[i]13th of Sun’s Dawn, early afternoon
Jehanna, High Rock[/i]

Having followed the directions that Raelynn had provided two days earlier, Gregor stepped into the tailor’s store with a relieved sigh. He had put off the collection of his clothes until the day of the event and had been beset by the fear that he wouldn’t find the shop in time as he wandered through the streets of Jehanna and gotten lost repeatedly. Fortunately, his sense of direction and persistence had prevailed over the winding, labyrinthine city in time and his fear had been unfounded. While his eyes acclimatized to the gentle gloom inside the store he wondered, why had he been so anxious? It was unlike him not to have confidence in himself. 

Unbidden, the image of Raelynn leaning onto his chair and staring into his eyes leapt back into his mind. 

“Mister Mercurius, I presume?” came a voice from the back. 

Gregor cleared his throat and blinked, willing his eyes to adapt faster. “Yes, that’s me.” 

He stepped out of the pool of sunlight that fell onto the floor through the storefront windows and into an aisle flanked by two racks of coats. The musty smell that came inherently with having a place so full of clothes was dueling for dominance with a much more pleasant, flowery fragrance, and Gregor saw pots with woodsticks spaced every so often between the racks. It was a classy establishment, of course, and every measure was taken to make the shopping experience pleasant for its patrons. Gregor tried to imagine Raelynn here, picking out her own clothes, and found it easy when he happened upon the dresses. His eyes followed the layout of the place and she moved in front of him, a silent phantom, with her back turned and her long hair swaying with her movements, fingers brushing over the fabric of the clothes on display. The shuffling sounds of someone behind him made him turn back around and he saw the old and dignified form of the tailor take shape in the half-light -- real and tangible. 

“I expected you earlier,” the tailor said, regarding Gregor levelly over the rim of his half-moon spectacles, with a taciturn manner of speaking that suggested that he was almost reprimanding him. 

Gregor smiled and tried not to take offense. “My apologies, sir. I was indisposed until now.” 

The older man merely harrumphed under his breath at that and beckoned for Gregor to follow him. They stepped deeper into the store into the tailor’s workshop and Gregor was directed to lose his coat and armor. A wry smile came to Gregor’s lips. Would he be forced to undress in every interaction he had with Raelynn or her business? But he did as he was asked and waited patiently while his measurements were taken. He had known several tailors throughout his life and he was used to being chatted up while they were at work, but this Breton seemed to have no interest in conversation. Maybe that was why Raelynn preferred him. She didn’t seem like the type to suffer idle ta;l or fools gladly. 

When the tailor was done he straightened up and looked Gregor in the eyes. “Considering the formal nature of the event, sir, I recommend a simple black suit and coat over white. Stylish, elegant and timeless,” he said and it was only because he fell silent that Gregor realized it was his turn to speak. 

“That sounds fine,” he said. Black suited him and it was definitely the safe option. 

“Very good. Follow me.” 

The collection of black suits, coats and white shirts was remarkable and Gregor was bemused as he gazed over the rack. The only variations were slight, in the color of the trim or the height of the collar and so on, but it was clear that the Bretons were firm believers in the fact that the devil was in the details. Gregor approached while the tailor waited in silence and inspected each ensemble in turn. Truly, he could not tell much difference between. Any one of them would do. Aware of the old Breton’s gaze on the back of his head, Gregor picked one of the outfits and held it up against him for the tailor to inspect. 

“A fine choice,” he said flatly, stepping forward to fluff up the cravat and straighten the large opal that was attached to the fasteners of the coat. Gregor had the feeling that the tailor would have said the same about any of the other outfits but he wisely kept his mouth shut. The Breton took the ensemble from him and returned to his workshop, giving no indication as to when the necessary adjustments would be finished. Gregor didn’t feel like asking. 

He found a chair near the front door that was obviously meant for patrons to wait in and he sat down gingerly, his own overcoat and armor draped over his arm. There was a severity and saturnine silence to the store that Gregor was unfamiliar with -- Imperials were a more lively bunch, and the Nibenese in particular, than these castle-dwelling Bretons. With nothing better to do, he closed his eyes for a moment and began to count… 

“Mister Mercurius?” 

Gregor opened his eyes and blinked a few times, feeling himself unexpectedly rise from the depths of sleep. Had he really needed a nap, or was it just the atmosphere of the place that had seen him doze off? He looked up at the tailor’s face and smiled apologetically. The tailor sighed and handed the ensemble to him. Gregor noticed that it included new boots as well and he held them up against the light with a frown. 

“What’s wrong with my boots?” he asked and raised one of his feet off the floor so that they could both look at the boot. 

The tailor didn’t answer for a few seconds, perhaps hoping that Gregor had been joking. “They’re not new,” he said at length, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

“Ah,” Gregor said and nodded to himself. So it was [i]that[/i] kind of affair. The type that everyone would be wearing brand new attire for. Well, so be it. 

He tried the clothes on and found that they fit him extremely well, so he thanked the tailor with sincere gratitude, which elicited the first smile, albeit small, from him that Gregor had seen. The Imperial admired himself in a floor-length mirror for a moment, turning this way and that, and even he had to admit that he looked very, very dashing. He decided to keep the outfit on so that he could break in the boots a little and left the store with a spring in his step. 

This was going to be easy. 

[hr]

Back in the bay window of her suite at The Long Well, Raelynn stared wistfully across the ocean - clear blue with the chalk white lines of the waves dancing. Her slender fingers toyed with the petals of the lillies in their crystalline vase. Soft and delicate, held up pretty and proper. As her eyes moved between the ocean and the flowers, she discovered on one of those petals, a tiny brown stain. Where the petal had moved and perhaps creased in a breeze. It was spoilt. 

She reached for it, removing it from the vase with a frown before placing it on the sideboard, looking over her shoulder to Shona, who was busy polishing a pair of earrings at a table. “Are you done with those?” Raelynn asked quietly, glancing down upon the plain looking girl. Her mouse brown hair fastened into a single, styless ponytail, her clothing a simple tunic and tights. Shona nodded. “Very good, help me to dress, please.”

The two worked together, first, Raelynn bathed — lavender, rose petals, and an oil were added to the water. Shona sat behind her on a low stool, combing through her ashen hair with great care while Raelynn ran a towelette across her skin. As she squeezed the water out over her forearm, she thought briefly of Gregor — of the cut she toyed with on his own arm. A smile briefly flickered over her lips. How would he be today? How well would he perform at his task? She realised in that moment she was half-excited to find out the answer to that question, and half-excited over the potential for the meeting to be a resounding success…

Shona had worked all through the day in preparing every element of Raelynn’s outfit. From polishing each piece of jewellery, to ensuring that there were no clicks or faults in her dress of gloves. She’d even taken the Lady’s shoes to be re-heeled. Everything was deliberate, everything had to be perfect — to the finest detail indeed, like the exact application of her perfume.

Raelynn stood, in just her underwear behind the partition as Shona fetched the dress. The Breton eyed her form in the mirror as it was, lingerie was not cheap, she thought to herself. Men never really understood it, how much attention women paid to their appearance. The lengths they went to. She smirked again, running a finger across the material of the thong - how it was as close enough to the colour of her skin as it could be. 

“My guest, Mr Mercurius,” she said to Shona as the girl brought the dress around the corner on it’s hanger. “Do you think he’ll like this dress?” She turned her head to meet the brown eyes of her maid. Shona simply nodded with a smile, a knowing smile. She may not have been able to speak, but she could certainly express language through her chocolate eyes and her dimpled smile. “Good.” Raelynn said to her reflection, as she stepped into it.

Shona had only one button left to fasten on the back when there was a knock at the door, Raelynn’s head jolted towards it - she hadn’t actually expected him to be exactly on time. Still, she’d make him wait just as long as she felt to, eyeing herself up in the dress once more as she felt the cinch of the fabric when the last button was fastened. “Go to the door,” she commanded Shona, giving her a light nudge too.

She remained behind the partition, admiring herself. It was a simple gown. Champagne silk to the floor, exotic feathers strewn from  just below the knee to the hem in a lighter hue. A provocative deep v across the chest, and she wore no necklace - only a pair of ruby drop earrings - her hair up and away from her face, save for select strands.

Once again, her lips were painted in a deep red, and the last touch to finish her outfit for the evening was a pair of dress gloves. Black velvet, and to the elbow. She felt so elegant and refined, and didn’t come out from behind the partition - even when she heard the sound of a man’s footsteps on the floor in the suite.

She took her time, there was a single hair out of place and it wasn’t until it was fixed that she made her way to the centre of the room, her expression stoic - despite the sudden twinge of nervousness she felt that she couldn’t quite place. Raelynn was never nervous. It wasn’t until she met the dark gaze of her guest that she found a clue as to why. 

After bidding Shona a good day with a respectful nod and a small smile, Gregor had taken up position in the middle of the room while he waited for Raelynn to reveal herself and found himself staring out of the window and unto the sea that lay beyond. His hands were clasped behind his back, which was ramrod straight, his shoulders broad and positively regal in his new handsome black coat. A white cravat over a white dress shirt completed the look of his torso, while his black felt trousers were tucked into his knee-high leather boots, polished to perfection and featuring a dignified elevated heels. He, too, wore black gloves, the contrast with his rings making them shine even more than usual, and his single earring caught the silver light that filtered into the room while his face was turned towards the window. 

Raelynn’s appearance immediately demanded his attention, however, and he looked at her with every intention of curtsying and asking her if she was well. But he found himself frozen to the spot, his dark eyes locked with her own bright orbs for a moment before they, despite his better judgement, wandered down her body and back up again, drinking in the incomparable sight of the Breton woman in full regalia. His expression was unreadable but his heart immediately started beating faster again, and he pinched himself in the fingers behind his back. [i]Get it together.[/i] 

“My lady,” he said after he broke free of her spell and dropped into the well-practiced curtsey after all. “You look absolutely radiant. Are you well?” 

She did not answer immediately, but gave him a polite smile for the compliment. Instead of words, she walked a semi-circle around him, flagrantly observing him from head to toe before nodding. “I am. My tailor did a good job, I hope the clothes are comfortable for you.” Raelynn had walked past him now, and moved to her desk where an envelope had been placed. 

He felt a bit like a piece of cattle being observed at the markets when Raelynn circled him, but he supposed it couldn’t be helped. He had a role to play tonight and she had to make sure that his looks were up to snuff. Gregor nodded with a half-smile on his lips. “Very comfortable, thank you. I can trust that this means I have met your standards of refinement?” he asked; an innocent enough question, but there was something playfully defiant about the way he asked it. His eyes sparked like dark fire opals. 

“You do,” she answered, casting a long glance back at him - catching the glint in his eye. The sparkle of his jewelry added a touch to him that she enjoyed too, and she let him see a glimpse of a more alluring smile. “Tell me, do you have good sea legs?” she asked, pacing towards him with the envelope held between her fingers.

That smile was more like it and Gregor stood down a little, satisfied that he had evoked a response -- however small -- that pierced through her veil of stoicism. He didn't know why and he didn't want to think about why, but he felt a simmering urge to push back a little against her control instead of entirely meekly being led along like a lamb to the slaughter. "Steady enough," he replied, not very surprised by the question. She'd already mentioned in their first meeting that the affair tonight might not take place on land. "As long as we don't sail straight into a storm tonight…" 

"We won't even set sail… It's all for show." Raelynn said, once again inspecting him. Her cold eyes narrowed and she brought herself closer to him, something wasn't quite right and she wasn't afraid to correct it. The Breton brought her hand slowly to his face, slipping a finger through his hairline to pull a particular strand free. She gently pulled at it, winding it around her finger before letting it go, a slight wave in it now. It gave him something of a darker edge immediately. "There now, that's perfect…"

When her fingers grazed his scalp Gregor felt a tingle run down his spine and the hairs of his forearms stand on end, as if he had been touched by electrical static. While she was busy with the strand of hair, his gaze wandered down her plunging neckline, and when she spoke he averted his gaze to inspect himself in the windowpane's reflection. "Do you desire to make a rogue out of me, my lady?" he asked, looking back at her eyes, his voice a deep murmur. 

That elicited a slow and impressed chuckle from her, he was quick. The evening was shaping up to be less of a dull affair already, "sometimes I enjoy the things that are rough around the edges…" she whispered, leaning slightly closer to him for a split second before she moved to the doorway without warning. Her heels echoed on the floorboards, and Raelynn took a look at Shona who was waiting for her dismissal. "Ensure the room is clean, and then you're free for the evening, and I'll see you tomorrow morning, alright?" 

The maid nodded and smiled - as always, then Raelynn turned back to Gregor, "it's time to leave," and held out her arm expectantly. 

His eyes followed her as she turned away from him, admiring the things the silk dress did for her body. Another tingle ran down his spine. What was it about this woman that affected him so? Her sheer beauty was one factor, of course, but he had known plenty of very beautiful women since his marriage and none had incited such feelings in him -- as if an electrical current ran through his bones. He settled on biting the inside of his lower lip and flexed his hands a few times to ground himself. 

When he stepped up to join Raelynn by the door he showed no outward signs of his inner disturbance and he hooked his arm into hers smoothly. “A ship in the harbor, then?” he asked, though it was mostly a rhetorical question. It couldn’t really be anything else. It was more so an invitation for Raelynn to share more information about their destination. He figured she was someone that always played her cards close to the chest and that wouldn’t divulge things without a little prodding. 

Now seemed as good a time as any to debrief him on her plan. As the two walked and made it out of The Long Well, they were greeted by the fresh sea air, and the violet sky of dusk. The sun would be setting soon, and Raelynn thought about how it would be nice to see it from a ship, instead of from indoors, and nice to see it with somebody…

"The Morning Star. It's claimed to be the fastest ship in all of High Rock," she began, taking in a deep breath of the air and savouring it mid sentence before exhaling. "I want to meet with the owner of the Morning Star tonight. He's a redguard named Razul, and I want him to allow me to courier my goods on his ship… He has a reputation as being a ruthless womaniser and that's part of the reason you're with me and I'm not attending this alone." Raelynn turned to look at her companion, struck by the way he looked in the fading sun. "Are you comfortable with this?" She asked, paying close attention to how he would react - for the most part, Gregor had kept a level composure that was difficult even for her to judge. It only made him all the more mysterious to her, that he was so unreadable. 

"I see," Gregor said. The implications were evident to him immediately. "My presence is not just required as a formality but as an active deterrent against his advances. Therefore, it is important that it is believably conveyed in my appearance and bearing that you are… not available," he summarised. He thought about this for a moment, then looked Raelynn in the eyes and thought some more. 

Without taking his eyes off hers, Gregor worked his wedding ring off his finger and dropped it in one of the pockets of his coat. "It will be done," he said in the manner of a consummate professional sealing a deal. 

So that ring was not just for show. She practically felt the weight of it falling forever into his pocket. However, Raelynn felt no guilt for what she'd asked of Gregor, she had a job to do and this was the way. "That is correct… Like I said, don't let me drink too much, don't let me stray from your sight…" Instead of the guilt, Raelynn felt her attraction towards the man deepen. He was in a way, forbidden. She didn't like being told she couldn't have something.

There was immediately something that awoke inside of her, and the devilment flashed over her eyes. Gregor was putting on an air of solemnity for himself, but she remembered very clearly the look in his eye -- and the simple way he'd brushed her earring. Even thinking about it now almost had her shudder. Another smirk teased across her full lips as she turned to face the ship ahead of them. "I don't want the people of Jehanna to think I engage in sexual deviancy as a currency for my business," she said, slightly smug about it too. Raelynn did not need to look at Gregor, she knew the image would find its way into his mind. 

She wondered how long it would stay, before another thought occurred to her. “If it’s easier for you this evening, you can always act as someone else… A new name, a new life…”

Since he kept his eyes on hers until she looked away at the ship in front of them, Gregor saw the dark mischief in Raelynn's mind all too clearly. It should have been the final warning sign to back out of the agreement, to go back to his room and find the mithril another way. But he didn't. It was just one night, and he was strong enough to resist for just one night. Or at least that's what he told himself. Not even the image of Raelynn moving naked beneath him, a hot flush on her cheeks, that she conjured in his mind could dissuade him. He ignored the fact that it made his heart skip a beat and then begin to deepen in its thrumming.

"That might be prudent," Gregor replied, already taking precautions so that the events of the night that were about to unfold would not get back to his family, no matter what did or did not happen. "Call me Gregor… Sibassius," he settled on, and his imagination took a page out of the pulp novels he used to read as a young man. "Monster slayer and bounty hunter." A small smirk escaped through his solemn mask. "Not my real trade, but I have enough experience to make it work." 

Raelynn gave thought to the name, and decided that she liked it. That was followed by a feeling of envy that Gregor could do such a thing - be someone else. She didn't have that privilege, not really. "I like that," she responded quietly, her attention slipping away from him the closer they got to the ship. There were many moving parts involved in night, to ensure that she got what she wanted - Razul's signature on paper. 

"We've been courting briefly, it's early days. We met because you did some work for me. You… Procured a painting and I was impressed by your knowledge of the arts, despite your trade as a hunter. You put me in touch with another painter whom you know and things blossomed from there… We have not slept together," she explained - able to craft the story quickly. “I trust that you can keep up with that, Mr [i]Sibassius[/i],” she finished, looking at him once more as a playful expression crossed her countenance.

The thought of having to lie to a ship full of dignitaries was a little daunting, Gregor had to admit, but the way Raelynn looked at him filled him with determination all the same. “Of course, madam Deserine,” he retorted and placed his free hand over Raelynn’s, caressing the back of her hand with his thumb. “I immediately knew I was dealing with a woman of good taste, the way you looked at that Turner piece,” he murmured and, for all the world to see, it looked like there was genuine affection in his eyes. Then he chuckled and returned his hand behind his back, gaze on the ship that loomed in front of them. He briefly wondered what in Oblivion he was getting himself into. 

“See?” she replied in an easy tone, “it’s like you’re a natural.” 

Raelynn didn’t let it show, but that caress did nothing to cool the attraction she felt for him. A heat in her chest that simply filled the space where intimacy had been absent. An appetite she’d been ignoring.

The Breton was grateful to have arrived at the gangway to the Morning Star - the sound of music only just hit her ears, that and the buzz of chatter from the deck. At the top, a young woman stood with a tray of drinks to be collected upon arrival, and Raelynn could already distinguish that the guests had grouped themselves together for their obnoxious small talk, the pretence and embellishing of their achievements. If she could have gotten away with it, she would have rolled her eyes. She took the glass with an obnoxiously polite smile of her own, taking one for Gregor too. It was white wine, sparkling — expensive. “We’ll spend time here, Razul will sniff me out soon enough,” she whispered into his ear as she handed him the glass, passing it off as an affectionate brush with her lips on his neck. 

The spot where Raelynn’s lips had touched him burned hot and Gregor exhaled an imperceptibly shaky breath while he accepted his glass from her, eyes going over the deck of the ship and the people there but taking in nothing. His mind only had eye for the woman on his arm. “Can’t blame him,” Gregor said in a low voice, without thinking. His eyes widened a little when he realized. Not seeing any way he could play it off as a joke, Gregor merely smiled at Raelynn as enigmatically as he could muster -- perhaps she would believe it was just part of his performance. He put the glass to his lips and swallowed what he knew was significantly more than a polite sip. 

Raelynn watched him drink from the glass and raised a brow, “take it easy,” his comment slipped her mind when it became more apparent that he might end up drinking more than he should. There was a slight authority on her tongue that cut through the fervour she’d felt earlier. She still had a job to do, and so did he. “No more sips,” she commanded him as plainly as possible before making her way across the deck. 

From the barrier, an older looking Imperial couple seemed to wave her over, “Lady Deserine,” the gentleman said, his wife side eyeing him, but offering her a smile all the same as she approached.

“Good evening,” she answered, looking over her shoulder to Gregor. “Quentin, Selena... You both look wonderful tonight.” 

Their eyes shifted to Gregor. Selena looking both in surprise and relief, she raised a brow and gave an impressed smile at his form. It wasn’t often she got to eye up other men, and her husband wasn’t exactly [i]subtle[/i] with other women. “And who might you be, Sir?”

Gregor had accepted Raelynn’s reprimand without comment but he felt the same rebellious urge that had welled up in him when she’d been tending to his wounds flare up again. Now was not the time to act on it, however, and he slipped into the role he was to play instead. “Gregor Sibassius, madam,” he answered and lowered his head, turning slightly so that the fading sunlight emphasized the scars on his cheek when he straightened back up. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance.” 

“Sibassius?” Quentin interrupted, thrusting his hand out to shake, “a strong name that one. It’s a pleasure to meet yours…” he smiled, the gap in his front teeth the only thing remarkable about his otherwise plain, and generic appearance. “It’s always nice to be in… [i]our[/i] company from time to time,” he said quietly, alluding of course to the fact they were just about the only Imperials in what seemed like a sea of Bretons. “Lady Deserine, I’m surprised to see you bring a distinguished guest such as Mr Sibassius,” he chortled.

She laughed too, sickened by the fact that she did but keeping up appearances was part of the game, she placed a hand on Quentin’s arm. “Oh, well this seemed as good an event as any to arrive with him.” And then she looked back at Gregor - with an expression filled with absolute warmth and affection. Her eyes aglow with excitement as she placed her hand from Quentin’s arm to Gregor’s. “I’m already just so fond of him, isn’t that right?” she asked Gregor, squeezing his arm flirtatiously. 

The memory of Fjolte’s dismay at not being invited to this event flashed through Gregor’s mind and he bit back the chortle in his throat. The Nord would have been like a fish out of water among these people. Tumbling about with a barmaid in a barn was much more his speed. 

“It is,” Gregor replied, meeting Raelynn’s gaze and summoning the same fondness that she looked up at him with. He found that it came very easily. “You’ve been very sweet to me,” he murmured and brushed against her cheek with his fingers, leaning in a little closer, before expertly playing the part of the man caught being too affectionate with his lover in public and returning his attention back to the Imperials. “And very kind for bringing me along to meet with such wonderful people,” he said with a flourish. “I have recently traveled here from Cyrodiil and I am pleased to report that all is well in the homeland,” Gregor added, playing into the sentiment Quentin displayed. 

“Glad to hear it!” Quentin responded, puffing out his chest with pride. “It’s nice to see you out of your workspace, Raelynn,” he added. “The few instances you emerge from that little cave of yours are so rare. I more often see your Nord running around, actually. Nice young man, yes.”

Selena nodded in agreement, “very polite,” she smirked knowingly. “You are very polite yourself, Gregor,” she added with a smile, holding out her hand for him too. His affection towards Raelynn had left an impression on her, and she couldn’t peel her eyes away from him. 

Sensing an outlet for his defiance and an opportunity to subtly rebuke Raelynn for telling him how much he could or couldn’t drink, Gregor took Selena’s offered hand and kissed it gently. “I can be quite a rascal, truthfully,” he said as he straightened up, “but being in company as elegant as yourself is sufficient motivation for me to behave.” The easy smile he wore widened a little further. Hearing Fjolte mentioned practically by name piqued his interest and, further emboldened, he added: “Fjolte? I had a drink with him just the other day. Lovely fellow, I agree.” He briefly glanced sidelong at Raelynn. “We talked for hours.” 

“The other day you say?” Quentin asked, his brow raising as he brought a hand to his mouth, Selena too looked at him, giving a knowing nod. The man laughed, “I heard from my good friend Claudius only early yesterday that he had discovered Fjolte on his farm, looking worse for wear.” 

Raelynn’s eyes widened and she tilted her head, “oh dear,” she breathed. “I do hope nothing was damaged.” She said, placing her own hand over her mouth - a faux display of concern to mask a feeling of embarrassment at the mention. She felt Gregor’s gaze over her, but she would not give him the satisfaction of looking back.

“Oh, Lady Deserine, quite the opposite. The boy must have passed out drunk in the barn and felt so bad for it the next day that he set to a few hours of farmwork - saved Claudius an entire morning of shifting hay bales. He was very grateful, rest assured,” Quentin laughed.

 “Is that so?” Raelynn asked, feigning a smile too. “Well, I shall be sure to pass that message along. What must you have done to him, Gregor?” she asked, turning to face him now at last with a smile. “I didn’t believe you could be such a rascal,” and she slapped him playfully to finish it.

Sensing that he had pushed the boundary about as far as it could go, Gregor smiled apologetically. “What can I say? I didn’t know that Nords weren’t used to drinking something as strong as Cyrodilic brandy,” he said and winked at Quentin. “I’m sorry, my dear,” he added, turning to Raelynn, and taking her hand in his own. “It won’t happen again.” 

“Oh I shall hope it does,” Selena said with a chuckle, “just send him to collapse in our front yard next time — my rose bushes have needed to be tended to for quite some time.”

Quentin flashed his wife a confused look, to which she looked away and he decided to change the subject; “anyway, yes Lady Deserine — lovely to see you out and about, especially in such nice company and [i]especially[/i] since that business in Wayrest with [i]you-know-who[/i]...” he said, his voice lowering. Even at his side, Selena’s smile dropped and her gaze shifted away from Raelynn.

The Breton’s expression changed and she slowly closed her eyes, back straightening as the affable expression was wiped from her face. “What business would that have been, then?” she asked, her mouth hanging open and her eyes wide with expectation.

Quentin felt the chill immediately and practically recoiled, regretting his choice of topic. Wishing he could undo what he’d said — he had just thought they were having such a nice rapport… “Well, all that. You know, with Sir Gaerford…” he glanced down, having been forced to spit the words out.

Raelynn took a deep breath and her fingers tightened around the stem of her glass. “All overblown rumours,” she clarified bringing a more well-meaning smile to her face, but making it clear she would say no more, and they should ask no more. “Gregor, I’d very much like to watch the sunset from up there,” she said, pointing a finger in the direction of the bow of the ship. 


“Of course, my love,” Gregor said smoothly, picking up the vibe and understanding full well that a nerve had been struck. He bid the Imperials goodbye with a respectful nod and escorted her towards the front without saying a word. Internally, a battle between curiosity, respect and concern was raging. Sir Gaerford? Wayrest? Had he just gotten a glimpse into the dramas of Raelynn’s lovelife? But he kept his tongue and once he had wrestled the initial urge of inquisition into submission, Gregor found himself pondering the implications of the way she’d tensed on his arm and feeling worried about the petite blonde woman. 

“My father once told me a story about an officer’s party he had attended on a boat in the harbor of the Imperial City,” Gregor began, his voice so low and his tone so gentle that only Raelynn could hear. “A lot of important men were in attendance and the evening progressed much as you would expect from such company. Lots of war stories being swapped back and forth. A respectful affair, by all accounts. Until they realized after midnight that they seemed to have lost one of the Legates in attendance. All night they searched the ship and eventually the rest of the harbor but found nothing. Concern grew. A search party of some of the less inebriated men even dove into the water.” He paused for dramatic effect and smiled. “Come the morning, they found the man in the crow’s nest, fast asleep. One of the men had dared him to climb up and down as part of a wager and when he arrived at the top, he found he could not find his footing on the way back down in the darkness.” 

Gregor looked up at the crow’s nest of the Morning Star and laughed quietly. “Imagine that; a man used to sending hundreds of Legionnaires into battle, stuck up there all night while they tore up half the Waterfront looking for him.” 

She half-wanted to ask him the point of the story, to bite at him for it. The residual irritation over her personal life being discussed in the open, but she thought better of it, smiling back at him with a soft laugh of her own that helped her to soften up again. The look of appreciation that she gave him, was it real? Or part of the act? Was she smiling at Gregor Mercurius, or Gregor Sibassius? “You’d be surprised just how often the people in the highest positions are able to make such silly fools of themselves.”

Her arm wrapped tighter around his as they came to the railings of the bow. She let her eyes wander the horizon, the appetite gnawing at her as she observed the beautiful colours and felt the breeze touch her bare shoulders. Raelynn stepped in front of him, placing a hand on the railing, and finally lifting the glass to her lips - taking a sip that rivalled Gregor’s own. “Hold me,” she said, turning her head to her shoulder, but daring not meet his eyes. As if to have the feeling that this was part of the game, she took his hand and placed it around her waist. She wasn’t [i]really[/i] asking, merely directing. 

“Tell me something else, too,” she said. Her eyes on the water. 

He hesitated for a moment, looking down at her with his usual unreadable demeanour. Then he softened a little. Gregor took her in his arms, one arm around her waist where she’d placed it and the other around her shoulders, and the tenderness with which he did so could not be faked. That level of vulnerability drew out a protectiveness in him that would not be denied by sense or reason. 

“When I was a boy, my friends and I would work on the fields outside the city gate in the summer,” Gregor soothed. “It was hard work and we took it seriously. When the day drew to an end the sky would bloom just like this.” He gestured with his fingers to the beautiful display of color that was the sunset. “Without fail, we could hear the farmer’s wife begin cooking up the stew that she made for each of us in their homestead, and we’d spend the last moments of our shift running through the orchard, weaving between the trees, just [i]hucking[/i] apples at each other until she called us for dinner.” He breathed in deeply and sighed, a smile on his lips. “I can still see that sky, hear our laughter and smell that stew on evenings like this.” 

Raelynn pressed back against him just enough so that she could feel the timing of his breaths in his chest push back against her. Her eyes closed at the sound of his voice and she let his words become a picture in her mind. “I used to watch the sunset with my mother,” she whispered back. “No hard work, or apple hucking. We’d just sit on our balcony with tea and fresh strawberries in the late afternoon in summer.” Orchards and scents of stew drifted away, as the idyllic scene of a quiet summer took their place. “She would sew, and I would read.” 

The disappearing sun sent the last of its light to shimmer across the glass in her hand, and she took another sip - slower this time. “You can have another drink,” she told him, bringing them back to where they were. 

Now it was Gregor’s turn to picture the scene that Raelynn painted. It was beautiful too, and told him a bit more about who she was. It suited her, he thought, long evenings with her mother and a good book. Gregor brought his glass up and, feeling much more at ease, took a reasonable sip. He drew slow circles with the tips of his fingers in the small of her back and placed a soft kiss on the top of her head, his mind empty. It was like he had known her for years. “Are you alright now?” he asked, humming the question into her hair. 

A breath caught in her chest, the feeling of his fingers on her back, moving across the thin silk gave her shivers - pleasant and stirring. The kiss, unexpected. “Yes,” she replied truthfully, but straightening her back  and shoulders. Raelynn blinked, as if breaking the momentary spell that he’d cast over her. “I’m fine,” she added with a smile, turning around to face him. She caught his eyes with her own, resisting the temptation to kiss him altogether. Gregor was proving to be more of a distraction to her than she wanted. Her lips pulled into a pout. “Nobles and their gossip, I loathe these events,” she said with a shrug — stepping away, and out of Gregor’s presence. “I’d like another drink,” she said - holding out her glass to him, as if to remind him that underneath their story and their act, this was a business transaction.


Gregor blinked and took the glass from her. “As you wish,” he said, voice and tone back to being neutral, and he turned away from her to search for a waiter with a new glass of wine. With Raelynn out of sight and himself beyond the grasp of her perfume, his wedding ring weighed heavily in his pocket and he was struck by a pang of guilt and regret. “What are you doing?” he whispered to himself, but presented the first waiter he encountered with an affable smile all the same. He finished his own drink as well before exchanging the two empty glasses for full ones and he returned to Raelynn with a repetitive mantra in his head: [i]it’s just business.’[/i] He handed the glass to her with a curt inclination of his head before looking back over the rest of the ship. “I had expected Razul earlier,” he muttered as he settled against the railing next to her, now keeping a little distance between them.  

“He’s over there,” Raelynn answered as she took the glass, her eyes on the large Redguard making his way over the deck. He was dressed flamboyantly. Purple trousers and a white linen shirt, the buttons open to reveal the hair on his chest, his large build the indication that he enjoyed his hedonistic lifestyle. Still, there was something charismatic about him. Raelynn eyed him up from her vantage point, holding her glass as her eyes narrowed. “He’d look better with a beard, don’t you think?” she asked aloud. 

Razul had a round face, and beady yellow eyes that would only stand out more prominently if he had some neat facial hair - styled well. Like Gregor’s perhaps. His actual hairstyle was nothing too exciting either - just a messy afro of thick black hair. It was clear that Razul had the idea that it was only the clothes that made the man, and paid little attention to anything else. Just as she thought it, his serpentine gaze caught hers, and he hunched his shoulders, almost to make himself even bigger - more impressive.

As he approached, he sidelined Gregor entirely, and moved in on the Breton, “Raelynn!” he beamed, holding his arms out, and wrapping them around her, without the foresight to ask permission. She had been expecting it, and as such had already steeled herself against his form as she was suddenly enveloped in it. What she had not expected was the boldness he displayed with his hands. They found their way to her bottom and felt their way around her curves until she expertly turned away. Making it look more like a natural maneuver than a woman escaping a pest. She didn’t appreciate his forward nature, but she didn’t want to embarass him either. 

“Razul,” she answered, waving a hand to Gregor, “I’d like to introduce you to my companion this evening.” She simply wanted to nip his hunger in the bud, and so she placed a gentle hand on Gregor’s elbow to usher him forwards.

Gregor’s eyes narrowed at the sight of Razul’s perceived sense of liberty with Raelynn’s womanly attributes, revolted by the Redguard’s total lack of respect. Not even a very drunk Fjolte would ever be so ungentlemanly. Against all restraint and logic, Gregor kept his mind close to his reserves of magicka, ready to teach Razul a lesson he would never forget at a moment’s notice. But that’s not what Raelynn wanted, of course. 

“Gregor Sibassius, sir,” he dutifully introduced himself and curtsied. He would show the man due respect but he would not shake his hand, and his smile had run far away from his face. “It’s an honour to meet you, and I am impressed by your ship.” That part, at least, was true. Gregor was far from an expert but he wouldn’t be surprised if there was truth to what they said about the Morning Star, judging by the sleekness of its hull and the craftsmanship that went into its smooth, wooden construction. 

“Fastest ship in High Rock,” Razul replied proudly. If there was one thing he enjoyed more than beautiful women, it was people blowing smoke up his arse. “I bet you do like her,” he grinned, slapping a hand on the railing where Raelynn had shared her quiet moment with Gregor. She flinched behind his back, since his attention was now on Gregor. He liked having something over on other men. “She’s a beauty, needs a strong captain too - doubt an Imperial like yourself could take the wheel on her,” he said, sniffing hard and hocking it over the side of the railings and into the water below. “What do you do then?” he asked curiously, and almost aggressively, a so far unimpressed expression on his face. So this was who Raelynn would spend her time with? He could shake him, Razul was sure of that. 

Gregor turned to follow Razul’s hand, his scarred cheek basking in the dusk, before looking back up at the Redguard’s eyes. He saw nothing there but vapid arrogance and stupidity. “I kill monsters,” he said flatly, the loose strand of hair that Raelynn had styled for him casting a long shadow over his face. 

Razul nodded, lips turning to a frown before he glanced at Raelynn. “Does he now? You seen him kill a monster?” he asked, at which point Raelynn rejoined the conversation - sensing something stir within Gregor. 

“As a matter of fact, yes,” she lied, moving to Gregor’s side, the slight trail of fabric of her dress sweeping behind her. “But let’s not get caught up, Razul — you already know why I’m here.” As she spoke, she reached a hand towards the redguard, pulling lint free from his shoulder - her very brief touch seemed to placate him and he turned his attention back to her. “We’ve spoken in the past about me using your ship…” she added, leading him towards that.

He nodded, nostrils flared. “And I keep telling you, no. I can’t take those kind of risks… Transporting your things.” Where Raelynn and Gregor both could manage to be inscrutable, Razul could not, and it was clear there was an awkward fear in his eyes.

Seeing that in his eyes distracted Gregor from his feelings of disgust and he had to resist the urge to look at Raelynn, potentially giving away to Razul that he didn’t know what he was talking about. What was it about Raelynn’s goods that was so dangerous? Gregor stood down from his visibly agitated posture and clasped his hands behind his back, reduced to watching and waiting for the conversation to play out. 

Raelynn wrapped her arm through Gregor’s again, leaning close to him - as if by doing so made her appear as more of a non-threat. “But Razul, it’s just paintings and antiquities. I hope you haven’t been listening to any rumours? You’ve worked with my father and had no troubles, I’m simply another branch of his operation,” she said while wearing a cool countenance. “Gregor here was helping me source some wonderful art, actually. I think it would sell well in Daggerfall. I just want to send it over there.”

She could visibly see the cogs working behind Razul’s eyes so turned her attention to Gregor, running her finger over his cheek affectionately. “Isn’t that right?” she asked him, her eyes wide like a doe - they would look almost innocent if it wasn’t for the fact she was delighting in her own lie.

Mollified by his requirement to play their little game, Gregor allowed himself to relax as Raelynn touched his cheek and he nodded with a smile. “Yes, and you have a very fine eye for it, too,” he concurred, glancing at Razul as he tried to calculate the necessity of an extra push. “My father is an avid collector,” he said to the Redguard by way of explanation, lowering his tone conspiratorially, “and Raelynn here has the same sense for it. I immediately knew I was dealing with a woman of good taste, the way she looked at a Turner piece.” He looked back at her and squeezed her arm. “So I lended her my tracking talents for a more artistic pursuit and, well,” he sighed, “now transportation is the last hurdle.” Gregor finished his yarn with a poignant look in Razul’s direction. 

The captain nodded along, and what had been boredom in his expression turned to interest as Gregor spoke. Raelynn was a shrewd businesswoman, he knew that much. But this Sibassius gentleman had brains of his own. “Yeah I see, I see,” he added - trusting immediately in Gregor and turning away from Raelynn.

She’d counted on it, that men would trust only men. She hated it, it gnawed at her inside that she’d lowered herself to this, but it still meant her goals would be met, and the fact that Razul had softened made her relax — even amongst the anger. Once again, she looked up into Gregor’s eyes, knowing she had to continue to butter him up too, lest he suddenly lose his nerve. “You know how much I love it when you say those things about me,” she flirted, biting her lip and teasing a finger down his neck. “It’s so hard to find a man with that eye too,” she purred. “Don’t forget that you stopped me from overlooking that beautiful painting of an orchard… With the workers running through it…”

"Ah, yes, like a scene straight from my childhood," the Imperial mused, expertly staring into the middle distance. Now that he felt like they were on a roll he was starting to enjoy himself. 

"These paintings are that valuable, Gregor?" Razul asked with a raised brow.

"Hm? Well, yes, to the right buyer," Gregor replied and focused his gaze back on Razul. He was about to exhaust all he knew about the art trade -- it was his mother that had had a passing interest in art, not his father -- on top of a heaping of improvisation, and he dearly hoped that it would be the final nail in the coffin for Razul's reticence. "Usually it's a matter of staying aware of which young artist, or rediscovered master of old, has the nobility's favour, but then you're truthfully already behind the curve. The real money is to be made in guiding the nobility's favour. That's where Raelynn's collection comes in. Sourced from all over the Empire, from artists that have had mild to moderate success in their own circles. Find the right patron of arts in Daggerfall, sell him on the qualities of the pieces, overlooked by less insightful collectors elsewhere…" 

He let the train of thought hang in the air for a moment. "Collectors all copy each other, you know. When one has decided that an artist is favourable and the work has clearly identifiable artistic merit, they'll all want one." He leaned forwards and went in for the kill. "Guess who owns the entire supply on this side of the Niben?"  

Razul regarded him for a moment longer, holding his breath as he glanced between Gregor and Raelynn. He felt a small sense of admiration for the man. No wonder that he could have a woman like Raelynn Deserine in his arm - he was smart and charming. The redguard observed the way that she looked at him, the way that his words clearly impressed her too. The way that she bit down on her lip spoke volumes to Razul about how she desired Gregor. 

On her side, what Razul had seen was true, she did feel that the veneer slipped and that feeling returned. His words, and the way he actually seemed to know what he was talking about. Gregor was full of surprises.

"Tell me then," Razul said finally. "Keep talking, no wait," he mumbled, waving over a waiter with more drinks. He turned his nose up at the offerings. "Pisswater…" he scoffed, "Gregor-" he said, a new respect for the man that only the promise of septims could bring. "I have something better below deck. Stros M'kai rum and ginger wine. I'd like the two of you to come down… We can finish this conversation there." 

“It would be our pleasure,” Gregor replied, seizing the initiative in the knowledge that Razul wanted to hear it from him and not from Raelynn. His distaste for the Redguard continued to grow, and he was simultaneously glad that he could be a vehicle for her to advance her ambitions and disappointed that it was necessary in the first place. A second, smaller voice piped up in the back of his mind, reminding him of a topic that had been glossed over: what was Raelynn really selling? Was he gambling with his integrity by supporting her so blindly in the pursuit of mithril? He thought about Fjolte again, now fully understanding why Raelynn had not even mentioned tonight’s event to him. The Nord would have been woefully out of his depth. But perhaps Raelynn had not counted on Gregor’s attachment to his independence, for he resolved to question her about the true nature of her cargo at the first opportunity. 

He looked at her and caught her eyes with his own. What was he going to do again? 

Razul escorted the two to his private quarters. The inside of which felt small and cramped, it was disorganised and there were things everywhere. From books, clothes thrown onto the floor, dead flowers in a vase that seemed to have been there for years without being touched. The layer of dust too, was thick in some places - particularly on the bookshelves, and less so around the corner where he slept. His bed was unmade, the sheets crumpled in the centre. 

Raelynn ran a finger across her collarbone as she apprehensively took her seat. It was going to be difficult for the dirt of the room not to cling to her dress, and so she sat as close to the edge as she could - looking more like a pretty statue than an actual woman. 

Razul fumbled through a cabinet, retrieving two bottles at last. The rum, and the wine, and three glasses. While he poured, Raelynn retrieved her envelope and placed it on the desk before her. “So then, Razul — are we here to discuss the terms of a deal?” She smiled, placing a hand in Gregor’s lap, her thumb drawing small circles as a reminder she was still there, and that she was still in control. For as much as she knew that Gregor was her ticket to the table with Razul, it still made her feel insecure.

Razul nodded, pushing the glass towards Gregor. “Try that, it’s got a kick to it though, be warned. It’s not an Imperial’s drink,” he laughed, taking a long sip from his own glass. “If it weren’t for the fact you’re a monster hunter, and the woman on your arm, I’d think you to be a poof.” 

Gregor responded to Raelynn’s touch by placing his hand over hers and squeezing reassuringly. He wanted her to be the one to close this deal as well. Another man might have experienced an inflated sense of self-importance by the way Razul behaved, but the Imperial did not require this kind of sexist preferential treatment to feel secure about himself. 

Suddenly grateful for the practice round with Fjolte two days ago, Gregor accepted the rum and emulated the sip that Razul himself had taken. It was a fierce drink, to be sure, and quite foul to Gregor’s sweeter palate, but it paled in comparison to the shein. He managed to keep a straight face, aside from the flaring of his nostrils, which he could not control. “Very good,” he said after he swallowed, staring at Razul over the rim of the glass. His patience was wearing thin. 

“As much as I would enjoy sitting here and trading insults with you, I feel obligated to remind you that it is Lady Deserine that you’re dealing with,” he said and put the glass down on the first available surface he could find -- an old book. “I’m only active on the acquisition side of things. She’s the [i]real[/i] expert.” 

Razul shrugged, downing the rest of his glass and motioning for Raelynn to take a drink. “Well, what do you have to say? What’s your offer?” he asked, shifting his attention from Gregor to Raelynn, fighting in his eye contact - to be polite, and to give in to desire. The cut of the dress was sinful.

“Razul, you have given my companion so much attention up until now, I might start to question you…” she smirked, which got him to flash her a defiant look.

“You’d know,” he spat back, pouring himself more of the rum. “Drink.”

She did as asked, the heat of the ginger combined with the sweetness of the rum was deeply unpleasant. She liked her alcohol dry, cold, and crisp. Not this old syrup from a dusty bottle, but she could hold her liquor quite well and swallowed it down with little trouble. “I have three shipments I’d like to make. Camlorn, Daggerfall, and then Hegathe. I know it’s your route, I know it takes you a month on the Morning Star to make it…” Raelynn pushed her glass forwards, having ignored his petty jibe. “There will be couriers to collect each shipment. You just have to hold it and drop it off. I’ll pay you half upfront, and half when you return…” 

“How much,” he asked flippantly, watching the Breton. 

“Five hundred septims when you sign this,” she pushed the envelope across the desk to him. “Another payment of five hundred before you leave,” she added, looking him right in the eyes. “One thousand when you return…” 

His eyebrows nearly lifted off of his face. “Just paintings is it?” he asked, tilting his head, but suddenly not wanting to offend her - not with that amount of coin on the table. He glanced to Gregor; “you’ve seen and collected the paintings yourself?”

Gregor picked up his glass of rum again and turned to Raelynn. “Which ones did you select for shipment?” he asked innocently and threw the rest of the rum back. This was too bald-faced of a lie to commit to without hesitation, and the question was partially meant to deflect back to Raelynn and partially to buy himself time to think. 

Razul sensed something may have been amiss, surely Gregor would know? But then again, he did say that Raelynn was the logistical mind of the operation.

“Oh honey…” she cooed, gripping his thigh under the table. “I chose the Turner’s for Camlorn, my father will be taking that delightful selection of Noble portraits we found two Sundas’s ago, and of course in Hegathe my buyer wants the Hammerfell series from that artist… You know, the colourful ones by Mr Warhold. Where the dessert is pink and the sky is green… I’m sorry, I know you had your heart sort of set on that one yourself…” she added, with a touch of regret in her voice, and she then took his hand into hers, bringing them both onto the table. Her fingers interlaced with his and her thumb moved over his knuckles gently. “Maybe on the next run we’ll pick something out for our suite? Hmmm?” 

Razul rolled his eyes in his seat, “enough already I don’t need to hear about your damned love nest. Raelynn.... I don’t know. I don’t know,” he mumbled, retreating to his glass. Two thousand septims was not to be snuffed at.

Her head turned quickly, and she pulled the envelope away from him. “Well, that’s alright, I don’t need the [i]fastest[/i] ship in High Rock… I’m sure that someone will take the shipments — Gregor, you mentioned another ship to me just the other day… Do you still think he’d take our shipments?” she asked, turning away from Razul entirely.

Grateful for Raelynn’s quick thinking, Gregor played with his glass while he shot a pained look in Razul’s direction. “Do you really think we should discuss that in front of the captain?” he asked in a low voice, then pretended to be stared into submission by Raelynn’s relentless icy gaze. When there were two guardsmen in the pulp novels of his youth, there’d always be a [i]good[/i] one and a [i]bad[/i] one in interrogation scenes. “Yes,” he sighed, “yes, he would,” in the apologetic tone of a man who doesn’t like to disappoint a newfound friend. 

“He was also cheaper,” Raelynn remarked, bringing a thoughtful finger to her lower lip as she contemplated. Deliberately ignoring Razul — he was no longer in the room as far as she was concerned, and she wanted him to realise that. “I just wanted the best, but most important of all is that these paintings reach the buyers.” She shrugged, before smiling at Gregor. 

“Wait, wait, wait-” Razul interrupted, throwing a hand out between himself and the two.

“Yes?” Raelynn asked, as if his presence bored her now, as if she’d already moved on.

“I can do it, I can take the paintings. I’ll do it, I’ll do it,” he said, the words tumbling out. He wasn’t about to let someone else undercut him. Not if what Gregor had explained to him was to be believed. “Give me the papers, I’ll sign.”

“Oh but,” Raelynn said, her lips pinching together and pulling to the side, her shoulders dropped and she exhaled. “I simply can’t let you sign it [i]now.[/i] Sleep on it,” she said, removing her hand from Gregor’s, to place it on top of Razul’s. “Sleep on it for now, and if you still wish to undertake the job, come by The Long Well in the morning, I feel like I’ve put you on the spot.”

Razul thought about it, looking down at her hand on his, and his heart raced in his chest a little. She was going to make him sweat it out. But he nodded and exhaled, realising he’d held his breath the whole time she had been speaking. “I’ll be there first thing,” he said at last, his fingers tapping on the table.

Raelynn’s face turned back to a large smile, her eyes sparkled with roguery, and she had to restrain and keep down the pride that was swelling inside. “Well then, I think that settles this for now…” she said, looking around and then finally her eyes landed on Gregor. “Maybe we should head back home. It’s been a long day for us both,” she expressed, stroking his cheek again as she took hold of the envelope. She wanted her gentleman to excuse them both.

“Yes, that would be prudent,” he said, taking the hint, and handed his glass back to Razul. “Thank you for the drink and your hospitality, sir,” Gregor said as he got to his feet and held out an arm for Raelynn to take. He, too, enjoyed their triumph, but now that his work for the night was essentially done, a different emotion vied for control, and he was slow to tear his gaze away from the Breton woman. “We look forward to seeing you tomorrow.” 

They left as quickly as they’d arrived, and the relatively short walk back to The Long Well was near silent. Raelynn was occupied with the thoughts of her victory, and the oncoming workload she’d have as a result, she had little time, or want, to say anything. She simply held Gregor’s arm - even if there was suddenly an oppressive tension in the air.

[hr]

Upon entering her chambers, she unhooked herself from him and moved across the floorboards, Shona had done a nice job in clearing away the odds and ends that had cluttered her suite during the preparations - and there was a nice scent to the room. She’d washed the surfaces down with something fragrant. It was incredibly pleasing to Raelynn, who’d felt that she was about to choke in Razul’s own living space.

She placed the envelope down onto her desk and finally looked back to Gregor, “you did well tonight,” she said with gratitude. Trying to work out what was going through his mind, eyes flitting from his eyes and away again - as if she didn’t want to look there for too long. 

He crossed in two long strides what had taken her five smaller steps and his arm was suddenly around her waist again, hand splayed against her back, while his other hand was hooked under her chin, forcing her to look up at him. He dwarfed her in every sense with his physicality and the forcefulness of his movements. A small spark of electricity into her back, not enough to be painful but enough to jolt her, served to inform her that he was dangerous, even if he was unarmed. 

Gregor’s eyes stared mercilessly into hers, merely an inch or two away from hers, and their lips were so close they were almost touching. His grip was iron. The fog of attraction was gone from his gaze. Fire blazed there now, roaring to life from smoldering embers, beneath the thunderous brow that betrayed his anger. 

“You asked for an accessory,” he growled, his voice dark and full of unspoken violence. “I was an accomplice back there. What do you sell? Is it really art? What rumours are there to speak of?” 

There it was. Right in front of her, the very thing she had been suspicious of when he had arrived at her door only days prior. He’d been in her grip then, and she was in his now. He had so many questions, and the darkness that he’d pulled and conjured from Oblivion took her by surprise but didn’t frighten her, the hold on her chin, holding her under his gaze like that - that was like liberation.

She reached her hand out across the desk as far as his hold would allow, straining to grab a silver letter opener from the desk. “You were an accessory,” she said. “The situation changed, Razul is particular…” she explained, no fear in her voice and if anything there was a degree of smugness about it - even with the tickle of the magicka over her spine, she wasn’t in the business of bending. “What rumours? What rumours?” she asked, almost mocking his tone before giggling. “Sit down,” she told him firmly, the laughter drying up and leaving a cold, equally menacing expression on her own face. Ice and steel to his fire. 

They were up against a wall in a flash, Gregor’s hand now behind her neck, his fingers wrapped tightly in her hair. “Enough,” he hissed, his pupils contracted to two deadly points of pitch blackness. “I don’t appreciate being used. I do honest work. I lied for you because I’m a man of my word, but now you need to tell me what it is that I lied about.” He pulled back a little and regarded her in full, a sneer on his face. “I [i]held[/i] you.” 

“Ask me nicely,” she hissed back, narrowing her own eyes back at him, trying to pull free from his grip. “I don’t appreciate being held against a wall,” she added, curling her lip, looking back over to the sharp object on her desk. “I’ll tell you if you let me go,” her voice was suddenly a soft whimper, and her lower lip shook. “Just sit down,” she repeated, where his eyes became so intense, hers shifted in their sockets, water appearing at the edges. If he wanted to feel like a threat, she could let him have that.

“You should have thought about that before you used me like a pawn.” Gregor’s voice had dropped into a low thrum that reverberated in his chest. He turned her head, forcing her to look straight at him, and leaned back in close -- closer than before, and he whispered in her ear. 

“You have no idea who I am or what I’m capable of.” 

And then she was free. Gregor strode to the other side of the room like a storm, turned back to face her and leaned with his back against the wall, next to the window. The path to the door was unobstructed, as if he was daring her to make a run for it. The silversmith crossed his arms over his chest and stared at her with a sulphuric fury. “Tell me what you’re really selling, [i]please.”[/i] 

She huffed out a breath like a petulant child when he let her go, eyes dried up and she stared scornfully at him for only a moment. “You’re Gregor Mercurius, a silversmith. Or have you also lied to [i]me?[/i]” she asked, although it was more of a statement than anything else as she paced across the room to the desk. She took the letter opener, looking at him - daring to point it in his direction, almost playfully.

She soon turned it away, and walked to her cabinet. The door opened with a creak that pierced the heavy silence in the room. Only that and Gregor’s heavy, angry breaths made noise. She retrieved from the cupboard a bottle and two glasses and crossed the room once more. “I should have had this on ice,” she commented, ignoring Gregor’s anger for that moment, placing the glasses on the desk. “I’m selling paintings…” Raelynn said as she shifted the bottle so she was holding it at the base, the letter opener in her other hand. She ran the blade deftly over the neck of the bottle, and it shot open with a pop, spilling a white froth with it onto the floor. “And this time? Ebony weapons.” The way she said it was as daring as it was nonplussed. “Can we celebrate now?”

Gregor had no idea what he was expecting, but it wasn’t that. His eyes widened and the tension that had kept his face locked in an angry mask slacked. “Of course,” he said, more to himself than anything else. “With a shipment like that, it’s safer if the captain doesn’t know what he’s carrying. The risk of a pirate attack increases if word gets out and the weapons themselves are valuable enough to tempt a man into committing an inside job…” He pushed himself off the wall and approached the desk in slow, heavy footsteps. It was evident in his bearing that he wasn’t back to his usual polite and demure self, but his anger seemed forgotten and Raelynn’s transgressions forgiven. “And, of course, the Empire would like to know what you’re doing with enough high quality weapons to arm an elite fighting force,” he said with a wry smile. 

He sat down on the chair and laid his right leg over his left, leaning back in the seat. He looked up at Raelynn with a newfound respect in his eyes. She’d played him like a fool, true, but he could not help but admire the audacity of the plan. “I just like to be informed, that’s all,” he said nonchalantly. 

Raelynn poured two glasses of champagne out, passing one to the now calmer Gregor. “Ignorance protected you,” she said sincerely. “If you’d known the truth, you might have slipped on a word. That would have been dangerous for us both, I can trust myself to keep the truth in… I’ve known you for two days Gregor, that wasn’t a risk I could take — for me, or for you.” She had calmed some too, her childish petulance had slipped away and she took a seat beside him. “I’m sorry I withheld the truth, but I would do it again.” 

Unlike on the boat, or the day they had originally met - her posture was relaxed in her chair and she too, swung one leg over the other. She closed her eyes as she took a sip, enjoying the way the bubbles felt. “Now tell me this, did you enjoy it?”

Gregor inspected the champagne for a moment as he swirled it around in his glass. “I don’t need your protection,” he said with certainty. He looked up at her eyes afterwards and shrugged almost imperceptibly. “But I understand your reasoning. I’m sorry I felt the need to force the truth out of you… but I’d do it again.” Gregor smiled and drank. 

As for her question, he took his time in answering it, watching her, a slight tilt to his head and a remnant half-smile around his lips. “Yes,” he admitted. She was so beautiful. “Very much.”

“I know you would,” she commented with a laugh before rubbing the back of her neck with a frown at the reminder of his temper. “I suppose…” she began, placing the glass on the side table between the chairs, examining her hands with a sigh. “You did a good job,” she said again, before tugging at the fingers of the glove on her right hand. Raelynn glanced sidelong at him, she could see he was watching her, and not only that - but she could feel it too. It was unlike anything she’d felt before.

Slowly, the velvet came away from her elbow, slipping down her forearm to her wrist until she had pulled it off her fingers, revealing that she’d been wearing a ring of mithril the whole time. She held it up to the moonlight, before stretching the hand towards him. “Take your prize…” she breathed, watching him, his movements, everything subtle about him — she watched it all.

Gregor reached out and took her hand into both of his. With one he gently held her, a far cry from the forceful domination he had displayed just two minutes earlier, and with the other he pried the ring from her finger. He held it up against the light as well, close to his practiced eyes, and took a deep breath. “Magnificent,” he whispered. He inspected the maker’s mark and nodded to himself. “Yes, Stuyvenzandt, Third Era… makes sense.” 

He slipped the ring into his pocket, still holding up her hand, before he cupped it with both palms and looked at Raelynn again. “Thank you,” he said sincerely and pressed his hands against hers. There was something boyishly apologetic about him and he cleared his throat. “I enjoyed holding you,” he confessed. 

That made her smile, and she stayed quiet for a while after that, it was very telling that it meant something to her too, that she couldn’t find the words to truthfully express that. “There is one last thing you could do for me tonight,” she said, looking at him with a small smirk, bringing her fingers to her lips again, as if it was an incredibly coy request.

"Ask away," Gregor said, ignoring the pang he felt at the thought that their night was almost over. 

“I’m afraid that I can’t get this dress off without help,” she said quietly, turning to look towards the window, not knowing whether to laugh or feel annoyed by the inconvenience, even if she did sense an opportunity too. “The buttons are at the back, would you be so kind…?” Raelynn asked, slowly pulling herself out of the chair, turning her back to him to show him that there was indeed, a line of buttons from her shoulder blades to the small of her back. 

With feelings so conflicted that he didn't actually know what he was feeling, Gregor finished his champagne and began to take off his own gloves, eyes on the nape of her neck and the arch of her back. He got to his feet and placed the gloves on the desk next to his empty champagne glass. In doing so, he eclipsed the moonlight through the window entirely and cast Raelynn in his large shadow, and he stepped up close behind her. 

With slow, methodical movements, he began to undo the buttons of Raelynn's dress one by one. Each undone button revealed a little more of her bare skin and while his breathing was slow and deep, his heart was pounding in his chest. He had to shift the fabric of her dress to unfasten some of the buttons, as they were clearly designed with petite servant's hands in mind, and his fingers brushed against her skin when he did so. The lower he went the more he had to rely on feeling and less on seeing, and he hovered over her until he was breathing into her neck. 

When he was done he waited for a moment, inhaling the heady scent of her perfume, before lifting his hands and hooking his fingers under the shoulder straps of her dress. Like a man about to undress his woman Gregor slid the dress off of her shoulders, but stopped just in time to preserve her modesty. He brushed his bare fingertips over the length of her shoulder blades and whispered into her ear: "There, all done." 

Her own heart raced too, with each slow movement of his she felt a tension build and fade away in the spaces of seconds. The champagne had gone to her head, and the adrenaline from being in his iron grip all contributed to her shuddering breaths as he so slowly and carefully released her from the silk. His bare skin on hers was more full of electricity than the shock he had purposefully given her, and the same vulnerability she had felt on the bow came back. This was the most pure she had felt in a long time, the most interesting moment she’d experienced. She wanted to be trapped in it, to find a way to just be still like this - suspended on this string. 

Raelynn felt waves of confusion, not knowing whether she wanted him to squeeze the life from her or just hold her soft - or leave and never come back. That he went back for another touch, a gentle and intimate stroke that sent chills again, she tipped her head back against his, leaning into him - or had he pulled her that way? “Thank you,” she whispered back, his smoldering embers enough to warm her through. 

As much as she wanted to press her desire further, there was merit to continuing to pull Gregor's strings. Raelynn still wanted to know more about him, to get to the bottom of his mystery. But not tonight… She could feel that he wanted it too -- there was the matter of him being incredibly angry with her. That could not be rewarded. It pained her to break their proximity, but she headed off slowly to change. 

After just a few minutes, she reappeared from behind the partition, silk replaced with a relaxed satin tunic, and a long robe over the top in a deep plum hue. Without her heels, she was at least four inches shorter and quiet as a ghost on her feet. She moved across the floor, seeing that Gregor had taken his seat again and she resumed hers. Smiling and exhaling. "That's better," she sighed with relief. "Dresses like that are not meant to be worn for too long, beautiful as they are." 

Relief and disappointment in equal measure washed over Gregor when Raelynn stepped away, and he sat down on the chair with trembling fingers. How close had they gotten? Strictly speaking nothing between them had passed that couldn't have passed between friends and that was what convinced Gregor to remain seated instead of jumping back up and leaving. She teased him, but ultimately she respected him and his marriage. That was the most optimistic and forgiving way to look at it and Gregor decided to try to believe in that over anything else. While Raelynn was changing, he put his gloves back on and fished his wedding ring out of his pocket, turning it over in his hands a few times before slipping it back on. Briar would have cried if she'd seen him just then. He took a deep breath and steeled himself.

He returned her smile when she reappeared, making a point out of not inspecting her new clothes too closely, and raised the glass of champagne. "To victory," Gregor said, and then an idea came to him. "Say, what would a man have to do to obtain an ebony longsword around here? Straight, long blade, double-edged, with a cruciform hilt? You know, the way they used to make them in the days of the Septims," he asked and raised his eyebrows inquisitively. 

Her glass touched his carefully, and she joined him in taking another sip of it. Unlike the rum from Razul’s personal collection, it was exceptionally crisp and completely to her taste. Expensive, golden, sparkling, and light on the tongue. She was relaxed in the seat now, warm and comfortable without the tightness of her dress constricting her ribs and waist. She breathed easy too, knowing that her plan had been a success. “If I told you that, Gregor,” she began, turning to face the moon as it poured in from the window, “I’d have to kill you.”

She left the words to hang in the air, spoken so nonchalantly that it was unsure whether or not she meant it — finally a crack appeared as her lips curled into a smirk atop the rim of her glass while the fingers of her free hand tapped the arm of her chair. 

"Oh, come on," Gregor said with a laugh. "My sword is a fine piece, make no mistake, it used to belong to my father, but there's a limit to what steel can do. With an [I]ebony[/I] blade… I would be unstoppable." Gregor stared into the middle distance for a moment and smirked, obviously picturing himself with a black blade, before he returned to Raelynn and his champagne. He took a sip and mirrored Raelynn's posture. Like this, they were just associates drinking to a successful operation. "Please?" 

“They aren’t easy for me to procure, but… perhaps.” Raelynn shrugged, turning back to face the man, attraction still lingering. If Gregor was picturing himself with the dark blade, so was the Breton. “Pay for it outright? Work to pay for it? Or loan the piece?” she asked him, a rogue sparkle lit up her cool blue eyes. “I can’t just give away my trade secrets, nor can I just hand over valuable goods.” There was a levity to their conversation that was pleasant, she didn’t mind playing along with his questions — he was no longer a man with a suspicious curiosity that came from malice. 

After another sip of the champagne, her glass was empty and the effects had left her feeling bold. “What if you were to make me something [i]unique[/i]?” she asked, quiet now, feeling the residual heat of their moment as she did. Her empty glass made its way back to the side table, and she ran her finger in slow circles around the rim, waiting for his answer. Whether it would be serious, or if he’d continue to play as if it were a game. 

Making a unique piece of jewelry for another woman could be construed by some as being inappropriate, but surely not if it was part of an exchange? If Raelynn was to reward him with such a fine weapon, then it was just business.

Looking at her, seeing the sparkle in her eyes and the way her finger dragged over the edges of the glass, Gregor knew it wasn't just business. Still…

"Of course, I'll work for it," he said, already thinking about potential designs, stylistic elements and materials. "I never expected you to hand something like that out for free." Gregor drained his own glass and leaned out of his seat to refill both his and hers. He looked her earrings while he did and he remained like that, hovering above his seat, for a moment before getting up entirely. He walked around her in a slow circle and squatted down on his haunches next to her, the slight frown of a craftsman at work on his brow, and he placed his hand behind one of the earrings. Gregor's fingers brushed a few loose strands out of the way. He could feel that her ear was warm to his touch, but he ignored it. 

"Understated design, silver fitting, flawless ruby," Gregor said quietly. He glanced down her plunging neckline for a second before he remembered that she wasn't wearing a necklace. A glance at her fingers showed that she hadn't been wearing any rings except the mithril piece she'd already paid him with. There wasn't much to go on. He straightened back up and returned to his chair.

"Describe your tastes for me, please," he said and interlaced his fingers beneath his chin. 

The Breton held a breath as Gregor took to observing her earring, she felt as though he was looking less at it and more at her. She held her head incredibly still, daring not to meet his eyes. This was different from the day before and she didn’t dissuade him from what he was doing. Thinking quickly, she occupied herself with more of the champagne. 

“I…” she began and for the first time, her words sounded distracted and stilted. “I like Aldmeri design, silver over gold, actually. Or, white gold,” Raelynn continued, finding her confidence. “I have a preference for square cuts over round stones, I like sharp edges - symmetry. But, delicate, feminine." She eyed the glass, the room behind it a haze. She wasn't sure if she was making sense, under Gregor's gaze she wasn't sure of anything. 

Gregor nodded. He was trying to stay focused on the new task she’d given him but it was hard to ignore her behavior instead of just the contents of her words. Signs that she was… affected by him. Or, he sternly reminded himself, it was just the champagne and the stuff that Razul had made her drink. The fresh memory of her bare shoulders beneath his fingers jumped to mind and he rubbed his brow, shielding his eyes from her for a moment. 

“You like diamonds and rubies,” he said, having regained his composure, and looked her in the eyes again. Gregor compared the color of her irises with the tint of her skin. “Sapphires over white gold,” he murmured, half observation, half idea. “What kind of piece are you looking for?” he asked, raising his voice back up to conversational levels. 

"There's a stone," Raelynn said, saying it too quickly to realise. If she had considered it more, and been of a more sober mind she might have left it alone, but whatever spell Gregor had cast had pierced her adamantine armour just enough. "An exquisite diamond, a blue diamond… It belonged to my family," she continued, sitting back into the seat, arching her back into a slow and satisfying stretch. "It is no longer in our possession, and…" She paused, looking at Gregor closely, debating with herself on whether this would be a good time to stop or not.

"It was, stolen -- in a way, and I've always wanted to reacquire it." Raelynn sipped slowly from the glass, feeling a near silent, years old anger take hold. It watered her eyes. "It was a precious heirloom of my family and now it's…" her eyes closed and she rolled her shoulder, trying to let go of the venom that was pooling. "Maybe a unique piece, with that diamond… A piece like that would be priceless to me." 

The artisan in Gregor raised his eyebrows at the suggestion and he sat up straight in his chair. The chance to work with a gemstone like that was any smith’s dream, if it was truly the way Raelynn described it. “Are you sure you want me to forge that piece?” he asked, taken aback. “I’m not even a master yet.”

"To have it back, to have something special… Yes," she told him. "I'd have it wrapped in copper wire and on a string if it meant that it was [i]mine[/i]." Her breath shuddered at the mere thought, and greed flashed across her eyes before she regained her own composure. "But, the stone is… Too difficult to procure, I will take a piece of your design… I'd be honoured to wear your work."

That wouldn’t do. “Now that you’ve wet my appetite, I’m afraid we’re going to have to get that diamond back,” Gregor said with a dangerous gleam in his eyes. Making something else now, something small and insignificant in the knowledge that there was a stone out there that Raelynn would much rather be wearing -- it was simply unacceptable. “Do you know where it is?” he asked, oblivious. 

"I do," she answered hesitantly. "I do," she repeated, the tone different - pointed. "But it's not of importance, Fjolte is not ready for such a mission." 

“I’ll go with him,” Gregor fired back quickly and spread out his hands. His intuition told him that there was more to this story than Raelynn was letting on, and he thought about the encounter with the older Imperial couple on the boat. Was this related to Sir Gearford? 

She gave him a grateful smile, instinct half telling her to reach and touch him -- the champagne. "You're not ready either, I've only known you for two days…" she teased. "How do I know you haven't been sent by a rival business to do terrible things to me? Hmm?" She continued, tilting her head to the side. She knew how to steer him.

The Imperial scoffed quietly and sank back into his chair. “After what I did for you aboard the Morning Star? You still don’t trust me?” He glowered at her but there was no malice in it. “If I wanted to do terrible things to you, I had every opportunity when I had you up against the wall,” Gregor said in a low voice. He drank more champagne and cocked his head while he looked at her. “How can I prove that you can trust me? I want to work with that diamond. And I want that sword.” His made had been made up. Anything to keep him on the road a little while longer… 

She turned, practically curling in her seat to face him. The dip of her waist accentuated with the plush velvet fabric hugging at her. Her bare legs slipped from the part in the fabric, and she knew it, stroking one foot against her ankle - hoping it might distract and tempt him some. "Tell me a secret," she said in a breathy whisper - as if even the furniture was listening to them. She spelled out the words with her lips provocatively and a flicker of mischief crossed her eyes. "Show me yours and I'll show you mine." Raelynn finished by draining the last of her champagne with excitement. 

He remembered how she'd styled his hair and admitted to liking the things in life that were a little rough around the edges. Gregor's heart quickened at the idea of telling her -- telling anyone, for that matter. He'd never acknowledged the truth out loud before. But there was something about her that made him think she might find it… thrilling. Gregor swirled the rest of his champagne slowly.

"I love the feeling of taking a life," Gregor said, a low thrum to Raelynn's whisper. "To run someone through and watch the light leave their eyes…" He inhaled deeply, as if it was something he could smell if he tried hard enough. "To be alive while another is dead at my hands, punished for their sins. It makes me feel powerful like nothing else."

His gaze was unwavering, boring into Raelynn's soul. In the low light of the room and in the shade of his brow, his eyes were infinite darkness. 

From that infinite darkness, the room began to shrink around them. Everything beyond the table and chairs was nothing, just black and they were at the centre of it. A grim aura hung over Gregor, and perhaps that darkness that moved around them was his own shadow - eclipsing everything that was around it. All but himself, and her. There was something caged inside of him. She gripped at her thigh as he spoke, hanging on his words, swept up in his presence and the deep tone of his voice was like a magnet, drawing her out of her seat towards him. "Should I be afraid of you?" She whispered again sardonically, the words pinned to a melody. 

Gregor raised one hand and turned it over so that his palm was facing the ceiling. A small flame sprang to life between the claw-shape of his fingers, casting skittering and dancing shadows over the walls, driving out the silver light of the moon until only the baleful, reddish glow of the spell remained. He stared into the fire. “Maybe,” he whispered. 

Then he snatched his hand shut. The flames disappeared and the moonlight crept back into the room, returning life to Gregor’s features. “Don’t give me a reason,” he said, the spark of amusement in his eyes. She reacted how he had hoped she would. He wanted to keep her interested in him, and he told himself it was because she was a conduit for rare and expensive items to flow his way. The way his hair stood on end told a different story.

As his flame extinguished, it left a chill behind that ran through her from head to toe, leaving behind a trail of goosepimples across her bare arms and legs, the look in her eyes was of pure delight. But he had done as she asked, and now it was her turn. His secret she would keep, a weapon if need be, a reflection to confront him with perhaps.

"When I was twenty years old it was arranged that I would be married," she began - the cold that the flames absence had left was present in her voice and she looked forwards, her lips in half of a sneer. "Tristyn Gaerford… a Lord of Wayrest. A beautiful person. I was enamoured with him," she continued, her voice quieting down some, which would force Gregor to lean her way now. 

"My father gave him the family diamond to set into a ring for our engagement. It had been my grandmother's, my mother's, and now it fell to me. It was my turn." There was a pride in her voice, and she smiled up at the air. It was clear that the pride was soured, however, in the way that she pouted for a moment. "All I wanted was to be his wife. My father picked him and he was [i]so[/i] happy for his daughter… But my betrothed he…" she stopped and chuckled wryly into the frigid air around her. "He never wanted to consummate our relationship. He would be so affectionate in public but… There was no passion, he… couldn't even bring himself to kiss me. I felt so… [i]alone.[/i]" 

She took the opportunity to turn to Gregor, and her eyes were ice. Emotionless, beautiful orbs of crystalline ice. "Do you know how that feels?" She asked him, scratching a finger over the upholstery of the chair. 

“Yes,” he replied, her misery reflected in his face, as a dozen different memories surfaced of Briar turning away from his touch. She’d stopped desiring to be intimate with him after the crushing weight of the disappointment became too much to bear. “In a sense.” He cleared his throat and focused his eyes back on Raelynn, on her story. “Go on,” he said softly. 

"I told myself that he was simply waiting for marriage before he'd be passionate, and I was happy with that eventually," she explained, pulling at a thread from her robe and watching as it unfurled from the fabric. Making a long ruche across her hip. "So you can imagine my surprise when one afternoon I stumbled across him being fucked by his stableboy…" she laughed, all she could do was laugh until she stopped. "I couldn't do it, be his cloak in public to hide his secret. I couldn't do it. It got messy, it got emotional… Long story short he kept my ring, and my diamond." She sighed, sinking into her seat. 

Gregor had to fight a chortle at the unexpected revelation of Sir Gaerford’s true nature, but fortunately Raelynn’s own laughter covered for him. When she was done he sighed. It was easy to picture how lonely she had been with nothing but her confusion and self-doubt for company, and he now fully understood what the retrieval of the diamond would mean to her. It was the part of her that she was forced to leave behind. With it, she would be complete again. 

“Any man would be lucky to have you,” he said. “Any [i]real[/i] man, I mean.” Gregor smiled and winked. He knew that Fjolte wouldn’t hesitate to jump on the chance to do something like this for her. “We’ll get the diamond back for you, don’t you worry.” 

He leaned forward in his seat and placed a hand on her knee. “I’ll make something beautiful out of it,” the silversmith promised. “More beautiful than you’ve ever seen. And then it’ll be like it never happened at all.”

Her nose scrunched and she huffed out a sigh. "You'll have to prize it from his new happily unfucked wife's fingers," she spat, malice present in her words. She'd said enough, she'd been vulnerable enough tonight without explaining to Gregor where the real heartbreak had been. Where the sting had truly landed. In the argument with her father when he commanded her to stay. To live a fake life, unloved. To keep up appearances and strengthen his career through Wayrest. It was a political engagement gone wrong and he'd never let her forget it. 

It was only Gregor's hand on her thigh that brought her back around - and the irony of him laying his hand after [i]that[/i] story was not lost on her, it burned all the same. The sweet burn that lingers… "I'm sure it will be…" she said quietly, placated again. 
 
Gregor returned to his seat and shrugged. “Then so be it. I don’t think there’s such a thing as a [i]happily[/i] unfucked wife. We’ll send in Fjolte, all charm and rugged exoticism, and leave a happily [i]fucked[/i] wife behind instead, minus one ring,” he ventured, the champagne beginning to loosen his tongue and his speech, though his half-smile betrayed he was half-joking. 

"One day, perhaps," she chuckled. "Until that day I have plenty to keep me busy, so will you," Raelynn said to him, tilting her head. "If it's gold you want, then I can offer you plenty of work, Gregor…" she offered, watching to see how he would take that. He'd made offers to stay for his sword but now she wanted to know if he was really serious. "We'll be seeing a lot of each other if you're to pay for an ebony weapon… More of Fjolte and his [i]rugged charm[/i]," she added with a smirk. "And you really want to stay around?" 

“For a while, yes,” Gregor replied with certainty. “Thanks to your generosity, I have acquired what I came here for much faster than I had expected, though Fjolte believes you have access to enough mithril to forge a suit of armor from…” he said and let the statement linger expectantly. “Either way, that means I have time to spare. If this is to be my last adventure, I want it to be a memorable one.” 


Over the rim of his glass, Gregor drank in her eyes. 

Raelynn enjoyed the way that he looked at her, enjoying being the subject of his gaze - there was a spark everytime his ebony eyes shot her way and she was all too happy to play on that. She arched her back slowly again in what was simply a natural stretch after a long evening. The Breton ran her fingers carefully over her collarbone to part the fabric of her robe just so too, as if simply trying to cool down from the heat. Such simple movements, and yet so calculated. A pleasant warmth filled her at the mere thought that he was watching. "Maybe Fjolte is right," she remarked seriously as her body relaxed again. "How do you know what I've got hidden away out of sight?…" 

“What indeed?” he replied, a little too quickly, with his eyes on the skin that her parting robes had revealed, and the shapes they still clung to. He imagined her stretching and squirming like that beneath him. Suddenly self-conscious, Gregor’s eyes shot back up to hers and he chuckled. “Well, you are a woman full of surprises. What’s your going rate for an ebony longsword?” he asked, eager to get some concrete information before the easy atmosphere of their conversation stole the desire for serious topics away from them. 

"Oh that varies. There are lots of things to consider… Size and weight of the blade, the age, the detailing on it." Her elbow found its way to the arm of the chair and she placed her head into her hand -- the drinking had made it feel heavy. "Thousands, at least," she offered him - waiting to see his reaction. 

He immediately realized he had been too optimistic and deflated a little. Then he remembered what she had said about the diamond -- it was priceless to her. But Gregor could also tell that she wasn’t eager to jump feet first into the idea of retrieving it. He was going to have to work his way up to that. Pleased with the prospect of an interesting and unique project to occupy him, he smiled. “That sounds a bit high to me, but we’ll work something out,” the Imperial declared with supreme confidence and got up from his chair to refill their glasses again. 

Holding out her full, bubbly glass for her to take, Gregor motioned with his head. “Come on, up you go. We haven’t finished the bottle yet.”

"If you want me to finish the bottle, I'll need something sweet to really enjoy it…" she said with a coy smile, sitting herself upright in her seat, perhaps too much so. Her back straight, and legs tucked under, one in front of the other. "My desk drawer, I have chocolate truffles…" she giggled girlishly, bringing her hand to her lips as if to hide the smile that had grown at the thought of the indulgence. "They're very good, I promise. Bring them over," she said with a wave of her hand - permitting him access to the desk, where she knew something else was waiting too…

Gregor chuckled at that but did as he was asked. Pulling open the desk drawer indeed revealed a paper bag containing an assorted collection of chocolate truffles, but it was the object next to it that grabbed his eye; a glass dagger. He picked it up without asking permission and held it up against the light, marveling at the way the material caught and refracted it. The dagger was beautiful, old, and if Gregor wasn’t mistaken, quite clearly never used. 

He looked down at Raelynn and handed her the bag of sweets with raised eyebrows before turning his attention back to the weapon. “You’ve never used this on anyone, have you?” he asked. 

Rather than sit still and pretty, she took that as an invitation to get out of her seat and walk to his side, her eyes too, were on the blade, marvelling at the way the fractals in the glass reacted to light. She shook her head at his question. "Beautiful, isn't it? Third Era, made in a Shimmerene style. That material in the handle is rumoured to be Indrik antler…" she said with some slight disbelief, but enough mystery there still to at least make it seem that it could be true. "Truly some masterful work, Altmer culture sings from it, don't you think?" She asked, leaning against the desk to watch as Gregor continued observing the blade. 

Gregor had to admit that it did. It was an interesting piece to him because of it. Altmeri culture was frowned upon in Cyrodiil ever since the Great War. Especially Altmeri weapons. He'd never seen anything like it. "It's beautiful," he admitted and held out the dagger for Raelynn to take. "Do you know how to use it?"

She took it from him with as much care as Gregor had taken in handing it over. "I know how to clean it, polish it, sharpen it… Restore it to look like this. When I received it, it was coated in sand," she explained, holding it up, displaying the find carvings in the blade itself - the intricate ridges. "It took me hours. All I had was a tiny brush at first… The whole time I did this, all I could think about was how many throats it had sliced through. How many quick deaths it had brought under the shadowed guise of night…" She hummed, running a finger across the flat of the blade. "Who used it, what it meant to them… Now? This beautiful blade is to be sold, and nailed to the wall of some noble simply for show…" There was a pain and regret in her words, and the way her hungry eyes regarded the blade spoke volumes of how she felt about that fate for the blade. "I haven't killed with it, but this blade was a killer alright…" she smiled, for a little too long.

Was she like him, and did she just not know it yet? Gregor wondered, and the longer she smiled at the dagger, the more he thought that maybe she was. The idea of the petite blonde being a killer in disguise was as chilling as it was… exciting. Gregor suddenly stepped in behind her, like he had been when he had unbuttoned her dress, and grabbed her wrists. He guided the positioning of her feet with a few gentle nudges of his boots and when she had adopted a strong, slightly wide-legged stance, he moved her arms until her off-hand was in front of her and the dagger was raised over her head. 

"Defend yourself with your off-hand hand," he said in her ear and hoisted up part of her robes, revealing the length of one of her legs, and placed the ends of it between her fingers. "Preferably with a buckler but a cloak will suffice in a pinch. You can use it to grab your enemy's weapon without cutting yourself. Then strike," Gregor said emphatically and moved her hand forward and down in a slash. "Keep your weapon out of your enemy's reach until you intend to use it. Like a scorpion." 

He'd taken hold of her and moved her around like a puppet  and she was all too happy for him to do so. It was the perfect, heady mix of thrilling and arousing and her lips parted to gasp when he moved he had her slash forwards. "Like a scorpion…" she repeated back slowly and softly. Who did he think that she was? And why did she enjoy this so much? She'd danced with many a handsome noble, and never had she felt this level of chemistry. The breeze nipped at her bare leg as it flowed in from the open crack of the window. "Do you think I'll need to know this?" She asked him, turning her face just enough to glimpse his profile behind her, the shape of his brow and strong nose. 

“Everyone needs to know this,” Gregor answered and turned his head to look at her as well; her eyes, straining to see his face, and the slight parting of her lips. He remained like this, holding her, looking at her, for a second or two before he let go of her wrists and stepped back. He needed a few slow, deep breaths to calm the racing of his heart. 

Why did he keep putting himself in that position with her, if it only served to make things hard for him? “If my father is to be believed, anyway. It’s a dangerous world out there. Maybe trouble will come calling won’t day and there won’t be a Fjolte around to fight for you,” he said and clasped his hands behind his back, as if he desired to shackle himself for fear of what his hands might otherwise do.

"Fjolte doesn't use a blade," she quipped, placing the dagger down onto the desk. "Maybe I don't need to either. I know the one place to strike a man to kill him, painfully, and quickly," she said as she ran her finger over the handle. "You forgot something about me Gregor," she said, turning to him - paying close attention to the way he had moved his hands behind his back. She took a step towards him - threatening to enter his personal space again.

He did not move away from her, but he did remember what it was that he’d forgotten. “You’re a healer,” Gregor said with a slow nod. It had never occurred to him before that they knew the bodies of mortals better than anyone, and that that included knowing their weak points. He could bind his own hands, but he couldn’t stop her. Did he want to? “And where is that?” he asked as casually as he could manage. 

She hoisted herself up onto the desk, taking the dagger into her hand. Fully aware of what she was doing and she slowly parted her legs for him, part of her robe covering her modesty, the flash of flesh of the inside of her thighs revealed, surrounded by the rich purple of the robe. She held the dagger carefully towards the top of her thigh, pointing the tip against her skin. "Right here…" she answered. "Just one cut here and death would come within a minute…" 

It took everything in his willpower not to step between her legs, pull her close and kiss her. Gregor’s eyes had a will of their own and they followed the lines of her legs up to the last patch of silk still covering her most intimate parts, before flitting up to her eyes and seeing the way she was looking at him. Then, and only then, did he look at the dagger and where the tip was pressing. “Plenty of time to be killed within a minute,” he said. 

Slowly, with the pace of a man that needed to control his every move, Gregor approached until he stood between her legs after all -- but unlike in the mental image that had flashed through his mind, all he did was take her hand and the dagger within it and lift it up until the tip pointed at her throat, angled so that it would shoot straight up until her skull. The fingers of his other hand were tucked under her chin so that she looked up and into his eyes, just like earlier -- but gently, and without strength. “One thrust and they drop like a marionette without strings…” he said, remembering how his ice spike had killed the Dunmer in the cave this way. 

With the blade at her neck, she was held into absolute stillness by it. Literally, on the edge of a knife. To poke her lower lip out probably wasn't the normal response to such a situation. "This is all the fun my buyer will miss out on when he pins this to a wall to gather dust. A shame…" she whispered, and only then did her chin tremble under the tension. "Try holding yourself up to walk when that part of your leg has been slashed, you'll fail. Of that last minute of life you'll be awake for twenty seconds at best…" 

“A shame indeed,” Gregor murmured. He admired her nerves of steel. He accepted her defense of the leg as the weak spot and stepped back once more, breaking the knifepoint tension of the moment. He turned the blade over in his hands so that he offered the grip to her. “I’ll take your word for it. Hell, I might even put it to use,” the Imperial said with a dark smile. 

She was so many things that Briar wasn’t, and she appealed to parts of him that his wife didn’t even know existed. It was dangerous to stick around. He knew that. But what was the harm in entertaining her for a night? As long as nothing [i]happened,[/i] he was just brokering favour with someone that had access to the materials he wanted. Briar wouldn’t like it if she was there to see it, absolutely, but this was the kind of thing that he could keep from her without feeling too bad. It was just business. Gregor sank back into his chair and it was as if the moment with the dagger had taken more out of him than it should have. 

“Now, those chocolate truffles,” he said. “You promise they are really quite excellent?”

The Breton slid off the desk now that the moment had seemed to pass, watching Gregor like a hawk watched a mouse in the long grass. The small box of chocolates was on the desk and she took it into her hand -- holding it out for him to take first pick as she circled back to her own chair. "They were a gift from a gentleman…" she explained, "take one." 

Gregor was a strong man, stronger than most men were when they were alone with her. Where she had armour, so did he. He was keeping something to himself, Raelynn was sure of that, the wife. Maybe cooling off on him would bring him closer. He wasn't going to simply be as easy to toy with as anyone else, despite the fact that he was clearly interested in her, and she in him, more so than anyone she'd met for a while.

He picked one that looked like it was made with white chocolate as well as dark and plopped it into his mouth. Raelynn hadn't lied; it was delicious, richly flavored and the chocolate melted away in his mouth. Gregor made a few noises to indicate that his taste buds were satisfied, as was customary, and washed it down with champagne. The different flavours went together very well. He decided that he was quite fond of Raelynn's palate, though he still preferred his heartier and more savory red wine & cheese combo. 

"A gentleman?" he asked, his curiosity piqued. "Have you had any success with the lesser sex here in Jehanna?" Gregor wondered if Fjolte knew of this. 

"I don't kiss and tell," she answered, watching him closely still before taking a chocolate of her own. Dark, with salt sprinkled across the top. It was rich too, the crunch and flavour of the salt cutting through the sweet, soft centre. The champagne was a nice way to chase it. The night suddenly felt decadent. "I'm a bachelorette, Gregor. I see men if it suits me to." 

“What a luxurious freedom that must be,” Gregor said and looked at her with a wistful look. “I know you wanted to be married, but enjoy this while you can.” The champagne was definitely getting to him now. He gestured apologetically with his free hand while he took another sip with the other. “And I didn’t mean to pry, of course. I’m sorry.”

"I wanted to marry because I thought it would make someone else happy…" she admitted, breaking her gaze to look away. "I'm glad I didn't, and glad I exercised my own freedom… Even if things are colder now. I…" Raelynn stopped, choosing not to end that point, and so she drank again instead. "That is hardly prying… You're curious, I'm just used to keeping everything to myself. My--" she stopped again and fired a glance back at him, with an almost mischievous look on her face - as if she couldn't believe she was about to say what she was about to say. "My success with the lesser sex has been not so successful. Nothing exciting, all very boring really. A dinner here and there, a gift every now and then… Never a real connection." 

The older man nodded sagely. “Courting can be like that.” Gregor wanted to add something reassuring, that a woman like her would find a handsome, dashing rogue sooner rather than later, but the words died in his throat and something else formed instead, whispered by mercurial forces in his mind. “Are you bored now?” he asked, his voice quiet, almost naughty. 

She plucked another chocolate from the box, a soft caramel that was almost too sweet for her. She smiled at Gregor, at his question and shook her head before swallowing down the caramel. "No," she whispered back, "are you?" 

After helping himself to another truffle as well and finishing his glass of champagne -- they were nearing the end of the bottle now -- he smiled back and laced his hands together over his abdomen, reclining comfortably in the chair. He’d had a more entertaining and, as much as he shouldn’t acknowledge it, tantalizing day than he had experienced in years, and it showed in his eyes. She had brought excitement into his life and for that, he was grateful. “No.” His voice had dropped into a whisper to match hers. “Far from it.” His smile widened into a soft laugh. “Consider it a victory.”

"Hmmm," she breathed out, her voice thick and husky. "A victory today is just more work tomorrow," Raelynn said - although it sounded much more like a repetition of a phrase or mantra she'd heard, as opposed to anything profound she could think of on the spot. Her hand reached out towards him, heading for his until he folded them away and she sighed to herself. "You know, your work for the night is done - I can't keep you here." Thoughts of it all came back. The sunset, the tenderness in his voice and the safety she felt in his arms - to the unbridled fury he'd displayed, and then his sensual touch, his warm breath. The knife. The way he had pushed her feet apart. Every moment was butterflies and as they got to the bottom of the bottle, she wanted to know if he could hold onto the night and stay with her. "You must be dying for bed…" 

It had been a rather enervating day, that was true. Gregor, mistaking Raelynn's intentions entirely, wasn't surprised that she was subtly trying to get him to leave and he took no offense. "Thank you for looking out for my health," he said with a chuckle and got to his feet. "You're right, and I've kept you up for far too long as well, considering your appointment with the dear captain early tomorrow." He smoothed over his clothes. "Will you require me to be at that meeting as well?"

"If you think there's anything you can learn, but, Fjolte will be here in the morning so don't feel obliged," Raelynn answered, unable to look him in the eye, even as she got to her feet too, it was as though she just looked through him. 

“Well…” Gregor began, feeling awkward and wondering if he had misread the situation. Then again, what was the alternative? Staying with a woman in her bedchambers late into the night only had one possibly outcome and that was one that he simply couldn’t do, as much as he wanted to. His wedding ring burned on his finger. “Alright, then I suppose I’ll hear from you when you have need of me.” He curtsied and tried to catch her eye. “I am at your service for as long as I am in Jehanna.” 

He paused briefly and added: “Or if you just want to talk, that’s fine too. You know, if you get bored.” Gregor conjured a smile. 

Silent footsteps carried her to the door and she opened it slowly, half tempted to turn the key and feign ignorance - but that was a pathetic game to play and instead, she let it swing open, wrapping the velvet around herself to cover any peaking flesh - aware that there were still a few drunk patrons likely down the hall. "I'm sure that work will keep me busy enough," she spoke over her shoulder, her words unnecessarily cold, but she felt rejected, in a way. Bitter that their night had ended like this, it washed over all of the excitement for now. She wasn't able to separate those feelings from each other, not in the moment. 

"If I require you, I'll send someone," she added, seeming determined to sabotage the end of the night entirely. 

He had to resist the urge to wave his wedding ring in her face. What had she expected? They'd had as much fun as his marital state could allow. But Gregor bit his tongue. "Very well," he said curtly, unable to stop himself from reciprocating her coldness. "Good night, my lady." 

And with that, he was out the door.