It wasn't every day an Empress turned twenty, and even though Emily had been disinclined to do anything special for it, Corvo had managed to convince her it would serve the best interests of the Empire to have something to celebrate.

He stood alone, leaning against one pillar in the grand ballroom, watching Emily interact with nobles and courtiers. One in particular seemed to have caught her eye. Corvo remembered their face; Wyman. They had a particularly strong jawline, Corvo thought, and he raised an eyebrow when Emily's hand brushed theirs.

He'd have to run a check on them. Nobleperson or not, that was the Empress and his daughter.

Murmurs brought his attention to the stage as one of the performers walked to the edge. Wearing a sparkling sapphire dress the same color as the eyes her smile didn't quite reach, the dark-haired beauty introduced herself as Elizabeth.

Corvo didn't know the song she sang. It was sad and bittersweet, matching the shadows on Elizabeth's face. For most people there was some hope to the words, in the melody, but the woman's powerful voice reverberated through Corvo, telling him that she'd given up that hope. Corvo could relate. Nine years ago, he'd struggled to find hope. Some days that darkness reared up again, threatening to swallow him up. Most days.

"She's gorgeous." Emily leaned against the pillar too, eyes on her father.

"Trying to set me up again?" He tore his gaze from the singer, turning his head towards Emily. "You do remember how well that went last time."

"Is it really my fault he turned out to be married?"

He shook his head, unable to keep the smile from his mouth. "And the time before that?"

"I know she was weirdly fascinated with fire but she seemed nice."

"She torched my bed."

"Details."

"With me still in it."

Emily shrugged, not bothering to disguise her grin. "I thought you liked excitement." She jerked her chin towards Elizabeth. "It can't hurt to talk to her."

"Is this a daughter suggestion or an Empress suggestion," Corvo asked, eyes following the sway of Elizabeth's hips as she left the stage.

"A little of both," Emily replied. Then she gave him a not-so-gentle shove, because apparently she thought he needed help finding companionship.

"Don't think this won't distract me from you and Wyman," he said, even as his feet started to carry him across the floor.

He studied Elizabeth's movements and the way she carried herself as she plucked a glass of wine from a tray. They way she looked around, studying the crowd; like she was looking for someone in particular.

It wasn't just admiration, though there was certainly quite a bit to admire. Corvo knew a killer when he saw one, but whether or not she was a threat was yet to be determined. And if she was a threat to Emily, that would be the last song she sang.

Elizabeth sighed, no longer scanning the crowd. She hadn't found what she was looking for, then. Or she'd noticed Corvo approaching and changed her behavior accordingly. He stopped a respectful distance away and dipped his head towards her. "Beautiful performance, Miss. I don't think I've ever heard of that song."

She turned to him, faux smile still fastened in place, and tired eyes studied his face. "Thank you. I heard it …" Her face twisted into puzzlement, "A few years ago, I think."

"It's bittersweet."

"You think so?" She tilted her head, assessing him. Like she hadn't expected that answer.

"Yes. You sing it like you're longing for something just out of reach." Corvo knew he'd hit the mark by the tightness of her full lips. He glanced towards the party and all the people. "Who are you looking for?"

Her eyes followed his gaze, then darted back to him. To the coat he wore, the pin on his collar. Her mouth hung open slightly, and she recovered quickly. Her voice sounded brittle. "Not the Empress. I'm looking for a man who owes me a debt."

There was truth in her voice and her eyes. Corvo relaxed. Slightly. "He's not here, is he."

"No." Elizabeth's shoulders sagged, like she'd stopped caring about hiding the weight on them.

"Can't say I'm disappointed. Red is a bad color for birthdays."

There was no humor in the weary laugh that erupted from Elizabeth. She knocked back the rest of the wine and set it down on a passing tray. Then she looked at him as though she were still trying piece together the puzzle that was Corvo Attano. "I've heard a lot of stories about the Royal Protector since I've come to Dunwall. What's the truth and what's the exaggeration?"

"Call me Corvo," he said, and offered her his arm. He hadn't entirely dismissed her as a threat, but keeping her away from Emily had the upside of sating his curiosity. "Care for a dance?"

"I don't really feel like it right now."

"A walk then? Get away from all these people."

This time, she didn't hesitate in taking his arm.

Elizabeth had lost track of time. Not the time passing at the ball, but time. Her time. Her life and her years. How many years had it been since she'd followed Booker out of that tower? Since she'd drowned him and started her crusade to track down every version of Comstock that had branched off before she'd smothered her father in that river? He was supposed to be the first, and the last, and yet there'd been so many. Too many. It almost felt like a futile effort, these years.

Three years? Six? Eight? Was she twenty-five? Thirty? Somewhere in between? Or was she stuck at nineteen, all the years since spent not being a person but floating from timeline to timeline, spilling her father's blood a thousand times over?

She couldn't even say when the last time was that she'd made a choice for herself, instead of having one made for her. So she took Corvo's arm and walked with him, pretending to be somewhat normal. It felt nice.

The hallway was deserted and she glanced out the window, watching the beam from the Dunwall lighthouse spin around. A lighthouse. A city. A man. Three constants, in every world she came to.

She looked at Corvo, the lines on his face, and wondered at his story. What truth was there behind what people said of the man who'd saved the Empire? And did he really eat rats?

"Am I truly that interesting?" He raised his eyebrow at her scrutiny and she still had enough shame to blush.

Elizabeth had learned how to flirt, to use men's assumptions and desires to get what she wanted, to help her get close enough to her targets to kill them. As she stroked a finger along Corvo's arm and noted that familiar spark of desire in his eyes, she wondered, exactly, what it was she wanted from him. Help in finding this Comstock? Or simply companionship, something to fill the cavernous loneliness that was her heart.

She'd once been such a romantic. Her head had been filled with so many ideals and wishes, all fueled by her vast library and the windows she could open into other worlds.

Her thoughts were not strictly romantic as she took in Corvo's dark features, but most of all, she missed having someone to talk to. So she smiled. It almost reached her eyes as she looked up at a man nearly a foot taller than her and teased, "Yes, actually. I expected you to be taller."

He laughed and god, it was a good sound. Laughter was rare in Elizabeth's world. She heard it, sometimes, for brief moments before she continued her crusade. But it was always so far away and directed at someone who wasn't her.

"I'm sorry I'm not a giant. I'll try to wear stilts next time."

To her surprise, she laughed. "It's impossible to tell where the line is between truth and tall tales, but I've seen enough to give serious credence to even the more outlandish stories."

"If you ask me about the rats, I will seriously consider throwing you out the window."

Her eyes danced. "I knew a man who ate out of the trash, so I'm not going to judge."

Corvo rolled his eyes, but there was a smile on his face.

Elizabeth didn't know what kind of man Corvo was and she wasn't always the best judge of character. But she liked his smile and if he was half the man his reputation made him out to be, she wanted to get to know him better. "Is it true? You fought the coup with minimal bloodshed?"

His answer was important to her. That such a thing was possible made her jealous and bitter. There could be no mercy for the Comstocks on her list. Her hands weren't clean of the blood of bystanders either but if it was possible somewhere and somewhen for one person to do such a thing without hurting people unnecessarily, Elizabeth needed to know.

Corvo led her out onto a balcony, the air chilly enough that she drew closer to him for warmth. His hand slid over her back and he finally answered. "Yes. For the most part."

She looked up to read his face as he spoke. "Many of the guards and soldiers fighting against me were duped, or thought they were defending the Empire and Empress. They didn't deserve to die. So I knocked out the ones I could."

He wasn't lying and she felt irrationally angry over it and tried to take a step back. Corvo's hand kept her from going far, though there was little strength to it. She could escape easily, if she wanted to. But she didn't. "What if there hadn't been a choice? If the only way to save the Empire would have been through all those people?"

Corvo lowered his voice. "I don't know what that would have done to Emily. What kind of person she'd become with that for her example. But to save her, I would have killed every last person standing in my way."

The timber of his voice made Elizabeth shiver more than the cold did. She slid her hand up his chest, and then around to the back of his neck. "You're a better person than I am."

"I don't know you well enough to say." His breath caught as she played with the hair on his neck. He was a very controlled man, Elizabeth realized. That finalized her decision, excitement rising in her veins.

"I don't want to talk any more. At least, not right now." Elizabeth stood on her toes as she pulled Corvo's head down and kissed him. She had never chosen something for herself in her life before. So she chose this, she chose Corvo. She was almost done, so close to being done with her crusade that she deserved a break, a reprieve. Deserved to enjoy something in life before her crusade killed her.

His beard was softer than she'd expected. Her fingers curled into his hair as he pulled her closer. Elizabeth bunched Corvo's shirt into her fingers, opening her mouth into the kiss, groaning as heat spread across her skin.

Corvo's hands were eager, stroking circles in her back, down her sides and hips and rear. The last made her squeak into his mouth, and he broke the kiss, grinning softly and breathing heavily. "That was an interesting sound, Elizabeth."

For the first time since the tower, Elizabeth wasn't a fugitive or killer or whatever monster she'd become. She was just a woman, trying to give Corvo her most indignant look and feeling a kind of giddiness that made her dizzy.

Corvo pushed her back until she felt the railing against her ass, kissing her again, his hand sliding into her hair. Elizabeth's leg hooked around him as she half-dangled precariously over the edge of Dunwall Tower. Coming up for air, she tilted her head back, Corvo nuzzling her jaw and biting at her throat. Hips rolling against his, Elizabeth placed his other hand on her chest, feeling him as needy for her as she was for him.

"Here?" he asked, tugging lightly at the laces of her dress but not yet freeing her of the fabric that suddenly felt too constricting.

"Next time," she promised. "Bed first."

Chuckling, Corvo pulled away, taking her with him before she lost her balance and plummeted. He checked the hallway, then guided her down it. Elizabeth still felt light, her heart pounding as anticipation grew.

A small part of her told her she didn't deserve to enjoy this, that Comstock was out there, that her mission came first.

Tomorrow, she told herself, coming to a stop in Corvo's door way and peering around his room, at the collection of a well traveled man. There was no ceremony here. It was comfortable, lived in. The line of bookshelves especially made her feel at ease.

She closed the door, locking it, before paying close attention to Corvo's face as she finished unlacing her dress and let it fall to the floor. She crooked her finger at him and Corvo crossed the distance in a heartbeat.

He wasn't rough with her, but he didn't treat her like some porcelain songbird either. Elizabeth memorized the taste of him, the feel of his hands on her body, his mouth, the way his tongue and fingers felt as he reminded her what it felt like to be alive. Elizabeth trembled, her fingers digging into Corvo's hair, tugging at him, her hips grinding into his face as he sent her over the edge into an oblivion she'd only read about.

The weight of him was comforting. Elizabeth stroked his face and stared into his eyes and committed that to memory too. And the sound he made, the low raspy groan when he sank into her and the feel of him inside her, she memorized that, too. Lived for it. Lived for the build up and the fire that spread through her veins, the skin of his back tearing under her nails, her name falling from Corvo's mouth.

After, as her breathing slowed, she felt like she was floating, a giggle escaping her more than once as her body came down from the high. She stroked Corvo's hair, his head rising and falling on her chest with every breath.

Studying the relaxed set to his face, demons temporarily banished, Elizabeth wondered which of Corvo's demons had been banished, too.

Corvo opened his eyes, peering up at her as he traced the contours of her breast with a finger. Elizabeth smiled, holding him closer to her, unclear who was cradling who and not particularly caring as long as there was no air between them.

She fell asleep like that and did not remember her dreams, waking up with a sort of pleasant ache throughout her body. Sitting up with a soft groan, she turned, watching Corvo as he slept. He was sprawled on his stomach, sheet tangled at his feet and leaving the rest of his brown skin exposed to the morning sun.

Elizabeth reached over, tracing one scar, and then another, first with her fingers, and then her lips. She had scars of her own, most of them inside and while those couldn't be soothed she wanted to try to sooth Corvo's. A salve on him that might help sooth her own soul.

Or at least that was the excuse she gave herself, rather than admit in the glare of morning to a baser need to simply taste him. Corvo stirred, and needing to delay the inevitable, Elizabeth rolled him over, kissing and stroking him awake as she lost herself again.

It was mid-morning by the time hunger of one sort overrode hunger of the other. Elizabeth sat on the bed, watching Corvo instruct someone to have breakfast sent up. She'd wrapped the sheet around herself, though let it drop once the door had closed. The way he looked at her when he returned was, well, something else for her to memorize, to tuck away in a safe in her memories. "I have to go. After we eat."

He looked at her. Through her. Like he somehow knew her or could see the blood staining her hands. How red they were. And yet he sat next to her, took her hand, his finger trailing over the stub of her left pinkie. "This man you're looking for."

"He's hurt people," she said, staring at their hands, at the tattoo on Corvo's. Her mind flashed to another city, another time, another man. Branded by himself, to remind himself of his crime. A different hand, letters instead of a rune, and yet, Elizabeth had questions.

"Who is he?"

Elizabeth looked away, staring at the floor and spoke the truth. "My father."