Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“This is the fourth time this month, Brant. One of these days, your luck will run out and these bars will keep you caged.”

“A worthy sacrifice for the chance to be graced by your presence more often, no?”

You roll your eyes, glancing over your shoulder to make sure you have not been followed. “I only cashed in a favor one of the guards owed me, otherwise no Montelli employee would have ever seen the inside of this place. Consider yourself lucky. Again.”

The Fisalia estate’s prison cells reek of damp stone, iron, and the bitter stench of regret.

Brant leans against the cell wall, one leg crossed over the other in a posture so relaxed it’s almost infuriating. His wrists rest idly in his lap, the iron shackles more of an accessory than a hindrance. The edges of his coat are dusted with the grime of the road, but even in captivity, he wears that smirk, sharp as a dagger, charming as a rogue’s promise.

“Ah, but fate is fickle, cruel and grand,
Yet here you stand, my guiding hand.”

His voice lilts with amusement as he watches you from beneath thick lashes. His eyes, that unfairly captivating mix of magenta and purple, glint with something knowing. He knows why you’re here, and you know it too.

You exhale, stepping closer to the cell, the worn stone cold beneath your fingertips as you grip the bars. “You knew they’d turn you in.”

A slow grin spreads across his lips, all mischief and maddening nonchalance. “I’d be insulted if they didn’t. A fine bounty such as mine? Why, it keeps the Troupe fed and our pockets lined.” He tilts his head, his purple-streaked hair catching in the dim torchlight. “And it brings you here, my dear Montelli warden.”

You roll your eyes. “Don’t call me that.”

His gaze flickers, and you can see his amusement deepening in the way his mouth twitches. “Oh? Then what shall I call you, sweet liberator? My moonlight shadow? My loyal accomplice?” His grin sharpens. “Or something a touch more intimate?”

You refuse to dignify that with a reaction. “Get up. We don’t have much time.”

Brant chuckles but obeys, rising to his full height and stretching his arms overhead, the movement making his coat shift against his lean frame. The chains rattle slightly, but his confidence remains unshaken. “Tell me, starlit savior, does this make us partners in crime?”

You scoff, pulling the key from your belt. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

The lock clicks open with practiced ease. As the door swings outward, Brant steps closer, closing the distance between you with the slow, deliberate grace of a man who knows exactly how to test limits.

“You wound me,” he murmurs, voice dropping just enough to brush against something dangerous, something intimate. “I thought we had something special.”

You press a hand against his chest before he can step past you. Despite the chill in the air, you feel the warmth of his skin, the steady heartbeat beneath your palm.

“I’m not doing this for you,” you say, keeping your voice firm. “I’m doing this for Tina.”

At the mention of your sister’s name, Brant’s teasing smile softens just a fraction. He tilts his head, studying you with something quieter, something less performative.

“Ah, sweet Tina,” he muses. “A soul too bright for the Order’s cold chains. She deserves the world.” His gaze moves back to you, sharp and knowing. “And you would burn down kingdoms to make sure she gets it.”

Your throat tightens. “She told me what you did for her,” you admit. “That you were the one who saved her when the Order turned on her.”

Brant leans in just slightly, the air between you growing thinner. “And now you save me. A rather poetic twist, wouldn’t you say?”

You shake your head, unwilling to let him steer the conversation away from its purpose. “This is the last time, Brant.”

He lifts a brow. “Is it?”

“It has to be.”

For the first time, something unreadable crosses his expression, just a flicker, there and gone before you can decipher it. Then, just as quickly, the teasing grin returns, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Ah, but fate’s a fickle thing, my dear,
And even oaths can fade unclear.”

“Enough with the poetry,” you mutter, grabbing his wrist and pulling him forward. The chains fall away easily as you unlock them, the cool metal clattering to the floor.

Brant flexes his hands, rolling his wrists as he takes a step closer. His voice dips lower, more intimate. “Tell me, why can’t this be a regular arrangement? You’re quite good at this, you know. A natural accomplice. I’d even say our fates are delightfully intertwined.”

You hold your ground, though your pulse betrays you, hammering against your ribs. “Because I have a duty here. A debt to pay.”

“A duty, a debt” he echoes, stepping so close that his breath ghosts against your skin. “And yet, here you are. Unshackling a known rogue. Undermining your oh-so-loyal position.” His hand brushes against your hip, light as a whisper, fleeting but deliberate. “Tell me, little guardian...do you ever wonder what it’d be like to let go?”

Your fingers twitch at your sides. “Brant-”

“Say you haven’t thought about it.” His voice is a murmur now, magenta eyes dark with something you don’t want to name. “Say you haven’t imagined stepping onto my ship and leaving all of this behind.”

You should push him away. You should shut this down.

But you don’t.

Because you have imagined it.

And he knows.

Brant’s fingers brush against your wrist, just a glancing touch, but it sears. His other hand lifts, tracing along your jaw with a slow, purposeful reverence. His thumb catches against your lower lip, his breath shallow.

For a heartbeat, neither of you move, and the tension is thick, electric, dangerous.

Then, he leans in.

The kiss is anything but gentle; it is a claiming, a raw collision of restraint snapping, of tension unraveling in a rush of heat. His hands are firm, one cupping the back of your neck, the other anchoring you by the waist. His lips move against yours with purpose, with hunger, desperate and lingering all at once, tongue brushing against your lips in what feels more like a promise.

You should stop this, you should push him away.

But you don’t.

Instead, your fingers curl into the fabric of his coat, pulling him closer. Brant makes a low sound in the back of his throat; a sound of satisfaction, of something victorious. His teeth graze against your lower lip, just enough to tease, enough to leave you breathless.

When he finally pulls back, his forehead resting against yours, his breathing is uneven, matching your own.

A smirk tugs at his lips, though his voice is rougher, strained. “If I asked you to leave with me, right here, right now...” His thumb traces slow circles against your hip. “Would you?”

Your breath is unsteady. You want to say yes, but you can’t.

Not yet.

You exhale, pressing a palm against his chest, steadying yourself. “Not now, not until my debt is paid,” you whisper.

His gaze searches yours, the mischief flickering with something else, something softer, something unguarded. Then, after a beat, he sighs dramatically.

“Alas, my love, our tale’s not done,
But know this truth, it’s just begun.”

He releases you slowly, reluctantly. His fingers trail from your wrist, lingering just long enough to make you shiver. Then, with a final smirk, he steps back into the shadows of the corridor.

“You’ll see me again,” he promises as he puts on his captain’s hat, voice like silk. “And when I return...” His eyes gleam. “I’ll be coming for you.”

Then, with the swiftness of a phantom, Brant disappears into the night.

You know you don’t have a lot of time before your cover can no longer be maintained, and the Fisalia guards flood this place. Yet, you remain in the empty corridor, your lips still tingling, your pulse still racing.

And despite everything, despite logic, despite duty, one undeniable truth settles deep in your chest.

You want him to come back.

And somehow, you know he will.

Chapter Text

By morning, the whispers had already begun.

They slithered through the Montelli estate like ivy creeping up old stone; persistent, invasive, impossible to ignore. Servants spoke in hushed tones behind drawn curtains, their voices carrying just enough to suggest, but never to confirm. The guards, ever loyal to their routines, lingered just a fraction longer when passing by you, their gazes darting toward you with barely concealed curiosity.

You moved through it all as if nothing had changed.

Head high, stride measured, expression schooled into neutrality. You weren’t foolish enough to believe that aiding Brant had left no ripples. Discretion had been your ally, but rumors had a way of finding purchase in the cracks of uncertainty.

So, when the summons arrived, you didn’t feign surprise.

Zani’s office was warm with the scent of the calming tea she favored. She sat behind her desk, legs crossed, a picture of composed authority. The tea in her porcelain cup barely rippled as she lifted it, crimson eyes watching you over the rim with a gaze that was too steady, too knowing.

She gestured toward the seat across from her. “Sit.”

You hesitated, just for a breath, before obeying.

Zani stirred her tea lazily, her expression one of idle amusement. “A rather curious night,” she mused, taking a measured sip. “The Fisalia authorities were… displeased, to say the least. A known criminal vanishing from right under their noses? Scandalous.”

Your hands rested lightly on your lap, your face giving away nothing. “Unfortunate.”

Zani’s lips curved slightly at your deflection. “Isn’t it?”

She set the cup down, the porcelain making a soft clink against the saucer. “And you?” she continued, voice smooth. “You were rather difficult to find during all that...commotion.”

Here it is. The first stone cast. You better be thankful for this, Brant...

You did not flinch. “I was following orders. Keeping to my patrol.” Your voice was steady, nonchalant, every bit as composed as you’d expect someone innocent to sound.

The pause that followed stretched just long enough to be deliberate.

Zani tilted her head slightly. “A loyal soldier, to the very end.”

Don’t take the bait.

You inclined your head in agreement. “Of course. Until I pay off the funds the Montellis graciously gave me for my sister’s treatment all those years ago, my life is theirs to do with as they please.”

The silence between you was taut as a bowstring. She could have accused you outright, but she didn’t. Zani rarely ever lost her composure, but she had a special kind of awareness of her surroundings that was almost terrifying.

After a few seconds, Zani exhaled, as if dismissing the thought entirely. “Well,” she said lightly, “the chaos has settled, and the estate remains unharmed. That is what matters, isn’t it?”

Your nod was measured. “Of course.”

A glint of amusement flickered in Zani’s eyes. “You’re free to return to your duties. Dismissed.”

You didn’t hesitate, and the legs of the chair scraped against the polished floor as you stood. But as you turned, you felt the weight of her gaze following you, pressing against your spine like the ghost of a blade not yet drawn.

She had no proof.

And yet, as you stepped out into the corridor, you knew this wasn’t the end.

Brant had escaped. He’s back where he belongs, with his ship and his crew.

For now, that was enough.

XxxOxOxOxxX

Two Months Later

Something was happening.

You felt it in the restless air, in the hushed conversations between Montelli guards, in the sharp orders passed between commanders.

The Averardo Vault had erupted into chaos; a coordinated attack by unknown forces, they said. The Montelli estate had been placed on high alert, but most of its soldiers had been dispatched to investigate. Tension crackled through the halls like a storm about to break.

You moved swiftly, weaving through the courtyard where the remaining guards were scrambling to organize the defenses. A few nodded at you in passing, but none stopped you, everyone was too preoccupied.

“Enough.”

Zani’s voice cut through the noise.

The chaos slowed as she strode into the courtyard, her presence commanding instant obedience.

“Listen well,” she addressed the gathered soldiers. “Until further orders arrive, our priority is securing the Vault and the Montelli interests. The situation at the vault is unclear.” Her gaze flicked to you. “You.”

You straightened. “Yes, Madame Zani?”

Zani adjusted the cuffs of her coat, her tone deceptively casual. “You’re staying here.”

You blinked. “I should be at the Vault with the others-”

“No.” Her voice brooked no argument. “I want someone competent on-site. Should anything...unfortunate occur.”

It was not uncommon for such a thing to happen. In fact, it was smart to leave some people behind, especially someone like you who was merely paying off a debt and only loyal until you finally managed to finish your service. The Averardo Vault was home to some of the Montellis’ most precious secrets, after all. Slowly, you nodded. “Understood.”

Zani watched you for a moment longer. “Good. Do try not to let anything slip through the cracks.”

Then she was gone, her onyx horns glinting in the dying sunlight, and you were left standing in the courtyard, pulse hammering with the certainty that something was coming.

XxxOxOxOxxX

The estate was far too quiet.

As you navigated the dimly lit corridors, the usual lively ambiance was replaced by an unsettling silence. Shadows clung to the walls, and the faint glow of moonlight through the narrow windows offered little comfort. Your senses were heightened, every creak of the floorboards amplifying the tension.

Suddenly, a swift movement caught your eye; a shadow detaching itself from the darkness, lunging toward you with a blade gleaming. You drew your daggers instinctively, meeting the assault in a clash of steel that sent sparks flying.

Your opponent was skilled, each strike precise, each movement fluid. But as the duel pressed on, the clouds outside parted, allowing a beam of moonlight to pierce through the window. In that fleeting moment, you caught sight of familiar magenta eyes sparkling with mischief.

"Ah, there you are," Brant's voice, rich with amusement, broke through the tension as he effortlessly parried your next move. "Took you long enough."

You halted, breathless, lowering your daggers. "Brant," you exhaled, a mix of relief and disbelief coloring your tone. “What in the Sentinel Imperator are you doing here?”

He sheathed his sword with a flourish, the moonlight casting a roguish glow on his features. "Life's a stage, my dear," he replied, tipping his captain's hat. "And I intend to steal every scene."

You pinched the bridge of your nose, sending him a glare that lacked any real bite. "One day, your theatrics will be the end of you."

He stepped closer, eyes gleaming with that familiar, infuriating charm. "Then I'll make sure it's a performance to remember."

Before you could retort, a soft, measured clap resonated from the shadows. Turning, you saw Zani emerge, her expression a blend of amusement and mild exasperation. "You're late," she remarked, arching an eyebrow at Brant.

Brant grinned unabashedly, bowing at the waist with a swish of his cape. "Had to make sure the performance was convincing."

“Madame Zani?” You glanced between them with wide eyes, your mind racing. The Averardo Vault incident. The Fisalia guards hunting Brant. The way Zani had conveniently left you behind.

This had all been arranged.

You turned to Brant, voice low and sharp. "What did you do?"

His smirk widened. "What I do best. A bit of misdirection, a well-placed diversion...and a rather sizable payment."

Your heart pounded. "Payment?"

Zani interjected smoothly. "He paid off your debt," she said, as if discussing something as mundane as a trade agreement. "Every last credit."

You stared at her, eyes widening in disbelief. "That's not possible."

"Oh, it is," Brant murmured, stepping closer. "Granted it took me a few extra bountiful performances, but it’s nothing the Troupe of Fools can’t handle. Not when it comes to one of our own."

One of their own…Your stomach twisted. "You..."

"Freed you," he finished softly.

You sucked in a breath.

Your entire life had been dictated by the weight of that debt, of what you’d do all over again to save your sister. Years spent within the Montelli estate, bound by obligation, by the chains of a past you hadn't chosen.

And now...

Now, you were free.

Zani's eyes shone with a hint of amusement. "The Captain here also contacted Lady Carlotta," she added. "Let's just say, she didn't refuse. She has always loved a good dramatic performance, especially one with a happy ending. Besides, Captain Brant has made good on our deal to provide information whenever it’s needed. Lady Carlotta had no reason to deny his request."

The mention of Lady Carlotta, a woman renowned for her poise, for her unshakable will and willingness to protect the Montelli name at all costs, made your head spin. Her involvement meant that this entire scheme had layers upon layers, all designed to culminate in this moment.

Brant's eyes softened as he watched you process the revelation. "I couldn't let you remain a prisoner of circumstance," he said gently. "Not when I had the means to change it."

Emotion welled up, threatening to overflow. "I don't know what to say."

He reached out, taking your hand in his. "Then don't say anything. Just embrace your freedom."

Zani's voice, though tinged with her usual pragmatism, held an undertone of warmth. "Consider this a new beginning. One where you're no longer bound by the past."

You nodded slowly, the reality of your newfound freedom settling in, but before you could process that, Zani sighed dramatically. “Well, now that this sentimental nonsense is over, I’d appreciate it if you left my estate before the guards return. Lady Carlotta thanks you for your service and wishes you a prosperous future away from the Montellis.”

Brant shot her a grin. “Ever the gracious host.”

Zani rolled her eyes, then turned to you. Her expression was composed, but her next words were pointed.

“I won’t stop you.”

There was no threat, no warning. Just a quiet understanding.

Brant held out a hand, his voice softer than you had ever heard it.

“Come with me.”

The words settled deep in your chest, heavy and inescapable.

This was real.

No debts, no obligations.

Just a choice.

Your pulse thundered in your ears as you looked at him, at Zani, at the path that lay before you.

You had spent years bound.

And now, for the first time...

You could choose.

XxxOxOxOxxX

The ship cut through the dark sea, a sleek phantom against the endless stretch of waves. The sky overhead was vast, scattered with stars that shimmered like spilled gold. The hour was late, well into those very early hours of the morning when the sky still clung to the dark veil of night.

After a tearful reunion with Tina, and the ensuing celebration with the rest of the Troupe, you stood at the ship’s bow, the salty wind threading through your hair, the weight of the past hours settling in your chest.

For the first time in years, maybe in your whole life, you had no debts, no chains, no obligations.

You were free.

“You’ll catch a chill.”

Brant’s voice was smooth as silk, warm as the coat he draped over your shoulders. The fabric was heavy with his scent; sea air, worn leather, something uniquely him.

You smiled faintly. “I didn’t take you for the worrying type.”

“Oh, but I excel at worrying,” he murmured, stepping beside you. “Mostly about you, admittedly.”

You turned to look at him, finding him already watching you. The moonlight softened the sharp lines of his face, casting silver against the streaks of magenta in his hair. His eyes, always dancing, always alight with playful fire, held something quieter now.

A beat of silence stretched between you before he exhaled, rolling his shoulders with a familiar smirk. “It’s a terrible habit, really. All this concern. But I find I can’t help myself.”

You raised a brow. “How tragic.”

“Isn’t it?” He sighed dramatically, pressing a hand to his chest. “Here I am, a man of grand ambition, reduced to fretting over one particularly stubborn Montelli warden.”

You scoffed, nudging his side. “Not a Montelli anymore. Or a warden, for that matter.”

Brant’s smirk softened into something fonder. “No, I suppose not.” He tilted his head, watching you like he was committing you to memory. “I meant what I said back there, you know. I’d have paid twice over if it meant setting you free.”

Your breath hitched. You turned away, staring out at the horizon. “You shouldn’t have had to.”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “Ah, but that’s where we differ, my love.” He leaned in, his voice dropping to something lower, something just for you. “To me, there was never a choice at all.”

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his coat. The weight of his words settled deep, warm, and terrifying all at once.

“Brant,” you murmured.

He reached for your wrist, fingers brushing against yours in a touch so light it could have been an accident. But it wasn’t, it never was with him.

“Tell me,” he said, his voice softer now, almost wistful, “does it feel different?”

You swallowed. “What?”

“Freedom.” His thumb traced idle circles against your wrist, barely there but enough to set your pulse racing. “Is it everything you imagined?”

You thought about it. About the years spent in quiet servitude, bound by duty and necessity. About the weight you had carried, the debt that had dictated your every move.

You thought about standing on this ship, feeling the sea stretch endlessly before you.

You turned to him, searching for the right words. “It feels...terrifying.”

Brant chuckled, the sound low and knowing. “Good.”

You frowned. “Good?”

His lips curled into a smirk, but his voice was gentle. “Freedom should be terrifying. If it isn’t, you’re doing it wrong.”

You studied him; the man who had lived his life unshackled, who had never let the world tell him what he could or couldn’t be.

And yet, here he was.

A rogue, a trickster, a fool who had given up a fortune, risked everything, just to set you free.

Your chest tightened.

Brant’s gaze flicked down to your lips, then back up, amusement glinting in his eyes. “Tell me,” he mused, “now that you’re free of your noble chains...what will you do?”

The answer was already there, waiting.

You stepped closer, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. “This.”

Brant made a sound in the back of his throat when you kissed him - something between a hum of approval and a quiet curse - before he pulled you flush against him.

The kiss was nothing like the first. There was no hesitation, no restraint. Only heat, only the raw, exhilarating certainty that this was real, that you had chosen this, chosen him.

His hands splayed across your back, anchoring you to him, fingers pressing just hard enough to leave an impression. Your hands tangled in the ruffles of his shirt, fingers grazing the heated skin of his chest, gripping tight as if to keep him there, as if to tell him that you weren’t going anywhere.

Brant deepened the kiss with a slow, languid drag of his lips, teasing, savoring. His tongue flicked against yours in a way that made your knees weaken, a quiet, victorious chuckle vibrating against your mouth when he felt you shiver.

He tasted like salt and wine and something uniquely, devastatingly Brant. When you finally pulled back, your breath came in uneven gasps, your heart hammering against your ribs.

Brant exhaled a quiet laugh, his forehead pressing against yours. “You,” he murmured, voice rough with something unguarded, “are going to be the death of me.”

You smirked, still breathless. “That’s what you get for falling for trouble.”

His grin was wicked as he brushed his thumb over your lower lip, pressing down just enough to feel its plushness. “Darling, I am trouble.”

You huffed a laugh, swatting at his chest. He caught your hand before you could pull away, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. The playful glint in his eyes softened. “Tell me, starlit rogue,” he murmured, “would you do it again?”

You didn’t hesitate.

“Yes.”

Brant’s smirk returned, satisfied and utterly, hopelessly enchanted.

“Well then,” he whispered, pressing another lingering kiss to your lips, “we’re just getting started.”

The End