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Rook almost didn’t recognize herself as she stared into the ornamental mirror on the dressing room wall. But that was the point, wasn’t it? An intricate silver mask encrusted with polished sapphires sat heavily across the top of her face, digging into the bridge of her nose and already leaving indents against her forehead. What little of her eyelids were still visible itched from layers of diamond dust and kohl packed tightly over the delicate skin. Their chalky pigment matched the sticky gloss on her lips almost exactly; dark makeup was all the rage in Val Royeaux now that rebuilding efforts after the Sixth Blight were in full swing. It seemed neither gods nor darkspawn could extinguish the Orlesian ability to twist irony into fashion. Nor the absurd propensity to throw a celebratory ball for the new Emperor while the country was still in shambles. She picked at the beaded sleeves of her gown with frustration toward the discomfort of the garment and the situation in general. Very few places in Thedas made Rook feel farther from home than Orlais. And home was the only place she wanted to be.
Some Crows like Teia and Illario thrived in the Game. They were able to blend seamlessly into the elegant danger of the grand charade, cloaking their daggers in silk and hiding poisons behind seductive smiles. Finesse, deception, charm… all essential tools for any successful job in the glittering snakepits of Val Royeaux’s ballrooms, and tools that Rook’s skillset notably lacked. As Varric had been so fond of affectionately reminding her with his nickname, she preferred directness. Viago taught her everything she needed to know about killing from shadowed corners without pomp or circumstance. The de Riva modus operandi was specific and efficient: be quick, be clean, be invisible. If you had to talk your way in or out of a situation, then you had already failed. He held little patience for undercover theatrics, but this job hadn’t come from the Fifth Talon; it came from the First.
It wasn’t the first time Lucanis had passed on a Dellamorte contract to Rook, and though Viago complained about his authority being undermined, all three of them knew it was for the best. They’d never considered how bad for business saving the world would be. There was hardly a single person from Treviso to Minrathous who didn’t know the Veilguard by now, and it worked to the benefit of everyone but her. Emmerich was lecturing at universities all over Thedas, Taash recruited their own battalion of reformed Antaam, and Neve had enough paying clients to almost single-handedly fund the restoration of Dock Town. Even Lucanis could leverage his new public image in favor of the Antivan Crows as a whole if the royal family or government officials let their reach exceed their grasp. Rook, however? Fame had clipped her wings. Her anonymity was stripped away in what felt like overnight, forcing her to lay low for months when all she wanted to do was get back to normal life. She could barely walk through the streets of the Drowned District without someone recognizing her face, making hiding in plain sight impossible. As demoralizing as it felt to take charity cases from her lover, the Dellamorte notoriety made them more likely to land foreign contacts; the only way she could find work for now. And that meant almost all her time was spent away from Antiva… away from Lucanis.
Rook was used to working alone, but after months of fighting side by side for the very existence of humanity, it felt like a part of her was missing now without him. It might have been a swift romance to be sure, but she’d seen every facet of him from best to worst and there was nothing but adoration all the same. They’d talked about it a few times over dinner at the Lighthouse… what life would look like when the gods finally fell. A cozy but luxurious flat not far from Cafe Pietra. Taking on contracts together no one else was crazy enough to attempt. Maybe even a cat, a few years down the line… But now he was leading the whole of the Crows and Rook was in exile yet again. She always made sure to find him on the rare occasion she could sneak back into Treviso between jobs, but the shit work came fast and she couldn’t afford to be choosy.
Lucanis knew better than to ask her to stay.
Rook sighed and gave the poison dipped needle in her cuff one last adjustment to recenter her focus before gathering up the long hem of the dress Teia had lent her. Uncomfortably tight, yes, but also dazzlingly complementary in the way the sharp neckline plunged down the bodice. Layers of intricate embroidery woven through the midnight blue silk directed the eye to the endowments of the wearer and cleverly away from the multiple seams stitched just so to disguise hidden sheaths and pockets thoughtfully sewn into the free-slowing skirt and loose sleeves. Its entire purpose was to kill and kill beautifully; that at least gave her some sense of security as she locked the door behind her and descended the marble staircase into the glistening soiree below.
Châteaux de Ghislain was one of the precious few castles that managed to survive the Siege of Orlais. Its resident Madame de Fer was happy to peddle the “historic proximity to the Inquisitor” point as a benefit for its priority in hosting the first real statused gathering since the Sixth Blight. Anyone with even a modicum of social capital had spent it all to be invited. Rook was shocked by how lavishly gaudy most of the guests managed to look after only a year from near complete destruction. Unlike decades past, however, there was no seasonal trend for the rich and indebted to follow. Each guest seemed to be dressed for an entirely different affair. One and all were clothed in glaringly different colors and cuts in their own scramble to come out on top as polite society’s new trendsetter. Rook plucked a champagne flute from a passing servant’s tray and took a long sip to help wash down her disdain. Petty Orlesian frivolity at its finest. At least Crows had the decency to kill for themselves. But for now, she had a contract to fulfill.
The hit in question was put out on General Arnaud Bellocq. It was actually Neve and the Shadow Dragons who did most of the heavy lifting in terms of compiling a dossier at Rook’s behest. While stripping Venatori captives of every last scrap of information, they’d uncovered that Bellocq had secretly been leaking Ferelden battle plans to Orlesian rebels while still openly leading forces for the late Empress Celene. She didn’t know who in particular was funding a contract on his life at the exorbitant cost of a First House assassin, but it wasn’t surprising that someone with money wanted him dead. Playing both sides during a Blight rarely has a happy ending, after all. Luckily for Rook, there were so few titled officers left alive that it only took a moment or two of pretending to look over the refreshment table to spot him sidling up to some members of the Council of Heralds. She scoffed. As if his flamboyant dress uniform wasn’t enough to set him apart, the stink of his ambition did the rest. Bellocq and the councilors were far enough away that their words were swept off into the sea of chatter, but his posture was that of a man both trying to stand proud and supplicate himself before people who had something he wanted. She was so busy watching him from the corner of her eyes, she almost didn’t notice the man approaching her from her left.
“Enjoying the party?”
“Of course, I-“ Rook instantly replied with a fake laugh, but it died on her lips as soon as she turned to meet his gaze.
Like everyone in the Chateaux, his face was hidden behind a mask, but instead of intricate metalwork or inlays of precious gems he donned a simple pitch black bauta. It was hard to judge the true nature of his form, shrouded in a soft satin cloak as dark and undecorated as his accessory. He looked like a living shadow walking with ease from one silhouette to the next. It set him apart in strict contrast to the opulence of the other guests, but his mysterious air somehow also looked right at home against the backdrop of pretentiousness. With how many attendees dressed in a mad scramble to set the newest fashion trend, his singular sleekness was as unremarkable as the next. His dark eyes, however, were anything but… and she’d recognize them anywhere.
Lucanis.
Rook cleared her throat to cover the shockwave reverberating through her chest. For a moment it felt impossible to breathe. There was no one in the world she’d rather see in this moment than him… and she wasn’t sure whether she wanted to kiss him or slap him.
“You must be very far from home, serrah,” she continued calmly, making sure to lean heavily into her own Marcher accent for the benefit of anyone listening. “That style of mask is quite popular in the north. Did you come all the way here to celebrate the new Emperor?”
Her tone was innocently conversational, but Rook knew he was smart enough to pick up on her real message of why the hell are you here compromising my operation while dressed like an Antivan carnevale character?
“Fortunate timing; I was already in Val Royeaux visiting an old friend.” The cadence of his voice was measurably shifted to deflect from his identity; uncomfortably alien to Rook’s ears. “But I think you dropped this on the stairs, signora.”
Lucanis handed her an ornate coin purse, his gloved fingers lingering ever so slightly against her palm before giving a small bow and re-vanishing into the crowd as stealthily as he appeared. Professionalism and sentimentality wrestled in Rook’s head like two lions fighting for the same piece of meat. She wanted to reach out and catch his hand, to throw her arms around him, to cry how much it pained her to be apart for so long. But he was playing one of the oldest tricks in the book for passing messages between Crows, bards, and spies alike. Whatever was inside had to be essential, especially if he was willing to come all this way. She opened the main compartment as if to verify all her money was still accounted for and sure enough found a small slip of paper buried at the bottom of several gold crowns. Scribbled hastily in an old de Riva cipher read ‘House of Repose. Three. Eyes on you.”
Rook quickly tucked the pouch away into one of her pockets and did a swift scan of the ballroom. She’d never dealt with the House of Repose directly, but every Crow knew them by reputation: Orlais’ subpar assassins’ league with a distaste for their countrymen outsourcing murder-for-hire needs to foreign guilds. It wasn’t uncommon for their enforcers to hunt competition when they caught wind of visiting rivals, and they held a particularly nasty grudge against the Antivan Crows above all others. Many arrogant new initiates found themselves on the tip of a Repose blade when taking their first Orlesian contract. It hadn’t occurred to her that they would be active again so soon after almost total annihilation, but she still didn’t know whether to be touched or insulted at Lucanis’ presence. How many responsibilities did he shirk to drop everything and run to the other side of Thedas for her? And why didn’t he just offer to work the job together in the first place? Rook caught sight of him again, this time inconspicuously standing at one of the ornate sculptures on display like he was admiring the artistry (though she knew his eyes were keenly combing every passing guest for signs of a threat). But she didn’t have time to ponder further as Bellocq took his leave of the councilors with an ostentatious flourish.
She quickly grabbed a few canapes from the table and made her way directly toward the general, bumping his shoulder in just such a way that he himself even believed he was at fault for knocking the expensive meats and cheeses from her hands. At first he grumbled in frustration but as soon as he looked up, the gown did its job exactly as intended.
“Pardonne-moi, mademoiselle,” he apologized, his gaze shamelessly lingering on the teasingly exposed part of her chest. “Forgive my clumsiness. My balance hasn’t quite been the same since battling the Blight.”
Bullshit, Rook thought to herself, but grinned bashfully nonetheless. At least, she hoped so. Teia was so much better at playing these parts and while she’d done her best to absorb some lessons from the Seventh Talon, it still felt unnatural to present as a flirtatious maiden when she’d much rather be back to poisoning warlords in grimy seaside taverns.
“No need to apologize, messere. We owe you a debt none of us can repay after all you sacrificed for Thedas.”
The words tasted sour on her tongue, but they seemed to satisfy Bellocq enough that he gave a sweepingly dramatic bow and offered his hand.
“Perhaps we can start anew with a dance?” he suggested, to which Rook forced herself to giggle softly and accept.
She wasn’t a very good dancer by any means, but the general didn’t seem to notice over his own two left feet. Rook felt more dragged than led as he pulled her around the finely tiled floor in some messily timed steps that might have been mistaken for a waltz. He kept her uncomfortably close, his hand low enough on her hip that if this wasn’t a job she’d break it for being so presumptuous. His breath reeked of imperial wine far more expensive than was being served to the guests, making her wonder just how much the Venatori paid for his forked tongue while Orlesian and Ferelden soldiers were massacred on the information it provided. And on top of everything, Rook could feel watchful eyes heavy upon them. Every few turns she glancingly spotted the edge of a satin black cloak drifting between clusters of guests. The farce of it all was perverse; sharing an intimate moment with a wicked man on the cusp of murder while her beloved watched from afar. All it would take was one prick to Bellocq’s neck from the needle up her sleeve for him to be halted by cardiac arrest within minutes. Over and done with. As she moved to lift her hand upward, however, they were interrupted.
“Forgive me, monsieur. I need a word with your dance partner,” Lucanis asked curtly with that same tailored voice Rook hated.
The other Crow had seemingly apparated from nowhere, and Bellocq stood puzzled as he tried to draw a connection on who would dare to make a request of him.
“My chaperone, appointed by the Margrave,” Rook explained quickly. “His Lordship makes sure all the unmarried ladies of his court travel with escorts during these uncertain times.”
Lucanis nodded once and discreetly swept his cloak aside just enough to show off a singular dagger. Rook threw him a knowing glance out of her periphery. She knew a trademark Dellamorte play when she saw one. There were at least five more hidden on his person he would use before even touching the one on his belt, but now that’s the only one Bellocq (or any watchful Repose assassins) would worry about in a fight. The general looked annoyed, but otherwise placated by the rationale.
“Quite wise of him,” he conceded with an unsubtle cough. “Of course, mademoiselle, you are welcome to find me again if at any point in the night you find your company… lacking.”
Rook forced another candy-sweet smile.
“The pleasure would be all mine.”
The general slunk away, obviously nursing a wound to his pride, allowing her to redirect attention back to Lucanis.
“What are you doing?” she hissed quietly. “I nearly had him and-”
He cut her off by suddenly pulling her tight to his chest and sweeping her around in a grand circle that had a few nearby guests gasping in elated surprise. Unlike the stampede of Bellocq‘s bruteness, Lucanis moved like his feet barely touched the ground. Rook hardly recognized her own movements as he led her in grandiose patterns with a musical geometry all their own. Even the jewel encrusted mask wasn’t enough to hide the shock on her face. Many Crows picked up unexpected talents from blending in on jobs. Teia once learned how to knit while hiding out in a weavers guild in Starkhaven, and Viago could play the harpsichord (with a convincing amount of alcohol) after getting close to a music teacher for the Nevarran royal family. However, this was not the passing proficiency of a few weeks on a contract, but the effortless grace that only came with years of study. Despite the frustration of staying her kill, Rook couldn’t help but feel a temptation to let her focus slip. The ballroom, the music, the gown, the dancing… It was like he’d pulled her from the real world and whisked her away to a fairytale. A lilting voice in her head asked, would it really be so bad to just forget the contract? Forget the House of Repose? Forget the money and the Crows and just spend the night here until the sun comes up?
“The comtesse behind you is four inches taller than she was an hour ago,” Lucanis whispered near her ear, striking Rook with their sobering reality and the stakes that came with it. “I assume Duke Laurent de Ghislain will find the real comtesse’s disrobed body in the garden sometime tomorrow.”
He elegantly spun her around in the other direction so she could get a good look at the woman standing suspiciously close by. Sure enough, Rook noticed the smallest smudge of fresh mud along the chiffon train of her gown.
“Do you think I’ve been made?” she asked through barely parted lips.
“I don’t know for sure, but you either need to get them off your scent or we have to kill them first before making another move for Bellocq.”
“Two Crows, four targets?” Rook shrugged. “It’s going to be a busy night.”
—
Despite the slender dagger in his chest, light still lingered in Bellocq’s eyes when Rook gave him the final shove over the edge of the balcony. She knew the last thing he saw before plummeting into eternal darkness was her smug grin as she whispered My name is Rook de Riva and I have fulfilled this contract just as greater Crows before her. The shocked terror still blooming on his face as he fell warmed something in her heart. The daft bastard hadn’t suspected a thing… he didn’t even have time enough to scream.
“I’d call that a job well done,” she said with a satisfied huff as she dabbed at the layer of sweat that had formed on the back of her neck.
Lucanis followed suit, brushing the last few drops of blood off the balcony ledge with an emblemed handkerchief he’d stolen off one of the Repose assassin’s corpses before hiding them Andraste knows where. He then proceeded to throw it over the edge to land on the general’s now broken body below; the perfect finishing touch for a perfect framing. It was a happy accident to find a calling card they could use to pin the hit on their rivals. The Council of Heralds would squabble amongst themselves for at least a few weeks over the discovery, and if they were lucky the outrage would be strong enough for the Emperor to bring down consequences on the House of Repose itself. After all, it showed little regard for decorum to dare to attack a man whom most of Orlais still considered a war hero. How could the league possibly save precious face?
“I think you’re right,” he agreed and pulled the leather mask up onto his head so Rook could finally see his face for the first time since leaving Treviso several weeks earlier. Her heart nearly skipped a beat. He hadn’t changed, not really, but his beard was a little longer, the shadows under his eyes a bit darker. It was just enough to remind her that time was passing without them together.
“You’re an artist worth your weight in gold, mi amor.”
The balcony wrapped around the entire back half of the chateaux, empty save for a few secluded couples who were too distracted by their own illicit trysts to notice a murder in the far corner that was over in a matter of minutes. At last, the sparsity allowed them a moment to breathe in relative solitude. Without any eyes left upon them, Rook brushed her hand over Lucanis’ cheek and he leaned into her touch with an almost relieved exhale.
“I can’t believe we didn’t think to turn a job into a date sooner,” she chuckled. “And when were you going to tell me you knew how to dance?”
“Is it really that surprising?” he said coyly (knowing damn well it was), and pulled her in by the waist with an intensity that made her breath hitch. “It’s just like swordplay, but without trying to kill your partner.”
Rook laughed, heartily and genuinely, for the first time in weeks.
“So Caterina made sure you could fence and waltz? Sounds like she was trying to make you a perfect assassin and a top prospect.”
He smirked in response while his fingers slowly hiked up the silk of her gown, raising the hem inch by agonizing inch until he could slip a hand along her bare thigh. She leaned her face into his shoulder to help muffle the moan he pulled from her as he trailed his fingers over her skin. The job wasn’t done yet; they still had to make it the rest of the evening without letting anyone find Bellocq’s body before all the guests went home.
“Orlesians leave their balconies open during masked balls for a reason,” he murmured in her ear, taking a few steps forward until her lower back was pressed against the wide stone they had just used to kill a man. “No one would think twice.”
She bit the inside of her lip. He was right, of course. A masquerade in Val Royeaux without secrets, scandals, or sex would be considered a dull affair by the local nobles in attendance. Anyone who wandered out for a breath of fresh air and stumbled upon an entwined couple would be more disappointed that they didn’t find the secluded space first rather than offended by decried indecency. In a way, it was the perfect cover for two assassins trying to hide a crime scene… But they didn’t need an excuse to steal a slice of the evening to themselves, did they? Rook chased the thought of work from her mind as Lucanis eased her up onto the ledge so he could stand flush between her legs. She let her head loll back as he brought his mouth to the tender skin of her neck, reveling in the way he took his time with hungry but unhurried lips. As usual, his proclivitic patience bordered on reverence.
Not a single night went by since leaving Antiva that she hadn’t fallen asleep craving his touch. It was everything from the most innocent way he’d tuck loose strands of hair behind her ear to the salaciously unholy things he did with his mouth in the dead of night. All the pent up waiting, wanting, and pining built higher and higher until it was close to bursting. He methodically worked his way over every inch of exposed skin, following the curve of her throat down to the dip of her sinful neckline until he was on one knee. Lucanis gazed up at her with equal parts affection and desire burning in his eyes. She threw her right leg over his shoulder and he rewarded her with a worshipful kiss to the inside of her thigh. The famous Demon of Vyrantium might not have been a seasoned lover before Rook came into his life, but he was growing bolder with time as he learned what she liked. What he lacked in experience he more than made up for in voracious attentiveness.
“I’ll have to buy you a dress like this when you come back to Treviso,” he said through a heady breath as he pushed the front of her skirt the rest of the way up to her waist.
“Only if you make it worth my while to wear,” Rook smirked back and tossed his mask aside so she could thread her fingers through his hair.
Lucanis was many things, but impatient was not one of them. He moved with maddeningly intentional glaciality as he kissed his way toward the apex of her legs, taking care to let the warmth of his breath caress her skin until she was shivering with want. The striking antithesis to the cool midnight air around them sent goosebumps down her arms. While one hand stayed affixed to her hip, the other came to her ankle that was still hanging free. His fingers moved in a honey smooth trail up her calf somehow even more slowly, even more light touched, than his lips. If Rook closed her eyes, she could almost convince herself it was imagined; a memory, a wish, or a promise. She had to bite back an eager whimper when they reached the top of her thigh only to halt completely.
“You’re a tease,” she whined, digging her heel into his back, but her desperation only made him laugh softly with self-satisfaction.
“And you are radiant, amorcita. Be patient.”
Rook let out a sharp gasp as he finally pulled the silk of her lingerie aside to delicately graze his tongue over her clit. It was a small motion, barely more than a single swipe, but that was all it took for her whole body to flood with magmatic need.
“Please,” she pleaded.
He could have made her go on if he wanted to, left her achingly alone until she begged, but she felt from the way his hand still clung tightly to her hip that he longed for her as much as she did for him. Rook was obstinate but not blind; her absence was taking its toll on him as well. He relented to both their desires and dove headlong into laving over her with long, sincere laps as if relearning every curve and crease he’d gone too long without tasting. She moaned recklessly and without regard for anyone who might be close enough to hear, letting the needy sound release into the night sky overhead. Lucanis hummed contentedly at her response and let it spur him onward. But he still remained a paragon of patience; determined yet unrushed. Fucking on a job was usually a quick affair. Whether seducing a target or just letting off steam to ease the pressure, Crows rarely had the privilege of time. Yet Lucanis moved like he had all the time in the world, easing Rook into a simmering pleasure rather than a rolling boil. They might as well have been tucked away in some romantic corner of The Diamond with the indulgent pace at which he swirled his tongue.
Tears pricked the corners of her eyes from the overwhelming relief of once again returning to their familiar sanctuary. Despite being hundreds of miles from Treviso, she felt home again. Safe again. For a few moments, everything else seemed to vanish in the evening breeze. Orlais, the Blight, the bodies, the contract, all melted away like a distant memory. Nothing existed beyond the precarious balcony ledge Lucanis kept her balanced upon even as he continued to devotedly coax her toward unraveling around him. Rook forced herself to take deep breaths, to not gasp like she was drowning despite every lick and curl flooding her with a delectation that threatened to swallow her whole. She allowed her eyelids to lull closed and imagined they were back in his study at Villa Dellamorte, her propped up on his desk while he worshipped her into beautiful oblivion after a long day. He felt perfect then and he felt perfect now. She carded her fingers through his hair, giving a reassuring tug at the roots that yes, fuck, I want you to pull me apart.
All of a sudden, the sensation around her center shifted from comfortably warm to shockingly cool, jerking her back from her fantasy. Almost as if by magic….
“Spite,” Rook groaned as his pace quickly jumped to an intensity she wasn’t prepared for. “Not right now; you’re interrupting.”
She looked down to be met by the intense violet glow of demonic eyes glistening with a prideful mischief.
“Why not?” he argued, replacing his tongue with a ministrating hand so he could keep edging her forward while he talked back. “We both missed you. It’s right. To share!”
“Later… I… I promise…”
Rook bargained to the best of her ability although struggling to maintain any sense of composure as Spite eagerly worked her over with his thumb. She bit down on her lip to keep an errant moan at bay, trying not to cave to his usurpation, but the almost laughable attempt seemed to only grow his appetite. He was just as astute as his host when it came to studying her pleasure, taking to heart every whimper, whine, and gasp they earned from her body. However, where Lucanis masterfully wielded restraint like a knife, Spite dove headlong into his genesis of Determination. She was a race to him and her climaxes the prize. The demon effortlessly slid two fingers inside her without skipping a beat of his rhythm and Rook couldn’t be surprised by how easily her body accepted them. It’d been craving him, craving them. There was no Lucanis without Spite now, and he reminded her as much with the unrelenting speed of his hand. Her mind clouded in a blissful haze and she found herself rocking to meet his thrusts as he pulled her closer and closer to imploding like a dying star. Almost without thinking, she yanked forward on the fistful of hair still in her grasp and wrapped her free leg around his other shoulder. Spite let out a pleased purr as he was once again granted the access he so desperately desired
“You get… five minutes…” she panted in concession, now shamelessly rolling her hips against his face with unbridled force.
He accepted the challenge and wrapped his other arm around her waist to pull her as close as possible despite already being wound tightly under her knees. At no point did he let the shift in position distract him from his pursuits. Rook felt surges of elation pulse through the tips of her ears with every insatiable lap from Spite as he played her body like an instrument. Indelicate as they were, his fingers knew just which strings to pluck to pull a mellisonant keen from under her bit lip. His mouth worked in tandem to devour her with an urgency that could not have been more antithetical to Lucanis’ decadent affections. He couldn’t talk to her the way she knew he wished he could, but this was his romance nonetheless; his way of driving home he cared about her absence just as much as the First Talon did. Fervent and faster still with an increasingly desirous tempo that made Rook’s chest heave with effort to keep from crying out. Then the crescendo hit her all at once, racking her body with an ecstatic force she wasn’t prepared for so soon or so intensely. She would have tumbled off the balcony ledge to join their victim below if not for Spite still clutching her so closely to wring out every last drop of pleasure her orgasm had to offer. Finally on the cusp of torturous overstimulation, Rook collapsed forward with a choked gasp to which Spite finally pulled back enough to catch her in an protective embrace before she could fall.
Their demon at his easiest was a petulant passenger and at his most difficult a force to be reckoned with. He loved Rook much the same, fiercely with passion, often too excited at the prospect of being ‘alone’ with her to take time for softness. But the way he held her now was gentle, like cradling a fine piece of glasswork with care. If she didn’t know any better, she could almost mistake him for Lucanis again. He trailed his still damp hand over the nape of her neck in soothing circles as she drifted down from her adrenaline precipice. She wondered where this newfound sweetness came from, but couldn’t bring herself to risk ruining the moment by asking.
“You’re gone too much. Makes us. Miserable.” he said as he leaned in further to nuzzle against her ear.
“I know,” Rook sighed, still catching her breath . “But it’s just for now. I won’t have to keep running off forever.”
The reassurance seemed to fail to appease his displeasure and he groaned poutingly (as they had all become accustomed to at this point). While it was true he was making great strides in human behavior, his emotional regulation still had an excess of room for improvement. All the same, he simmered down as she wordlessly raised an eyebrow in admonishment.
“Still want. Lucanis back?” Spite asked with an obvious hope that she might say no.
Rook couldn’t help but chuckle at his optimism.
“Yes, Spite, I still want him back.”
The demon made a show of his disappointed grumble, but gave a playfully possessive bite on her earlobe before the opaque purple light vanished from their eyes. Lucanis, now fully himself once more, used the hand Spite left at her neck to tilt her chin up so he could lock his gaze with hers again. A sullen smile hung heavily on his face.
“He’s right, Rook,” Lucanis said. “Forget about the contracts and just stay in Treviso for a while. Think of it as a chance to rest, not a punishment.”
She sighed again as dejection began to eat away at her serenity of her afterglow. From the day Viago threw her out after her fuck up with the Antaam, it felt as if she was forced into every role she never asked to be: rebel, protector, peacekeeper, regulator, motivator, leader, hero. Saving the damn world and everything that went with it was all the result of a necessity Varric left in her lap; not because she felt some higher calling in her heart and certainly not because she was the best person for the job. Rook didn’t regret the part she played in the Veilguard, but she also didn’t want that life anymore. She wanted to live and die as a Crow again, no matter what. She deserved that choice after everything they’d been through. The Evanuris had already taken so much from her; she wasn’t about to let them take her identity too.
“You know I can’t settle down until work in Antiva is steady again,” she insisted, though the pain creeping through his face broke her heart. “I love you, Lucanis, and no distance will ever stop me from loving you. Can’t that just be enough tonight?”
He nodded, knowing better than to press the issue any further, but that didn’t undo the knot of guilt taking root in her throat. Still, he turned his gaze soft again.
“I still need to convince you to let me buy you this dress,” he murmured with a seduction she hadn’t heard since the night he almost kissed her in the Lighthouse.
A shutter of arousal rippled down her spine. Even a year and a half later she could still viscerally recall just how much she craved him in that moment before he walked away. She leaned in to kiss him now, to seize his lips the way she should have then, but just like before he pulled away. This time, however, he brought her with him down from the balcony ledge and spun her around by the hips until her back was flush against his chest. She held her breath as his dexterously trained fingers untied the back of her mask to send it clattering to the stonework floor, swiftly followed by her hair pin. It was his turn to snake a hand into her freshly freed tresses and the tightness of his grip tingled her scalp.
“Fuck, Lucanis,” she hissed just above a whisper and didn’t resist when he gently but assertively pressed her downward until her elbows rested on the railing.
For what little it was worth, the view was beautiful. The tendrils of Blight that once engulfed the countryside of Orlais had been almost completely hacked away from the acres of garden surrounding the Ghislain estate. It was nowhere near the grandiose ecosystems the wealthy nobles all competed to outshine the next with, but the young rose bushes taking root in blood-soaked soil still blossomed with hope for a new beginning. However, the flowers swiftly became the last thing on her mind as she felt the long train of Teia’s gown being rolled up to her waist. The cool night air that drafted against her freshly exposed legs was quickly chased away by the drape of Lucanis’ cloak. The feel of his knees nudging her legs apart prompted her head to turn on instinct, but the hand in her hair held her still.
“Confía en mí, cariño,” he murmured and Rook shivered again.
She did trust him; maybe more than she trusted anyone. He once told her all he knew was death, but it was her life she entrusted to him night after night. Any number of Crows would kill her on principle alone for letting her guard down so low on a job. But Lucanis simply gave her a sincere kiss on the shoulder before lining up his hips to sink deeply into her. The air fled from Rook’s lungs as stars danced in front of her eyes, body still soft and sensitive from Spite’s eager affections. The groaned sigh that cut through Lucanis’ lips as he hilted to his deepest sent a flush across her cheeks. Rook wanted to look at him, to see the fervor in his face and know it was because of her, but when she tried he only dug his grip tighter into her hair. Not painfully or forcefully, just a reminder. Right. Trust. She arched lightly into her position and fixed her eyes on the midnight horizon until her beloved seemed satisfied with her complacency. Only when she relaxed completely did he begin to move in long, steady strokes that made them both moan.
“I’ve missed you,” he said raggedly, like it took all the effort in the world to not just lose himself to her on the spot. “We’ve missed you.”
I know, and I’m sorry, and I just want to come home, but I can’t. You know I can’t. But fuck, I want to. The words struggled to take form on her tongue but before they could, Lucanis’ thrusts became faster, more shallow and urgent. Rook could feel the longing in them, the same that pulled at her heart alone at night, and the heat in her core responded in kind.
“Don’t stop,” was all that came out instead, the demand dripping with an edged desperation that could make a Rialto whore blush.
All that restraint and self-control holding him together began to melt away with each passing moment. Rook had seen him maintain resolve to the very end, hold fast for however long it took for her to be more than satisfied, but his discipline was slipping. She could feel it in the sudden jerking pull of her hair, hear it in his loudening groans. Antivan obscenities too rushed and quiet for her to understand began flowing from behind his gritted teeth. A smile pulled at the corners of her mouth. Good. Lucanis spent so much time pleasing her. Worrying about her. Thinking of her. After all she put him through from the day they met and every piece of hell thereafter, he deserved to just let go. Rook rocked backwards to meet him, matching his pace, and he finally released her hair to clamp both his hands down on her shoulders with a crushing grip. She might have startled from the force under other circumstances, but the slight pain only made her more excited. He so often worshipped Rook like he was hers… now he fucked her like she was his.
“Rook, I can’t-“ he started in a strangled breath, but she cut him off before he could object.
“Quiero que te corras,” she interrupted in her broken Antivan. “For me, querido.”
Lucanis suddenly pulled her up from the balcony ledge and clutched her to his chest, biting into her neck to stifle a primal cry. Rook felt every taut muscle in his arms flex before one final thrust expelled weeks worth of his aching tension. They both paused for a few breaths, panting together and lingering in a shared rushing heartbeat. She could have stayed there for hours; wrapped tightly in his arms and enjoying the last few moments of fullness. But once their chests stopped heaving, Lucanis pulled away and carefully unrolled the skirt of her gown back to her ankles. Rook let out a sharp whine at his absence, now left with nothing but the still warm release dripping between her thighs. Fuck, if I ruin this dress Teia will stab me. Lucanis noticed her worry and smirked.
“I’ll take care of it, mi amor,” he assured and bent down to pick up her mask from the stonework.
Rook tried to take it, but he tied the glittering metal back on himself, making sure the ribbon sat under her hair despite it now being a tangled mess. Well reasoned, of course. Nothing like the telltale signs of a tryst to sell their cover (if it could even be called that anymore). His fingers lingered on the knot as he leaned forward to rest his forehead against hers with a tenderness that was soft even for his most romantic endeavors.
“I have business back in Treviso.” His voice was reregulated back to normal but begrudging regret dimmed his eyes. “Please take care of yourself, Rook. For us.”
She nodded, afraid of what would come out of her mouth or how many tears would flow if she tried to speak, and threw her arms around his neck in a tight embrace. He hugged her back, at first like he could never let her go, but then eased out of her grasp as if he already knew she didn’t have the strength left to do it herself. Lucanis gave her one more painfully brief kiss before resecuring his own mask. Rook closed her eyes, unable to bear the weight of seeing him walk away, and he mercifully vanished by the time she opened them again. It took a few minutes of deep breathing to fight back the urge to collapse with misery. This was her choice, and she needed to stand by it without caving to self-pity. They’d saved the world against blighted dragons and fucking gods… it’d take a lot more than a few months apart to break two Crows in love. Even if it hurt like hell.
Guests started to wander out of the chateaux by the time Rook pulled herself together. The faintest grey light that preceded a sunrise began to paint the eastern horizon. The party was finally over and no one was the wiser to the acclaimed general and three House of Repose assassins lying to rot beneath the balcony. The groundskeeper would find them in an hour or two, along with the robbed and murdered comtesse somewhere else in the garden. A quintuple bloodbath at the Emperor’s celebration would be the talk of Orlais for weeks. Maybe even make the papers. The thought put an extra lightness in her step as she filtered out with the few remaining attendees. Despite everything else, she could go back to her rented room in Val Royeaux knowing she was still herself, still good at what she does, and drift off to a well earned sleep dreaming of another dance with Lucanis.
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