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“To think that the Montilyet name will end so tragically,” a deep voice whispered, alerting Josephine that had a rather unwelcome guest creeping in her corridors. “And for someone so horrifically dull, at that.”
“You know,” another voice, higher pitched but just as devious. “I did hear that her lover was the once famed inquisitor. I had high hopes that she would exceed my expectations given her title. Imagine my surprise at her lack of…abilities, in court.”
One of them scoffed, and she heard movement, likely one of the speaker’s leaning closer to the other to maintain a false sort of decorum while disparaging her lover.
“From what I heard, Lady Montilyet considers her more of a pet than a partner.”
They shared a laugh, unaware that the Lady Montilyet in question waited just on the other side of the curtain separating the hallway from her favourite balcony. She'd retreated from her place in the ballroom, her duties as host for this esteemed diplomatic event tiring her out. She’d only intended to have a moment of fresh air, not seeking to overhear whispers from men who didn’t know when it was better to still their wagging tongues.
Josephine pursed her lips to stave off a not-so-polite reply, using the skills she’d learned from her very short stint at attempting to be a bard to remain unseen and unheard. She silently stepped to the edge of the curtain, peering around the slit separating one panel from the next to see just who dared to offend her.
She should have known. Baron Opriend and his long time friend, Ser Loken. They did always enjoy a good scandal, preferring to speak ill of others while playing innocent when their actions resulted in far reaching consequences.
Funny that they’d risk insulting her. From what she could recall, which was plenty, their families owed significant debts to the Montilyet family that had long gone unpaid. An amount large enough that honour would demand it be returned, but small enough that formally requesting it to be paid would seem rather gauche.
Of course they would target the one weakness she had.
Josephine wasn’t blind to what others within her homeland thought of her lovely inquisitor. She’d spent far too long working with the inquisition to not grow her own abilities, her observational abilities and connections frightening even herself sometimes with just how proficient and far reaching they’d become.
The petty squabbles she dealt with these days were nothing compared to the literal life altering, crown bearing attempts she’d made in the past. She had a hand in both the present leadership of Orlais and in the crowning of the one who became divine. She’d dined alongside royalty and helped place desired heirs above others for the well being of more than one territory.
In truth she hadn’t felt a spark of challenge in quite some time, and recognized that she may never feel that way again given her new position.
But to speak ill of her lover so openly, the one she held above all others in her heart?
The Inquisitor had far less to do these days, finally free to pursue her interests after years of struggle. The Solas situation had been handled, luckily without taking her inquisitor away for good, and now they had all the time in the world to simply be together.
Josephine had encouraged her to find her passions. She had inherited the titles and responsibilities of her family and had long since established herself as a respected figure in Antiva, uplifting the Montilyet name along with her.
But just because their enemies weren’t quite as large as a rift in the sky or a fallen elvhen god didn’t mean they didn’t have any at all.
She’d already been dealing with the whispers of worries over an heir, but she’d already considered that problem and would deal with it accordingly when the time came. There were plenty of options, some more magical than others, that would allow her to conceive if she wished it.
If not, there were always adoptions and inter-family wardships. Maker knew just how many orphans had been left behind during the war.
But of course her careful management couldn’t protect the inquisitor completely. Her lover had no respectable title to lean on in Antiva, and there was very little love for the inquisition these days, given that so much time had passed. With her lover not contributing in a way that others within court would find acceptable, she was seen as little more than a bauble or trinket that didn’t know her place.
Some might ignore that, but Josephine had learned far too much over the years to forget that tiny whispers could turn into blood curdling screams if given long enough to grow.
As the men left their assumed hidden corner, confidently returning to the main hall to waggle their tongues among others who might think similarly to them, Josephine clicked her tongue, bejeweled fingers clenching the velvet curtain hiding her from discovery.
She was going to be late to bed, what a shame. Her inquisitor always hated it when she did that.
It was less than a month later when her inquisitor found her in her office just past noon; an amused smile on her face and a confident bend to her steps. Josephine looked up to greet her, only stopping when she read her lover’s expression, quill freezing mid word on the letter she’d been drafting.
Josephine waited for her to speak, feeling the inquisitor’s fingers playfully caress across her shoulder as she moved to stand behind her, before she leaned over Josephine’s chair, both hands sliding down Josephine's arms before wrapping around her in a hug.
It was awkward, with the chair between them, but the back was short enough that it didn’t impede the embrace too much, and it allowed the inquisitor to tilt her head, pressing a kiss against her cheek.
Then she moved her lips to brush against Josephine’s ear, her hot breath jostling her carefully maintained hair.
“Why are you twisted?” the inquisitor joked, taking the lobe into her teeth and playfully biting it. “I heard that the Opriend family had to sell most of their fleet because you collected on a forgotten debt.”
“Perhaps I did,” Josephine stated rather casually, tilting her head as the inquisitor trailed her lips down Josephine’s neck. “They were long past due.”
“You’ve always given others grace, before,” The inquisitor returned, reaching to cup her chin. Josephine allowed it, meeting her lover’s eyes without any hint of embarrassment. “Did you really exploit their debts just because they wouldn’t shut up about me?”
Of course the inquisitor knew what she’d done, it’s not like she’d tried to hide it. Even if she did, the inquisitor knew her far too well, she would have figured it out eventually.
“They owed me a debt,” Josephine replied. “Whether that debt was one of monetary value or that of honor, whose to say.”
The inquisitor chuckled, moving to kiss her, which Josephine returned eagerly, settling aside the quill entirely, shifting the chair backwards so she could deepen the embrace and turn it into something sweeter.
“You didn’t have to do that for me,” The Inquisitor reminded, “I’ve spent many years fighting far worse than a few rumors about being your preferred whore.” her grin turned devious. “A position I don’t particularly disagree with, mind you, as long as you remember that I’m to be your only whore.”
“You are no whore,” Josephine reached for her hand, intertwining their fingers as she moved to stand, needing her lover to understand. “You are everything to me, and you have fought for me just as I will always fight for you,” she needed the inquisitor to understand just how serious she was. “I would exploit the debts of every family in Antiva if it meant keeping you safe.”
The Inquisitor sighed, like she’d spoken poetry rather than spouting out a violent threat. She leaned in to kiss Josephine once more, and Josephine fell into it, absently wondering if she’d moved the ink well far enough away to not ruin their silks.
She was being serious, though. Josephine had never been considered the most dangerous of the inquisition’s advisors, diplomacy far less flashy than a hidden knife striking through darkness or a heroic sword slashing through a battlefield.
But she could be just as dangerous as anyone else, if she needed to be. She might prefer speaking things out, when possible, but there were fates worse than death, embarrassments too permanent to ever properly return from.
She would use them all if it meant protecting her Inquisitor.