Sitting in a small, stuffy room in the west wing of Dunwall Tower, the Duke of Serkonos pulled out a fresh page from the stack of documents before him. Running his fingers through thinning hair, he let out a heavy sigh. The fire that had shielded him from the wind outside had dwindled to embers, it's red light slowly fading away into the darkness of the room. A cold grey light, choked out by smoke, seeped in through blue curtains and pooled on the carpet below. The brightest light, however, was an oil lamp positioned on his desk; old fashioned but appealing nonetheless, that gave just enough spark to let the older man read.
Ariano crushed cigar and read through the page again, then once more, until he was certain the document held no faults. Paperwork was a pain in the ass to put it mildly, and after yesterday's events, he'd had more than a lifetime's supply in front of him. The headache he'd earned from last night's drinking still hammered his skull, and hours later it still didn't show the slightest sign of going away.
He pulled out his cigar case, taking one from the far left. His cigars were kept strangely - the ones on the left side were always positioned upwards, the right ones always turned down. Those that were upwards were to be smoked first, and when they ran out, half of the remaining downward ones were to be turned up. He'd smoked like this ever since he could remember - something that had to do with luck, his father told him. The only downside was that the case had to be refilled when only one would remain - alas, a small price. He lit it, taking a long, frustrated drag, and leaning it in the ashtray. A cold breeze swept through the window, gliding through the lavish room and sending a spider-like chill down his spine. The Duke pulled his lime green collar to cover his neck and cursed. Drinking a sip from the sweating glass of water before him, Ariano dipped his pen in fresh ink and began to sign the paper.
"Sobered up, have you?" A voice came from the doorway. The Duke's hand jerked at the sound of it, scratching a thick line over the page and sending the inkwell flying off of the table. Dark blue bled into the carpet, leaving a noticeable stain that would take an hour of scrubbing to remove. Crumpling the paper and throwing it on the floor, Ariano threw his head into his hands and cursed under his breath.
"I have work to do," the Duke grumbled, trying to soften his headache by rubbing his temples. He looked up at Corvo, raising a brow. Attano's dark outfit had been exchanged for something much less intimidating - a blue overcoat with golden buttons, white pants and polished black boots. His set jaw and narrowed eyes were accompanied by swirls of uncombed black hair that stuck to his face at awkward angles, while his fingers tapped his arm impatiently.
"Lots of it." Ariano added sharply.
Corvo lifted his brows and pursed his lips. "Well, that's quite a shame," he said with an unnatural, hostile coldness. "Because we're going to have a talk. Now."
Ariano combed his upper lip with a set of unbrushed teeth, setting his pen down and lacing his fingers in front of him. His headache pounded harder with with the thought of what was to come. "Kid, if this is about last night-"
"Oh, it is. And you want to know why?" Corvo's clipped tone grew louder with every word. The Duke groaned. "Because you made a goddamned idiot out of yourself! Clapping? Really?!"
Ariano drew another breath from his cigar. "What was I supposed to do?" he raised his hands in defense. "You saw their reaction! They were ten seconds away from a riot!"
"Yes, and on top of all that, you decided to get wasted?" Corvo tightened his grip on the edge of the table, his fingernails nearly leaving imprints on the wood.
"I don't understand why you're so upset," Ariano growled, "It's not like Euhorn changed his mind. Here, see? It says so, ah, it says so right here." he flipped through a few documents, pulling a paper out and sliding it across the table to Corvo.
Corvo scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief. He grabbed the letter off the table and ripped the cream-colored document into quarters, throwing it on the floor. "I don't give two damns about the Emperor," He twisted his mouth and gritted his teeth, his voice a deep growl "You've spent the last three weeks lecturing me on how to behave, yet you get drunk on the night of the announcement?"
"What do you want from me?" Ariano leaned forward in the leather chair as voice grew to meet Corvo's, "To say that I'm sorry?"
"I want you to stop being a Goddamned hypocrite!"
"Everything turned out fine," the Duke said, his charred voice only growing rougher, "By the Outsider, calm down-"
"Calm down? I'll calm down when you stop drinking!"
"Don't you dare talk to me like that, boy!" Ariano stood up, shaking a fat finger at Corvo.
"I don't have to listen to you anymore, remember?" Corvo gave a sour smirk, "You gave me to the Emperor."
Ariano felt heat crawl up his neck and cover his face, flushing it a bright red. "How dare you talk like this to me! The fucking audacity! After all I've done for you, you ungrateful bastard!"
"How dare you make an idiot out of yourself! And me!"
"Oh, how I've dishonored you! I've made you the damn Royal Protector, how could I!"
"You know what?" Corvo's voice shifted into a cold snarl, his heart pounding in his ears. "I don't even know why I came here." Despite it's weight, he shoved the table away from him, sending a stack of papers flying to the floor.
"And just where the hell do you think you're going!?", Ariano called when he was halfway out the door, debating on wether or not to throw his oil lamp at him.
"I'm going to the barracks." Corvo called behind him, not caring if the Duke could hear him or not, "If you need something for me, reconsider."
Jessamine rolled her peas from one side of her plate to the other, finding herself unable to eat a bite of her food. She discreetly watched her father from across the table as he cut off a piece of lamb, not lifting his eyes from his plate, pretending he didn't notice the uncomfortable air in the room. During the entire meal, he hadn't raised his head once, his nervousness skillfully covered by a mask of calmness.
Due to his position as the Emperor, Euhorn rarely had free time to spend with his daughter. His days were filled with meetings, his nights with fancy dinners, seldom was there time or space for a young Empress in his life. His solution was a simple one: at least twice a week, he'd decided, he would have a meal with Jessamine. Their meetings were relatively simple and brief - Jessamine would arrive at the previously agreed time, where her father would be waiting, and so, their superficial conversation would begin. It was a show they'd practised every week, a play that had long since been worn out of any meaning. The obligatory questions, the perfunctory answers. How was your week, father? Busy, as usual. How are your lessons going, sweetheart? Quite well, thank you. Did you read anything new recently? No, father.
As the years went by, these meetings became less of an enjoyment and more of an obligation. She knew her father loved her, and she'd loved him very much aswell, but ever since her mother's death, the gap between them seemed to only grow deeper and larger. She could feel herself standing on the edge of an ever growing canyon, reaching out to him, calling his name as he moved farther and farther away, not hearing her, not seeing her. For every day that passed, she felt she knew him less and less.
Jessamine was the first to speak since the beginning of their lunch.
"You could have told me." Her voice was barely a whisper, yet Euhorn felt it had echoed through the room. He put his fork down and wiped the corners of his mouth, carefully choosing his next words.
"I'm sorry, buttercup" Her father, though his mouth was empty, swallowed hard. "You must understand, we couldn't run the chance of anyone discovering the arrangement."
Jessamine glared at her father, daring him to life his eyes from his food. Is that all you have to say?
"Not even me?" She said, trying not to raise her voice as balled fists wrinkled her dress. It was improper to speak back to your father, Jessamine knew very well, but something began to spark inside her. "I thought I'd have the right to at least meet the person that's going to be around every second of the day for the rest of my life."
This brought his attention. Euhorn looked up her, his brows lightly pressed together. "Is Master Attano not to your liking, darling?"
Jessamine lightly blushed. "He is, very much actually, but that's hardly what I'm upset about." She narrowed her eyes, suddenly feeling unusually brave. "Shouldn't I have the right to know these things, father?"
"Jessamine, please understand," He pressed his lips together. "I did what I thought was best for you."
The young Empress felt something snap inside her. For the first time in many years, she felt very angry at her father.
"Are you going to marry me off to someone like this one day, because you think it's what's best for me?" Her voice was not loud, though Euhorn felt it pierce right through him.
He tried not to squirm in his seat. "I don't think this is the time to talk about this." Euhorn said, sternly but not angrily, unable to find other words. Jessamine was much like her mother: she had never raised her voice at anyone, never spoke rudely to anyone, be it a diplomat or a servant - this behavior put the Emperor in quite a quandary.
"It never is, is it?" She asked, and despite not eating two bites of her food, wiped her mouth. "Thank you for the meal, father. I think I'll be going now."
"Jessamine, please-"
By the time Euhorn had called after her, she was already walking down the hall.
As she was leaving, she said a quick goodbye to Jax, who patiently waited in front of the doorway. Unusually frustrated, Jessamine made her way to the library. She didn't feel like reading, not at a time like this, but she was desperate to go to a place where she wouldn't be found. Yesterday the guests, today her father, even Ellia who might as well be her sister - it seemed as though everyone wanted to upset her. Why is it that everyone always thinks they know the best for others? Are people truly so incapable of taking care of themselves? Right now, she needed peace more than she needed air.
Just as she was about to walk down the staircase, she cast a view out the window. Below her were the barracks, and on an unusually chilly day such as this one, the training grounds tended to be empty. Wait, who was that? She walked closer to the window, rubbing off the fog that clung to the glass for a better view.
She lifted her brows. Corvo? Well, it wasn't much of a surprise - he was a soldier after all, why wouldn't he be training? Jessamine leaned on the window, watching her Lord Protector with great curiosity. She'd been told countless times it was rude to spy on others, but was this really spying? After all, it wasn't as if he was alone in his room; he was in the barracks - a very public place, after all. He must know that people could see him, including her. Yes, Jessamine decided, what she was doing certainly wasn't spying.
Standing a good distance away from the training dummies, Corvo took a moment to soak in the world around him. His eyes, now slanted, just peaked over a navy shawl that wrapped around his face and draped around his neck like an afterthought. Slowly, he placed his right foot forward. One second passed, then two. In moment, he'd reached for the two knifes that rested at his sides, sending them hissing through the cold air. The blurs of black cut through the landscape, lodging themselves in the heads of the dolls, which in return, slightly jolted backwards.
Corvo did this once again. And again. And again. It was almost like a dance, how precise it was, how elegant. No miscalculated throws, no faulty steps, no hesitation. Just him, his weapon, his target, his breath. It was more beautiful than watching the pretty, rich, aristocratic girls dance the waltz in their pastel dresses and sparkling jewelry. She'd found herself mesmerized, unable to tear her eyes away.
And at that moment, a lightbulb went off in Jessamine's head.
Walking inside the barracks and taking off his coat, Corvo laid down on one of the benches, listening to the soft wood creak under his weight. Still somewhat restless from the argument with Ariano, he was thankful the room was empty. He was right to leave - if he hadn't thrown knives at the sparring dummies, he would have ended up throwing them at one of the diplomats. Sparing, he'd figured out, was the best way to clear his mind. He couldn't help it, it was a habit charred into his being, honed from an early age. He'd been what, almost seventeen when he'd begun to work as an officer? Even then, he'd found adjusting to his new life difficult. Seventeen years of growing up in the slums, hoping his father would find work so he could feed his family. Seventeen years of fighting with all sorts of street filth, learning how to throw a man onto the ground and knock him out before his buddies could land a punch on you. Seventeen years of his sister and him splitting the food they'd stolen after running away from merciless guards. Seventeen years of fighting to survive - he couldn't just take it off like a sock afterwards.
Life may have been hard back then, but in his heart, the slums of Karnaca would always be home.
He was brought out of his thoughts by the sound of footsteps echoing off the stone walls. He immediately shot up, reaching for the knife hidden in his boot. Had Ariano come to apologize? Goodness, no, as if the man would ever do that. These footsteps belonged to someone much smaller. A guard? No, even smaller. Someone like…
"Jessamine?" Corvo lifted a brow as he slid the weapon back into its sheath, hoping she hadn't noticed it. There the girl stood, her braided hair wrapped into a bun, a white, slightly too baggy tunic hanging over her torso, and underneath, leather boots and loose pants.
She took a deep breath, trying to remember what her first teacher had taught her about speaking to people. Head up, shoulders back, voice clear. "Corvo," She took a deep breath, "I want you to train me." Jessamine said with pride, which is why she wanted to slap him when he chuckled.
"Train you?" He echoed, making sure he'd heard her well.
"That's right. I want you, Corvo Attano, to be my new teacher."
He laughed. "Dare I ask what happened to the old one?"
"Har har. There never was an old one." She said, finding herself unwillingly smiling, if only slightly.
He crossed his fingers in front of him. "Can I ask why in the Outsider's name a young lady like yourself wants to learn to fight?"
There were certain times when a lady is permitted to act not-so-ladylike. Jessamine felt this was one of those times, and stuck her tongue at him. "Why on Earth not?"
Corvo knew he could not deny an Empress, but that didn't mean he couldn't tease her. "And if I refuse?" He asked, raising his brows.
"Then I'll pout." Jessamine teased back, crossing her arms, "And you'll have to live the rest of your life as the man who made me pout."
Corvo chuckled, running his fingers over his jaw. The idea was ludicrous. If he'd gotten caught teaching the Empress how to hurt a man, he would be stripped of his new title and sent on the first ship back to Serkonos - if he was lucky, that is. The thought of spending his life in a prison cell - closed between four walls, nowhere to move, getting two meals of slob a day - was less than appealing to him.
Eh. He'd done worse.
"Okay, hypothetically, suppose I do begin to train you." He said slowly, carefully, though Jessamine seemed already very (if happily) impatient. "Where would we even do it? I suppose I don't have to tell you why the barracks wouldn't be a good idea."
Jessamine's face lit up. "There's a place in the garden that I used to go to with my mother," She said, if a bit sheepishly, "It's blocked off by an old wall now, but it's low and easy to climb, so sometimes I still go there. I don't think anyone visits it anymore, too. We can train there!"
Corvo looked at her a moment, a soft smirk on his face. Her green eyes we full of excitement, her thin hands balled into fists. "You really want to do this, don't you?"
Jessamine's smile grew wider. "Of course!"
He paused, carefully considering what to do next, weighing out his options. WIthout saying a word, he picked up two swords from the racks and handed the smaller one to the girl. Giving her a pat on the shoulder, he led her out of the barracks.
"C'mon." He said, "Let's see what this place of yours is like."