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The corners of the pages flap viciously in the wind, trying desperately to break free of Corvo’s grip. That the Duke took it upon himself to inform Corvo of his mother’s passing surpasses anything he has done to aid his advancement.
The son of a seamstress and a lumber worker, a street rat of Karnaca; who could have suspected how high Corvo would rise? She was so proud, but likely his departure only served as a reminder of how Beatrici left them. Corvo will mourn her silently, as he did father’s passing long before.
Now his last tie to Serkonos has been severed, Corvo will write to express his gratitude to Duke Abele for his efforts, but that will be the end of it.
His life is in Dunwall now. His life is in the service of Emperor Kaldwin.
And duty calls. Corvo slips the letter into his breast pocket and falls in step with the royal guard.
Dunwall is still strange to him, dismal and cold. The city’s people are no warmer, though there is an odd sort of comfort in knowing something waits in every dark alley.
Corvo keeps his eyes peeled as they escort the carriage through the streets. Beloved as Emperor Kaldwin may be, everyone has enemies, and everyone has a price. The hair bristles on the nape of his neck until they are safe within Dunwall Tower once more.
A footman brushes Corvo aside to open the carriage door for its occupants. Corvo throws his arms up, balancing himself, when his hand is caught by another in a clean white glove.
The princess steps down from the carriage using his arm like a banister. Hardly a child, but barely a woman yet, Lady Jessamine holds herself with an air which commands the same respect as her father. Without so much as glancing at Corvo, she politely thanks him for his attendance then presses on to join the emperor.
Corvo’s weak, “Your highness,” is not heard at all.
Returning to the barracks, Corvo extracts the Duke’s letter once more.
I regret to inform you of your mother, Paloma Attano’s, passing.
He traces the letters of her name. She likely never saw his last letter; too late to reach her hand. It’s no use pondering if sending it an hour earlier could have saved her.
----------
Jessamine lifts her chin and fixes the gentleman with a hard stare.
How dare he presume to tell me whom to choose as my Royal Protector?
Captain of the City Watch or not, the choice has always belonged to the heir to the empire. He may advise her, but he may not choose for her.
“My apologies, highness. I spoke out of turn. I only meant –”
“I should warn you, Captain Ren. I will not be a conventional empress. If you take issue with this, you ought to resign when I take the throne. Is that clear?”
“Abundantly so, highness,” he bows his head in shame. “But – if I may, highness – Corporal Galloway has an exemplary record and would do well as your Royal Protector.”
“As a recommendation, I will consider it.”
Jessamine turns on her heel. Out of sight she smothers a scream into a groan. She is sick of old men ordering her about, telling her how she should and should not govern the empire. They act like her tutors, instructing her what is appropriate behavior from what is not. It is exhausting.
Captain Ren did not even answer her query. He ignored her request for a short list of female officers from which to choose a Royal Protector, instead naming an officer she’s certain would owe his loyalty to Ren for the post.
Striding away from his office, she considers the recommendation. How am I supposed to put my life in someone’s hands if they do not answer to me first?
Given its due consideration, Jessamine forgets the name.
Though history overlooks this detail, the selection of the Royal Protector is the first of a new Empress or Emperor; Jessamine will not let another take that from her. Instead, she will have it be an example of the rule to come.
Daring and unexpected. Unafraid of the dark or unknown. She intends her rule to shake the core of the Isles and she must have a partner willing to help her achieve great change. She will not find that in a man trained to take orders from other men who would prefer to keep the status quo.
Of course, there is one man whose scrutiny she cannot escape. Father strokes his mustache, perturbed, “You should have made your decision by now.”
His own Royal Protector, Simon Turnbull, sits in an armchair by the fire, examining father’s latest correspondence with the Duke of Tyvia.
Jessamine stands her ground, “It is not my fault there is nobody suitable.”
Father sighs, “You are being obstinate. If you do not choose your protector soon, I shall have to appoint one myself.”
Bristling, Jessamine nods and shuts the door behind her. She cannot suppress the frustrated scream this time, her small tantrum attracting the attention of a nearby guard.
Not at his post, though not neglecting his duty, he peaks around the corner of an alcove. Dark eyes and somber face, Jessamine recognizes him as the Serkonan sent as a diplomatic gesture by Duke Abele; she has noticed him about the palace from time to time though never spoken to him.
Realizing who she is, he excuses his intrusion, “Beg pardon, highness.”
“You sound like you committed a crime. Rude as it is, eavesdropping is not high treason.”
“I’ll remember that,” he says and there is almost a trace of amusement in his eye.
Jessamine tilts her head, examining him closer. He is younger than she thought – more of an age with her than any of the other officers in the City Watch, though still more adult than child.
Suddenly curious, “Why are you not at your post?”
There is the telltale thud of the shutting of a book and the Serkonan steps out from behind the curtain. Standing at attention, her neck must crane to maintain eye contact.
“My apologies, m’lady. It is not as easy to subdue an assailant if they know where you are.”
“Subdue? Do you not kill them outright?”
“Not if I can help it.”
Strange – a guardsman who does not relish the thought of killing, Jessamine ponders. Stranger still how at ease she feels with him. “I do not believe I know your name.”
“Corvo Attano, your highness.”
Extending her arm, “Jessamine Kaldwin.”
He grasps her hand firmly in his; her etiquette tutors would faint at the sight, but if Corvo is shocked, he hides it well. Jessamine does not even consider the commotion she will stir by appointing the first Serkonan Royal Protector.
----------
They bury two bodies in a single grave. Beatrix Blayne Kaldwin is laid to rest, her unnamed babe clutched to her chest. Flowers are left on the headstone.
Corvo watches Jessamine closely throughout the ceremony, a dreary occasion even by Dunwall’s standards. He watches for signs she needs to escape the hushed whispers of ‘poor motherless child,’ but she keeps up her mask well. Her squared shoulders barely quake, though silent tears spill down her cheeks.
The return procession to Dunwall Tower stands on less formality, allowing Corvo to walk alongside Jessamine. She stays close but utters not a word.
She foregoes supper, sequestering herself away in her bedchamber instead. Sitting by the window, she presses her forehead to the icy glass as if bruised. Certain she will not suddenly vanish, Corvo slips from the room. Leaning against the door, he shuts his eyes.
Guilt washes over him for hiding from her, but his own wounds are still too fresh to protect another from the type of same loss. The impassive glaze over Jessamine’s eyes reminds Corvo too much of mother in the days after father’s accident and after Beatrici left. Too much of how he himself has swallowed so much pain rather than appear broken to the world.
His eyes snap open at the sound of passing maids and Corvo straightens his posture. He is under enough scrutiny from the court for accepting this position. He won’t give them any more fuel for the fire.
Besides, he shouldn’t leave Jessamine alone – not today of all days. But Corvo hesitates to turn the knob. He can’t go back there empty-handed.
It isn’t difficult to find whiskey in Dunwall Tower when practically every room is equipped with a liquor tray. Keeping an eye over his shoulder, Corvo returns to Jessamine’s chamber. He lightly raps his knuckles on the door, hands full of the bottle and tumblers.
A moment passes.
Then another.
“Lady Jessamine,” he calls softly to her. “It’s me.”
He can barely hear her footsteps on the carpeted floor then the door opens just enough to let him through.
Corvo puts the glasses and bottle down before noticing she’s been crying again. Worse now than at the funeral; her eyes red and raw, face blotchy from wiping away the tear stains. The longer he stares, the more he wishes he had given her more time on her own.
“I shouldn’t have disturbed you.”
“No. Stay, Corvo,” she begs, voice thick.
“As you wish.”
“What have you brought?”
Corvo presents the bottle to Jessamine and she nods wordlessly, it’s not as if she doesn’t have the occasionally glass of wine with dinner. Passing her a tumbler, Corvo pours out the amber liquor for her then for himself. But he halts the rim at his lips, noticing her staring into the ripples.
Placing the tumbler on the table, Corvo exhales deeply, “I know how you must feel.”
Jessamine locks eyes with him, waiting for more. Corvo bites his tongue; his sorrow should wait for another day, but Jessamine’s earnest concern is not easy to evade.
“My father died in a lumber accident when I was very young. My mother – not two months after my arrival in Dunwall.”
“I am so sorry. Do you miss them?”
Corvo shakes his head, “Occasionally. I try not to dwell on it.”
“I suppose that is all any of us can do.”
“Though, I doubt anyone will fault you for taking a day or so to mourn.”
He doesn’t tell her what a luxury it is, or how father’s death cast them into a life of poverty and scraping to get by. There was no time to mourn, only to press on.
Jessamine nods understandingly and tilts her glass back, shuttering as the whiskey makes its way down her throat. Coughing a little, “This is awful.”
“You’ll get accustomed to it with time.”
Taking a sip of his own, Corvo realizes he wasn’t referring to the whiskey.
----------
Though Turnbull has been at father’s side her whole life, Jessamine never realized that her own Royal Protector would hover over her shoulder as well.
How much she would resent his presence at all times – how suffocating it would be. How much she would long for the hours Turnbull would take him away for training. How even after a kind gesture she would want little to do with him.
And how suddenly she would become accustomed to seeing him every day. How she would grow to rely on him for support and advice. How he could unexpectedly make her laugh. How his absence would feel so unnatural to her.
But Jessamine trusts no one else with this mission. Esmond Roseburrow could shape the future of the Isles; Corvo will not fail to bring him back to Dunwall.
Though without Corvo, she is confined to the Tower. Father does not trust her going beyond the walls unguarded, despite how impressed he was by her foresight.
She tires quickly of the company. The lords and ambassadors come to entreat father say nothing of consequence to Jessamine. Ladies of the court rarely come through since mother’s passing, so she passes the time without engaging discussion by reading. Sequestering herself in the library, she suffers very few disturbances.
Jessamine reads the latest news of Roseburrow and his partner’s whale oil. She reads histories of the Isles and recent trade agreements. None of which is easy to keep her eyes open for.
Nodding off once again, Jessamine is startled awake by the shuffling of the maids polishing and dusting the dreary room. They gossip as they work, joking with one another in hushed voices, though they cannot possibly know she is in here.
“Has Thom proposed yet, Ann?”
“No! You know he hasn’t! Besides I’m not so sure I want him to.”
“What? Why not? You’re perfect for each other!”
“You know why not, Katty! She’s too busy batting her eyes at the young Royal Protector!”
One of them, Katty presumably, giggles delightedly; Jessamine’s face heats as she hides behind her book. The maids certainly do not know she is here if they are speaking of Corvo so candidly.
The same voice gloats, “Look! She’s blushing! And who can blame her? He’s like a character from a Tyvian play.”
Scandalized, Ann gasps, “Cee!”
“What? You don’t agree, Ann?”
“Only because he’s far more handsome than anyone from Tyvia,” Katty chimes.
Katty and Cee dissolve into a fit of hysterics.
Jessamine imagines Ann’s face resembles her own, burning bright red – humiliated. In all the time they have spent together, she had not considered Corvo’s appearance; it would be inappropriate. He is her protector and her closest friend, though it has taken her this long to recognize that truth.
But the harder Jessamine tries to shut out the maids’ chatter, the louder their voices ring in her ear and the clearer she sees Corvo as they do.
“So stoic and mysterious,” Katty swoons.
Jessamine rolls her eyes. Corvo has nothing to hide. Just because he does not wear his emotions on his sleeve, does not mean he has any more secrets than anyone else.
“That strong jawline,” Cee admires.
A scoff almost escapes Jessamine, giving her away.
“Tall and broad-shouldered.”
She will agree with that. She has never felt so safe as when in Corvo’s presence, even when she resented him being there.
“Those dark eyes,” Ann’s voice is practically a whisper.
Jessamine swallows; she has been caught off-guard by his eyes before. Intense and focused.
A knot tightens in her stomach, imagining Corvo sweeping a pretty girl off her feet and whisking her away to a life of adventure.
Jessamine waits to hear the click of the door behind the maids before practically sprinting to the liquor cabinet. With a large gulp of whiskey, the burning sensation untwists the knot before she can put a name to the sensation.
----------
Flickering, the match illuminates his cupped hands around the end of the cigar.
“Thank you, Corvo,” Jessamine says as she takes the first few drags, blowing the smoke into the late-night air.
Corvo leans against the brick wall, dreading the inevitable their return to the party. Sokolov has proved to be the brilliant mind they hoped for, not Roseburrow, but as they say greatness comes with a cost. In Sokolov’s case, it appears to have been any semblance of common decorum.
Passing him the cigar, “Did you nick this from Turnbull’s personal supply?”
“If by personal supply, you mean from his coat pocket, then yes. For all his old-fashioned principles, the man has good taste.”
Jessamine chuckles, feigning shock, “The audacity!”
Smoke fills Corvo’s mouth, swirling about as he slowly exhales. “I thought you might need a moment to escape tonight.”
“You thought right. Honestly, I have never heard a man congratulate himself quite so often as Sokolov for another man’s discovery. The man has no sense of humility.”
Corvo snorts, “I couldn’t agree more.”
She huffs, “Royal Physician, indeed.”
Though neither of them could have anticipated Sokolov’s disagreeable personality, there’s no denying what he has already achieved in under a year. However, Corvo suspects that is not all which bothers Jessamine about the appointment.
Just as Sokolov eclipses Roseburrow, the emperor overshadows his daughter. History will say it was Euhorn Kaldwin who convinced Sokolov to share the secrets of processed whale oil with the Empire. It will not remember Jessamine presenting her father with the article which only teased the possibilities or the month-long journey Corvo took only to retrieve the wrong man.
They pass the cigar between them a little while, before Jessamine shakes her head, “You finish it. I smell too much of smoke already.”
Corvo accepts, though holds the cigar accessible to her in case she changes her mind. They stand in silence, the dulled sounds of the party coming from the window overhead.
“I ought to get back before anyone notices my absence,” she finally sighs. Straightening up, Corvo moves to join her, but she halts him before putting out the cigar, “Finish it. At least one of us should get to enjoy ourselves.”
Corvo snorts at Jessamine’s undignified eyeroll as she readies herself to go back inside.
Alone, he takes a long drag and blows the smoke into the sky. For Dunwall, it is too nice a night to spend inside stuffy rooms; even if the party were in honor of someone more to his liking, he would prefer to be out here. Unfortunate how duty calls him elsewhere.
Without Jessamine’s company, the cigar tastes more of ash than of tobacco. Snuffing it out, Corvo does a perimeter of the gardens, easily keeping to the shadows. He is unsurprised by the number of others who have taken refuge among the hedges. He overhears conversations both whispered and drunkenly shouted.
Nothing particular catching his ear, until he passes a couple of young gentlemen who’ve retired outdoors with their whiskey and cigars rather than in the drawing room with the elder set.
“Do you honestly think the princess will give you a moment’s consideration?”
“Why not? My family’s standing and wealth are not to be discredited.”
“Because she is likely already promised to some duke or foreign prince.”
“Regardless, she is certainly becoming a fine woman. Even you cannot deny that.”
Corvo freezes. This certainly is not the first time he’s overheard discussion regarding Jessamine, but never in this manner. Never on the subject of suitors and matrimony, which he doubts even she has considered.
The skeptical gentleman grunts noncommittally.
“You cannot tell me you have not imagined what it would be like to stand beside her, wearing a crown. The true power behind the throne.”
Most discussions of ambitious men cause Corvo’s blood to boil, but he is able to control himself or walk away. This is different; he is rooted to the spot. Blood chilled. Disgusted.
“Again, you think too highly of yourself to assume you wield that amount of influence.”
“I doubt she needs anything more than a firm hand to guide her.”
“Perhaps. But I prefer a wilder woman, not a child who requires a hand to hold.”
“That sort of woman will run your life, not the other way around.”
The duo finish their drinks and return inside. Corvo shakes his head as if awakening from some nightmare. He wades his way through the party guests back to Jessamine’s side, deliberately blocking out any familiar voices.
He is agitated. Jessamine would never consider an attachment to men such as them, but the way those men spoke of her. Caring for little else beyond Jessamine’s title.
With a gentle touch to his arm, “Is everything alright, Corvo?”
Rigidly, “Fine.”
Doubtful she believes him, but Jessamine does not press.
It is his duty to protect her, but this was not the sort of threat he anticipated.
----------
Perhaps it is the whiskey or maybe the cigar smoke mingling with the humidity from the rain which makes Jessamine’s judgement hazy, but she does not care a fig at the moment.
She giggles as Corvo refills her tumbler, an uncharacteristic chuckle escaping him as well.
“That was, without a doubt, the worst party in Dunwall history. Lady Boyle’s reputation may never recover.”
“Which one’s?” Corvo snorts into his glass.
The party was an absolute bore until the Boyle ladies were each caught in various compromising positions. Waverly bribing the household staff to let her see the accounts; Lydia tempting one of the musicians into the gardens. Jessamine herself discovered Esma splayed out across a chaise lounge with Lord Prismall thrusting himself into her.
Despite the scandal, Jessamine’s almost envious of the freedom and shamelessness of Esma Boyle, acting without thought of consequence. Even if Jessamine were bold enough to behave in such a manner, she is trapped by her title.
Snickering over his remark, Jessamine observes Corvo over the rim of her tumbler. She does not often see him way, grinning and carefree. It lights a spark in his eye, which surprisingly suits his typically stoic visage.
What a tizzy it would cause among the maids to see him in this manner.
He takes another drag from his cigar and Jessamine cannot help wondering how he must taste.
Liquor and smoke, obviously, but what else?
Her gaze lingers on his lips. The image of Lady Esma and Lord Prismall enters her head once more, but suddenly it is Jessamine laying across the chaise and Corvo pressed against her.
Jessamine snaps to attention, blinking furiously to wipe the fantasy from her mind's eye. She is astonished by her own desire; she cannot – should not want such things.
“Is everything alright, Jessamine?” Corvo asks, concerned.
“Quite alright,” she insists. Trying to coax another genuine smile from him, “Though I doubt tonight will alter Esma Boyle’s reputation any.”
Corvo does grin again, but it is distracted now, not near as broad nor quite reaching his eyes.
Jessamine bites her tongue, trying to stop herself from wanting. But try as she might, she cannot reason with her sudden desire.
Slipping from her lips, “Kiss me.”
Corvo stares inscrutably. “Is that a command?”
“Would you kiss me if it was?”
The patter of rain on the window is impossibly loud in his silence. The sound washes over her with the realization her title does not trap her alone. Anyone may be cowed by who she is, too daunted to act.
But Jessamine has yet to see Corvo intimidated by anything, let alone her. It puzzles her how he stands unflinchingly before danger but hesitates here and now.
Kissing her cannot be such a terrible notion.
At last, Corvo shakes his head, “No. I wouldn’t.”
“You would disobey me?” Even in hypothetical, regrets her words instantly.
Corvo’s wounded by the accusation, but speaks his mind, “As the Royal Protector, my duty and loyalty and life are to the future empress, not my heart.”
“And if it was not a command – if I asked you to kiss me?”
His jaw clenches, eyes flitting to her lips then meet hers.
----------
“Jessamine…”
Corvo speaks slowly, keeping a guarded distance. There are only two responses: the one he ought to give and the one he wants to.
He ought to tell her no. He should act accordingly and responsibly to their stations. Remind her she is the future empress, regardless of anything else. He should tell her if anything happened it would cause a scandal far greater than anything the ladies Boyle could stir.
He doesn’t even want to consider the consequences that would befall him. Yet, unbidden Corvo thinks of each one and none of them is compelling enough not to consider what he wants to do.
“Kiss me, Corvo.”
He ought to do anything else.
“Just this once.”
And he does. Jessamine’s lips are like rich honey blended with the oaken whiskey. Intoxicating in her own right, Corvo drinks her in as though he is dying of thirst.
Deeply aware of her arms winding their way around his neck and fingers entangling in his hair, his own arms feel heavy at his sides. He craves holding her close, but he dare not touch her for fear of being unable to let go.
Corvo draws back against Jessamine’s pull, “I’m sorry. I can’t. We shouldn’t –”
He can’t finish the thought. Jessamine’s eyes flutter open, mystified by his sudden retreat – hurt even by his rejection. But only for a moment, quickly replaced by determination.
“And why not?”
His mouth hangs agape, every reason escaping him yet again.
“Neither of us has had much opportunity to choose in our lives. Why should we not take what we want when we can?”
The fierce look in her eye is enough to shame Corvo for his cowardice. Jessamine knows her own mind; a quality Corvo has always admired. This is no exception.
Matching her gaze, Corvo feels his resolve steel, “You’re certain this is what you want?”
Resolutely, Jessamine nods, “Yes.”
Urgently, their lips crash together as the thunder rolls closer. She wastes no time fingering the clasps on his waistcoat, as he discovers the curve of her hip beneath his palm. Shrugging off his waistcoat, Corvo returns the favor, helping Jessamine to shed the layers of her clothes and lifting her into his lap.
Her hair falls loose of its tight pins, shielding them further from the outside world. Corvo is almost taken aback by how softly it frames her face. But when her eyes flutter open for just a moment, there is no doubt she is still the same Jessamine.
And whatever the consequences, the world can have the future empress, Corvo wants only her.
----------
It should be over, a fleeting fancy, but then it happens again. And again. Jessamine has fallen into Corvo’s arms night after night for the past month, and each day it becomes less of a want and more of a need. Their secret pleasure in an otherwise dull world.
Corvo is the only one who knows she needs more than what her position demands – the only one who has offered her some escape from her predetermined future. And he is her secret hideaway.
Jessamine licks her lips.
Catching her eye, Corvo grins slightly, as if making a silent pact – as if it was not a foregone conclusion he would come to her bed tonight.
Corvo slips from her sight as he is wont to do, forcing Jessamine to give her attention to the young ambassador beside her. He drones on about Gristol’s recent trade negotiations with the continent, boldly assuming he could have delivered a more favorable agreement. Jessamine desperately tries not to roll her eyes at the gentleman’s arrogance.
Whispering into her ear, “You look like you need rescuing.”
Jessamine could slap Corvo for startling her so, but she would rather kiss him instead.
“Excuse me, there is another matter which I must attend to,” she bolts out of her seat, following Corvo to a deserted study.
The door is not completely shut before she feels the press of his lips against her neck.
“You are playing a dangerous game,” she tries to scold him, but the shiver down her spine undercuts her point.
“What’s one more?”
Jessamine giggles like a foolish schoolgirl. She knows better – knows this cannot last. At least, not like this.
They could act keener in how they conduct their affair. They ought to use Corvo’s skills as her bodyguard to their advantage, slipping into the shadows unseen. But the way her breath catches in her throat, Jessamine does not want to be more discreet.
She wants to relish this – to have something in her life to look back on and treasure when reality drives them apart. She wants to flaunt this – to show the world she can have whoever she wants and still rule the Isles as well as her father.
But the last time she acted without thinking through the consequences, it cost Jessamine the first friend she has ever had.
A wave of guilt crashes over Jessamine, forcing her to pull away from Corvo’s embrace. She has not thought of Delilah or the lie which banished Delilah from Dunwall Tower in years. That damned lie, which only would have resulted in a mild scolding if she had told the truth.
For a moment, she wonders what became of Delilah – if she could ever find it in her heart to forgive Jessamine.
Looking up into Corvo’s confused face Jessamine is determined not to let it happen again. She will not be the cause of his banishment.
Insistent, “We must be more careful.”
Corvo nods, unquestioning of her abrupt cautiousness.
Jessamine sighs in relief. Despite their teasing, this is no game. Father could have Corvo imprisoned or executed with a word if he ever discovered the truth.
Each time they meet, Jessamine takes Corvo’s life into her hands. It was never a role she was meant to play, but now that she is, she will do everything in her power to protect him.
----------
Corvo hasn’t felt so many eyes on him since his victory in the Blade Verbena. His arm raised high in the air, the crowd bellowed cheers and insults in equal measure. Not everyone was pleased to see the reigning champion bested by a nobody.
He hears the court whispers louder now than anything shouted that day. Perhaps the pounding blood in his ears drowned them out or perhaps he has grown accustomed to listening at corners.
Whatever the reason, his affair with Jessamine has become the favorite subject of court gossip just as they both knew it would.
“Attano, walk with me,” Turnbull claps Corvo on the should, leading him down an empty hallway.
Dutifully, Corvo follows. It’s been some time since Turnbull has requested his company. Corvo had assumed there was nothing left for him to learn about his role as Royal Protector. There was certainly nothing else Turnbull could teach him about wielding a blade, having bested him repeatedly for over a year.
“Are you aware of the rumors circulating the court regarding Lady Jessamine?”
The question is so blunt, Corvo is briefly stunned by it. Feigning ignorance, “There are so many rumors; which do you mean?”
Turnbull growls, “Do not play the fool with me, Attano. It does not become you and is an insult to me.” Turnbull halts in his tracks, looking Corvo square in the eye, but he says nothing; to acknowledge any rumors is to give them credence. “I would hate to see you undone by falsehoods, Corvo.”
“Then you have nothing to fear,” he assures the older man. Different as they are, Corvo holds a great deal of respect for the only other person who knows the demands of being Royal Protector.
Turnbull sighs, “I suppose rumors such as these ought to have been anticipated once Lady Jessamine turned of age. I am sorry you were dragged into them as well.”
“So long as we ignore them, they can’t take root.”
“If only that logic would comfort Emperor Euhorn’s conscious as much as it does mine.”
If Turnbull notices the fear-stricken panic in Corvo’s eyes he says nothing.
Alone, Corvo calms himself. They are just rumors to the Emperor’s ear, and he has always been a man of good reason. Worried as the emperor must be, he would not make conclusions based on unfounded rumors.
Still, it has been weeks since they began employing greater caution. Did someone see something before? Has it taken this long for the gossip to grow loud enough to hear? Did they slip up?
Recounting his conversation with Turnbull to Jessamine, she frowns. “I think in father’s way, he does know.”
“How can you be sure?”
“We had a similar, if more indirect, discussion over dinner. Something about the look in his eye when he brought up marriage prospects and rumors of foreign prices who might be suitable – it rattled me.”
“But he didn’t mention the rumors regarding us,” Corvo sighs relieved.
“No. But that is not his manner. He likely will not say a word, unless every attempt to imply his meaning fails.”
“Like sending Turnbull to speak with me.”
Jessamine exhales and turns away, “Most likely.”
Corvo knows that tone, though he never expected to hear it from Jessamine; it resignation and defeat. He understands why she must feel trapped by the emperor knowing, but he is not.
Lifting her chin to face him, “It takes much more than flimsy allegations to frighten me. I’m still willing, if you are.”
----------
Despite the warnings, they continue. She has no doubt of his ability to slip through the tower unseen, but she grows ever more vigilant of their public behavior.
The rumors spread throughout Dunwall like a sickness. There is no place Jessamine can go with Corvo at her side where every eye does not want a glimpse of the princess and her suspected paramour. Some are even bold enough to hint at it to her.
Occasionally, Jessamine spies Turnbull watching them from a distance. He may have believed Corvo’s initial denial, but he would be failing in his duty as father’s Royal Protector if he turned a deaf ear to the growing gossip. Catching his eye, Jessamine nods and lifts her chin.
Father, at least, has made no further inferences. Suppers are quieter between them; the gentle clatter of silverware taking up the bulk of the conversation.
But late at night, entwined with Corvo the walls Jessamine puts up to others may as well crumble to dust. Corvo slips through the cracks, reading her every thought and feeling through a quirk of her lip or a flicker in her eye.
He has become near as transparent to her, unable to disguise his emotions through silence or distraction. Sometimes it is almost eerie how it feels she has known him all her life – and he her.
Watching Corvo dress early one morning, the thought dawns on Jessamine: When this is all over, how can we go back to the way we were?
The question eats at Jessamine. There are no guidelines for this.
Father requests she join him in his study after another silent supper. He coughs as he lights his pipe, leaning on the mantle. Jessamine seats herself in the armchair facing him, waiting for him to say what he could not in front of footmen and maids.
Smoke puffing like a bellows, he sighs heavily, “I hoped it would not come to this, but I must command you to end your affair with Corvo Attano.”
Jessamine blinks, taken aback. “What are you talking about?”
“Do you think me blind, Jessamine?”
“No, father.”
“Did you think I would not find out?”
“No. I did not think –”
“You did not think? Have I not always imposed on you the importance of thinking through your actions? Did you learn nothing from me?”
Jessamine holds back a stream of angry tears. Everything she is, she learned from him. Ever since mother passed away, she has emulated him in every possible way. Her only example how to reign; her only example how to behave.
Father coughs violently into a handkerchief, interrupting her silent rage with a wave of concern. The fit passes, but Jessamine rises to steady his quaking frame.
Resolutely, “You know I would never intentionally do anything to shame you, father.”
He huffs, breath still short, “What makes you so bold to lie to my face, I wonder.” Then muttering, as if she was not here, “And not for the first time either.”
Jessamine’s brow furrows, “The first time?”
His eyes refocus, wide in fear as though a ghost appeared to him. But it is Jessamine to whom the ghost truly appears. How did she never notice Delilah shared her father’s eyes?
She rises and steps back in shock. Father flounders for words, though there is no explanation which can save him now.
Wishing she could spit fire, “You knew I was lying, and yet you still had Delilah beaten and banished for my misdeed. Delilah – your own daughter.”
“Can you imagine the scandal if anyone had ever discovered she was my daughter? Beatrix was furious enough when she found out, but we went through such trouble to conceive –”
“How can you defend yourself? She was my sister and you had her tossed out like she was nothing.”
Father’s mouth opens, but instead of a defense he has another coughing fit. Worse than before, but Jessamine can only stare at him in horror.
“How could you?” she begs when the coughing has slowed.
“You were only a child and a lesson needed to be learned about the consequences of lying. You would not have understood anything less.”
“And what of Delilah? Was she not a child as well? Your child.”
“She was not born to rule nations as you were.”
“What difference does that make?”
“I have regretted it every day, Jessamine. I swear.” He reaches out a hand in reconciliation.
Jessamine’s jaw clenches. He has diminished right before her eyes; once proud and tall, now weak and fragile. Age is catching up with him, as is his past; it weighs on his shoulders.
Pity wells in her stomach, “It is not my forgiveness you should be begging.”
Turning on her heel, Jessamine races to her chambers. She slams the door just as hot tears spill onto her cheeks. She sinks to the floor, unable to stand any longer.
Face buried in her knees, she screams. She screams at father for truth he hid. She screams at herself for the lie her told. She screams for the sister she never fully knew, and the harm done to Delilah because of her own selfishness. She should have known better.
Jessamine flinches violently as a pair of arms wrap around her, but they hold fast, stroking her back. A gentle voice implores her to tell him what the matter is.
Screams soften to sobs, and Jessamine asks Corvo’s forgiveness over and over. But it is not his mercy she should be falling on either.
----------
A light breeze caresses their bodies, curled so tightly around one another neither of them shivers.
Corvo focuses intently on the curve of Jessamine’s legs under his fingertips. For the moment, she is his whole world; nothing and no one else matters, not the threats to her person, not the failing health of her father – just this, just them. It is an escape all their own, if only they could stay like this forever.
The thought strikes him so hard Corvo stops working his fingers across her skin and swings his legs over the edge of the bed. He hopes she has drifted off soundly enough not to be disturbed by his sudden movement, but he does not turn to check.
A day approaches which Corvo has being dreading for some time now. Forever was never a possibility for them.
A chilled hand reaches out for the small of his back; Corvo shivers.
Jessamine withdraws, “Is something wrong?”
Corvo shakes his head, hair falling in his eyes.
She sighs, “Then come back to bed.”
“I can’t,” his voice is stiff and raw. His shoulders tense. He knows what he must do, but he is as loathe to do it as removing his right arm. “We need to end this.”
Jessamine scoffs, “Is that all?”
But Corvo turns to look her straight in the eye. His heart breaks to watch her face fall as she realizes he is in earnest.
Her scoff turns into an uncertain laugh, “Whatever for?”
Weakly he admits, “Turnbull spoke to me again today.”
“Oh,” is all Jessamine can manage in response.
“Dismiss his concerns if you wish, but he has the best interest of the Isles at heart.”
Corvo cannot bring himself to detail Turnbull’s primary concerns: Emperor Euhorn’s declining health, a marital alliance, legitimate heirs. He does not mention the former for her sake. Though Jessamine will not say why, they are not on speaking terms; Sokolov keeps her well informed of her father’s condition. Corvo does not mention the latter reasons because he cannot bring himself too.
In a huff, Jessamine pulls the sheets to her chest and sits on the opposite edge of the bed. “You would spurn me just like that? Pretend this – we never happened?”
“You knew as well as I, this couldn’t last forever, Jessamine.”
Her silence heralds something Corvo cannot abide; night after night, ending his days without her beside him. His heart aches from loneliness though she is still in arms’ reach.
Breathing deep, “It will be easier in the long run to cut it off now.”
His sorrow is met with ferocity, “Easier? For whom?”
“Don’t. Please.”
“What? What should I not do? Demand further explanation? Whom is this easier for?”
Snapping, “For me.” And just like that a dam breaks, “I love you, Jessamine. We both know, one day, you will have to marry someone else. When that day comes, I don’t know if I’ll be able to let you go. Better to end it now before I can’t let go.”
Jessamine blinks and shakes her head disbelievingly. Tasting the word on her tongue, “Love?”
In two years, love has never once been spoken between them – too dangerous a word to even think. A feeling which came on so gradually, Corvo hardly knew it was there until this moment.
“Yes. I love you, Jessamine. And I know you cannot reciprocate, but please, don’t make this harder. Because I don’t think I have the will leave unless you dismiss me.”
Her eyes search his face for any trace of falseness. Corvo withers under her gaze, unable to bear what her next words may be.
“Then stay with me.”
“You ask that of me, knowing my heart is yours?”
“No less than mine belongs to you.”
He had not dared to hope for such an answer; Corvo brims over with exhilaration. Meeting her eyes once again, all the world seems aglow; Jessamine brightest of all.
----------
She is buried in treatises when the study door clicks open and shut. Without looking up, “If Sokolov wants me to approve the implementation of his new whale-oil powered watch towers, he has to give me time to read the proposal.”
“Apologizes, highness, but I am not here on Sokolov’s behest.”
Jessamine glances up at the man; he trembles and bites his lip. “What is it then?”
“Your presence is requested in Emperor Euhorn’s chambers.”
Jessamine shoots upwards, bolting past the messenger without a second thought. She tries to keep her breath even as she sprints through the corridors. Calling for her can means only one of two things; either father’s fever has broken or it has taken him and spared him any more agony.
She is calmer than she ought to be. Angry as she is with father, she does not wish him to die, but then she does not fear the throne. She has been preparing for this moment her whole life. These past months have only eased the transition, taking on more of father’s responsibilities as his condition declined. What she did not expect was to be at odds with father when it happened.
One way or another her life has built to this; she is not daunted by the dawn of a new reign – her reign.
Entering father’s bedchamber, her eyes fall first on his greying, pale face, peaceful and motionless. Jessamine chokes back a sob; he is dead.
Her visions unclouds and the swarm of ministers, overseers, and physicians around his bedside have risen to their feet. They bow low as High Overseer Campbell presents Jessamine with the signet ring.
“The emperor is dead. Long live the empress. Long Live Empress Jessamine.”
“Long live the empress,” they echo.
Jessamine reaches out for the ring, taking it delicately from Campbell’s fingers and slipping it onto hers. It is loose, but that is easily altered; would that she could say as much for every issue she inherits.
Clearing her throat, “I thank you, gentlemen, but now we must attend to our father’s last rites.”
“As your highness commands,” Campbell acquiesces.
The bells of the Abbey toll their heavy news as Jessamine exits the room, consciously holding her head high and keeping her shoulders square. The corridor may be deserted, but an empress does not pick and choose when she may remove her crown; she must have the strength to bear the weight of her title at all times.
“Jessamine…” a hushed voice beckons.
Hearing Corvo’s voice reminds her to breath. Following him into the alcove where they first met, he places his hands on her shoulders.
Blinking back the welling tears, Jessamine raises her face to his, “I assume you have heard.”
Corvo nods, “Only just. What about you – how are you faring?”
Jessamine’s mouth opens and closes, unable to put the heaviness of her heart into words. It is not the same as mother’s passing – mother who she revered and guided her. Who she has only the warmest memories of. There was no time for her to diminish in Jessamine’s esteem.
Understanding, Corvo pulls her near and places a kiss on her brow. Without fail, his tenderness eases the disquiet of her mind.
“He was my father. I cannot help but miss him. But he was a stubborn mule.”
“Not unlike someone else I know.”
She smiles sadly. Both too hard-headed to forgive or forget. Father took his secret to the grave; Jessamine wonders if she ought to do the same – another piece of him to carry with her.
“If there was a chance of reconciliation, I might have regretted leaving things as we did, but I doubt we would have been able.”
In a way, she is glad of the rift; overwhelming grief will not mar her first days as empress, will not distract her from the work to be done.
Corvo lets her words sink in and Jessamine braces for a question he never asks.
He stands at attention, “You must have a million things to attend to, Empress Jessamine.”
Bolstering her own spirits, “Whiskey and cigars tonight?”
“As my lady requests,” Corvo smiles gently and presses his lips to her brow once more.
Jessamine breathes deep before stepping out into the hall. Corvo easily removes the weight from her mind, but not her heart. She misses the days she could see eye to eye with her father, dreadfully. He was all she aspired to be as empress, though now she supposes he was not all he could have been as a father.
Proclamations are made throughout Dunwall, couriers dispatched across Gristol, envoys to the Isles. The emperor is dead; attend to the coronation of the empress. All else fades to the background, but it is more exhausting than anything else.
By the time she retires for the evening all Jessamine has the energy for is resting her head on Corvo’s chest. She wishes some tears would come, but perhaps she has spent them already.
“Sometimes all you can do is move forward.”
He gently wraps his arms around her, steady and reassuring until Jessamine drifts asleep.
----------
Turnbull steps from around his desk, “It’s yours now.”
Corvo inhales, fingers tracing the edge, but not sitting down. He knows what his role entails, on the front lines and behind closed doors, but this still feels so bureaucratic.
Evading his post a moment longer, “What will you do with your retirement?”
“Retirement?” Turnbull laughs. “There’s no retirement for men like us.”
The words sink into Corvo’s chest and he knows how true they are. Men of action don’t do well sitting still.
“What then?”
“I thought I might return to the military. My years as Royal Protector have earned me a comfortable promotion.”
“So, another desk job?”
Turnbull laughs again, heading for the door, “You will do well here, Attano. You’ve already proven that.” He reaches for the knob, then turns back, “One last piece of advice.”
Corvo stands straighter, reminded suddenly of Duke Abele offering him a position in the Grand Serkonan Guard – warning him he may already have enemies.
“This may be the regrets of an old man speaking, but though you may have pledged your life to the empress, it is no excuse to forget to live for yourself.”
“Sir?”
“I never expected to live longer than Emperor Euhorn. I thought I would lay down my life in his service. I let that rule my choices, and now at the end of the road, I have very little to show for it. A respectable promotion, but little else. Remember that.”
The door shuts with a click and Corvo finally sits behind the desk, pondering his predecessor’s parting words.
He said something similar to Jessamine not so long ago: as Royal Protector, his life is hers, even before he knew where his heart lay. Now that she is Empress, her life belongs to the people, but her heart is his. They cannot share a life together in the manner Turnbull implied, but they will stand side by side and that is enough.
A clock on the mantle ticks steadily, the time drawing near, as Corvo sorts through the messages and protection plans left behind. On the stroke of the hour, Corvo sets it aside and makes his way through the passage connecting his new office to the royal chambers.
Maids scurry about, too much in a hurry to notice him emerging from the panel in the wall. The final preparations being put into place.
Though slightly ajar, Corvo knocks on the door to Jessamine’s room, “It’s time, your highness.”
“You may enter, Corvo,” she calls stiffly.
Stepping past the maids, Corvo almost snorts at the ceremonial attire Jessamine’s been fitted into, the bustling skirt and puffy sleeves so unlike her. She tugs at the collar.
“For a moment, I could have mistaken you for the Empress of the Isles.”
“Not another word,” she chastises his smirk. Sighing in dismay, “It is only for a few hours.”
Offering his arm, “Then shall we? The public awaits your presence for the coronation.”
Jessamine lifts her head and breathes deep. Despite the frivolous frock, she is every inch the empress, calm and collected. Poised and regal. Corvo faintly wonders what she sees in a boy from the streets of Karnaca.
Looping her arm around his, chases any lingering doubts away. She chose him – above everyone else. Chose him as her Royal Protector, chose him to keep her confidence. Chose him to let into her heart. And she has never given him any reason to doubt her decisions before, just as she has never doubted him.
“I am ready.”
They walk in silence toward the throne room, each leaving the other to their own thoughts.
Just outside, Jessamine squeezes his arm, “I wish you could be on the dais with me.”
“I won’t be far,” Corvo takes up her hands and kisses them.
Another deep breath and she steps through the door alone.
Corvo slips into the crowd. From his vantage point he scans for potential threats through the oaths and anointments, but as Jessamine takes the throne, he has eyes only for her.
----------
It is not long into her reign before her ministers bring up the question of marital alliances.
Jessamine evades the subject as best she can. She jests with them, “Are you so afraid of a woman ruling without a man by her side?”
Some laugh good-naturedly; others grumble under their breath. At least, they do not mutter she is already in bed someone else.
Either she and Corvo have finally learned how properly restrain themselves in public or it is not near as fun for the court to speculate about the romantic entanglements of the empress. Either way, rumors of their relationship have not reached Jessamine’s ears in months.
Only High Overseer Campbell is bold enough to speak up, “It is not that we seek to undermine your rule, so much as secure the line. A trueborn heir must be procured.”
“I shall take your concerns into consideration,” she responds tautly.
Taking her leave of the council, Jessamine returns to her office where she can finally let out a frustrated growl. His remark keeps her on edge for the remainder of the day.
Though she has mostly buried her irritation by the evening, when Corvo joins her in the library, he easily senses what lies just beneath the surface. With a gentle prodding, she launches into a tirade.
“I do not care what that man has done for the overseers, he makes my skin crawl.”
Corvo sighs to himself. His indifference towards the Abbey of the Everyman bleeding through.
She forgets sometimes, he was not compelled to go to services as a child as she was. That the teachings of the Abbey bring him no comfort nor provide him any guidance. Though lately, she has not found much of either from its doctrine.
“I am sorry, my love. I did not mean to go on so long.”
Corvo drapes him arm around her shoulders and places a kiss on her head. “I do not believe even Campbell could rattle you so. What’s really troubling you?”
Jessamine takes a steadying breath, “Something he said about my future heirs, implying they must be trueborn.”
Shifting a little under her weight, “I see.”
Guilt mounds in Jessamine’s throat. They knew this was coming. They knew the pressure she would be under, but still she insisted they stay together. He tried to save them this struggle – if only she hadn’t been so selfish.
Nor did she think through what committing herself would mean for an heir. She will not force him to father one. She only wanted him or no one at all.
Corvo is silent a long time. His voice is tight, “I cannot give you trueborn heirs, and –”
Pressed close to his chest, Jessamine imagines she hears his heart breaking, as though he is about to give her another chance to leave him. She will not have it.
“And I chose to stay with you. I do not need to kneel before an alter to give you my troth.”
“But it’s not about just us anymore. It’s about our children.”
Caught unawares, Jessamine bites her tongue.
Our children. Until now it has always been her heirs, and to the court and the world, they will never be anything else. But more importantly they would be theirs, hers and Corvo’s; Jessamine cannot think of a more wonderful prospect.
“They would be bastards. Would we disclose the fact I am their father? How would the court react? Would anyone accept them as your heirs?”
Jessamine is stunned, “How long have you been thinking of all this?”
Corvo shakes his head, “Long enough to have thought through every perspective.”
“Except mine.”
“I know better than to presume what you might think.”
Smiling to herself, Jessamine thanks her good fortune Corvo came into her life. She sits upright to look him in the eye.
“Then you must know, I do not give a fig what the court thinks – what they say. Our children,” she relishes the sound of the words, “will be legitimized, even if I must fight Campbell to do so.”
His reaction is not what she expects, “Is that a fight worth having?”
Jessamine nods, “I would traverse the Void for our children.”
Tears well up in his eyes, but Corvo beams, “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”
Her own heart bursts with joy. Jessamine feels eighteen again, eagerly reaching for Corvo to make love to her. He is no less keen. Though the chances of conceiving on their first try are slim, curled around each other, Jessamine cannot help but imagine their child.
----------
Corvo paces.
Trying to maintain an air of calm, even in front of Jessamine’s ministers, is impossible. Prying stares may irk him at other times, but not now.
There are very few who have not guessed he is the father of Jessamine’s child – old rumors reared their heads upon the announcement. And though no one dared approach them directly, the silent threats could not be ignored; Corvo insisted on remaining anonymous and Jessamine reluctantly agreed.
Only now, he threatens to unravel. Unable to enter the birthing room, not knowing what’s happening. Unable to hold Jessamine’s hand through it all.
A nurse exits the room. Corvo’s head snaps in her direction, waiting for her to beckon them in, but she merely collects more clean linens and disappears once more.
He exhales, but it does nothing to steady his nerves. He thinks of Jessamine’s mother, buried with a babe clutched to her chest, and cannot shake the fear of the same fate befalling Jessamine.
But a scream pierces through the door, assuring him she is still fighting.
The screams and groans grow more frequent as the minutes ticks on. It seems an eternity before a new sound echoes in the corridors.
Moments later, Sokolov emerges, wiping his hands clean, “We have ourselves a princess.”
Corvo’s heart swells. A daughter. They have a daughter.
“The empress requires the presence of her council,” Sokolov steps aside to allow them entry.
Corvo wants to be the first by Jessamine’s side, but his mouth hangs agape, too overwhelmed to move or speak. The others file through as Sokolov digs out his pipe and lights it.
Unsticking his tongue, “How – how is she?”
“Mother and daughter are both strong and healthy,” Sokolov’s grouches. Then looking over Corvo’s nerve-wracked posture, “Better to see for yourself.”
With a rough hand, Sokolov pushes Corvo through the door, but he must take the final steps himself. Slow and cautious, his eyes don’t fall immediately on the baby, but on Jessamine laying upright in bed, her face twisted in consternation as the ministers talk circles around her.
Cutting Campbell off, “She is my heir. That is final.”
Corvo snickers to himself, thinking of the promise she made near a year ago.
“Does something about this situation amuse you, Attano?” Campbell sneers.
“Only in as much as it perturbs you.”
He catches Jessamine’s smile before she sternly commands them to leave. Filing out Campbell intentionally brushes shoulders with Corvo, but he hardly notices for all of his attention falls on the baby girl swaddled in her mother’s arms.
Taking another few steps forward, he freezes, “I shouldn’t stay. Appearances and everything.”
“Hang appearances. Emily needs to meet her father.”
Shifting the baby into one arm, Jessamine reaches out to him, “Corvo, I would like you to meet Emily Drexel Lela Kaldwin, your daughter.”
Corvo stares in awe at the slumbering bundle, so small and innocent. So helpless.
“Would you like to hold her, Corvo?” Jessamine passes Emily to Corvo; though she squirms, he is instantly enraptured.
He can hardly believe he helped create her; an indescribable feeling warms his chest – an overwhelming surge to always protect and look after her, even at a distance.
In a near whisper, “I swear, I will let no harm ever come to you, Emily.”
“She knows,” Jessamine responds on her behalf.
Corvo takes a seat on the edge of the bed so Jessamine may be near them, as close to a whole family as they can ever be. They must treasure these moments.
Inching her way closer, “I have something else for you, Corvo.” Jessamine holds out a thin cigar, her lips curling in amusement, “I could not procure one of Turnbull’s brand, but I doubted anyone else would be extending their congratulations to you.”
Corvo chuckles at the gesture, but self-consciously says, “I didn’t think to get you anything.”
“You’ve already given me everything I could ask for.” She presses a kiss to his cheek and leans in over his shoulder.
Outside rain begins pelting the window, but they are safe and dry here. Content to let the world pass them by for a few stolen moments.