking Vasco's hat off as she overtook him in her dash across the cobbles. Kurt laughed aloud at the childishness of it – uncharacteristic and welcome.

Then he raised his hand to his cheek and kept it there for far longer than he should have.