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The mood changed almost instantly after the standoffish presentation at the bridge, the entryway to the fortification was of course at first a dank, oppressive little gatehouse lined with murderholes and arrowslits, but beyond into the building proper was suddenly… warm. Warm was the word that took her mind by storm, the cold masonry and dank, ominous overhang of the vast cavern beyond fell away into a sensation of being cozily, safely ensconced within a sanctuary of stone. Few windows, and little in the way of creature comforts by design, it had instead been heavily decorated in texture and light. Rugs and great tapestries depicting any number of events hung across every wall, and lanterns and braziers guttered and twinkled here and there, turning what would have been a dark, dismal citadel into a strangely welcoming place that reached into the part of her brain that found safety and shelter in stone and wrapped it in swaddling cloth.

“You will find much of the Keep is as you left it," Baron Richart said to Gram as the two emerged from the gatehouse, their horses and bags taken by grooms and servants. “The cherry tree in the courtyard has grown tall,"

“That is not the only thing," Gram said with warmth in his voice as the group entered the foyer proper, and standing alongside a severe man of jet black hair, fierce Steppefolk features and an immaculately groomed set of drooping mustaches was a trio of young folk ranging from childhood to freshly adult.

“GRAM!" came a cry from the middlemost child, a young blonde lad of slight, willowy build in the first blush of his teenage years, wearing the same casual finery as Baron Richart had, who broke ranks immediately and pelted forward to crash into the tall cavalier at the middle in a fierce hug.

“Alphonse!" the tall man crowed, grinning wider than she'd ever seen before, the little blonde lad looking up at him and seeming to remember himself and drawing back, smoothing out his clothing, “Practically a man now," Gram added, smoothing the lad's hair back as he stayed on one knee, hands gripping his brother's shoulders fondly.

“Father said you were coming home! I got all of your letters!" he exclaimed, clearly barely into his teenage years with soft hands and soft features that spoke of his father's own scholarly lifestyle, Lidia's keen eyes even spied the faint stains of ink on his fingertips. Gram smiled wider,

“Yes, it seems he was quiet on the reasons — I've come home to be wed," the tall man explained, taking Lidia's hand and pulling her close, the little changeling not needing to kneel to meet the young man's eyes — which widened with quiet alarm as he met Lidia's in return. She winked at him and held up her finger in a brief 'shh' moment.

“M'name's Lidia, Lidia Shaw, Nae one o' import aside from bein' Gram's one an' only and he mine," she said by way of introduction, giving a little bow. “Came tae get the blessin' o' his family an' be married in the proper way."

“Oh, a wedding! Father Denis will be beside himself, we haven't had a proper family wedding since before I was born!" Alphonse said with clear excitement, getting a low titter of laughter from the others.

“And who is this?" Gram asked as he squeezed Alphonse's arm fondly, turning his gaze to the tiniest frame, standing near the tall, severe-looking man as if he might protect her from the strangers, she was blonde like the rest, with eyes so dark they were almost doll-like in their gleam, her tiny frame couldn't have been older than ten summers at most, “I seem to remember her being a mite smaller than that."

“Go on, Little Mistress," The stern-eyed man next to her said in a lush, stately voice, the little girl puffing up her cheeks and courage and marching out to meet Gram with shy eyes, dressed in a simple dress fit for the weather.

“Hello, Colette," Gram said, greeting her with a smile; “Do you remember me?"

She nodded, her voice was tiny as she was, “I remember a little bit… you went away a long time ago."

“Yes, I had to go for a while, had to be a soldier," he agreed, extending his arms to her, the little girl seeming to hesitate again, looking up to Alphonse who smiled down at her approvingly, before she screwed up her bravery once more and marched forwards to embrace her long-lost brother — who took her in his arms and squeezed her tightly, getting a reflexive giggle from the little lass.

“You were the size of a breadloaf last I held you, and look at you now," he said to her, smiling; “A proper little Lady of the House, the very image of Mother," Gram said and she smiled at him and looked up at the tall man.

“Alphonse says you like to write letters, do you like to read too?"

“Of course," Gram answered, and she bubbled up a bit visibly at that.

“Baron Karnov likes books too, so does Father! We can all read together!" she cheered and Gram's gaze tracked over his sister's head to the scar-faced Karnov, an icy thread of disdain passing between them as if to say you dare? It passed in a moment before she wiggled her way out of Gram's arms, being placed back on her feet.

“Reading in the study with Father and my beloved siblings, some things haven't changed at all…" he said, coming up eye-to-eye with the last of the trio of youths — though calling this one a 'youth' was perhaps out of turn. Tall as Gram though not as muscular, he was a strawberry blonde man of perhaps a handful of summers younger than the cavalier, and he was dressed much, much differently than the others — from his loose breeches to the open-necked shirt, to the rather audacious feature of wearing a saber at his waist in the greeting — the older sibling was instead dressed head to toe in Steppefolk garb, much as Gram himself wore of similar colors… but unlike Gram, it seemed ill-suited, more akin to costume despite its wear and tear at the edges and seams. The two men seemed to square off, both wearing different, impossible to read expressions. Tension filled the air, and even Alphonse and his bright enthusiasm quailed as Gram's searching expression met the older boy's intense, flat-eyed stare. His face was intensely Darrowmite, much like Alphonse — he clearly favored their father's features, long-limbed and fine of build. It stood in stark contrast to the Steppefolk costume he wore — endand the wicked, and still-red scars that criss-crossed his otherwise fair face across he lips and cheeks. Scars that Gram's eyes focused in on with intensity.

“… yet some things have changed more that others…" the tall man concluded, stepping forward and offering his hand to his brother.

“Things changed the day you left, Gram," the taller man said with a degree of coolness verging on rude, his ignoring of the handshake and folding his arms more firmly across his chest crossing the rest of the boundary into intended offense, “Changed for all of us."

“It was as it must be, Louis," Gram stated with a calm firmness.

“It was as you decided it must be, Brother, and nothing else," Louis shot back, and the tension mounted, that twitch of Gram's jaw muscles once more betraying his irritation

“Young Master," came that stately, sharp tone and the tall, severe man at the end of the foyer interjected, his bright hazel eyes glimmering like agates as he inserted himself between the two almost physically, his attention on Louis with a sternness that came from a place of deep, abiding love, “Master Gram has traveled a long way expressly to see you and your siblings, do him the returned kindness of simply being happy to see him?"

The words were quiet but sharp as any knife, and they cut Louis visibly to the quick, he closed his eyes and nodded a moment and when they opened anew… he was a different man, those were the eyes of a young boy, hurt and confused, but he nodded again and reached out and embraced Gram fiercely, the two men squeezing each other tightly.

“Master Khanenko, the steward, ever able to cut to the heart of matters," Alphonse stated quietly for Lidia's benefit, meeting her gaze with a quiet smile, his voice lowered just for her ears; “He raised us as much as father did… and is a fair hand more direct."

“So I can see," she murmured to him, eyes wide at the display.

“I missed you, brother," Gram said softly to the Louis as they crushed one another in a mix of affection and long-standing hurt, Louis only squeezed him back with a little nod, the two separating with an unspoken promise of further words in more private quarters.

“I missed you all, Master Khanenko, is that old lion Avalov still here too?" Gram asked, breaking the pall with his usual cool smile. The severe steward nodded with a bow.

“Marshal Avalov is still in attendance, he is currently on the green training the new recruits from the peasantry," Khanenko affirmed, getting a grin from the tall cavalier in return.

“Of course, duty before ritual, as always," Gram said, reaching out and taking the prim man in his arms and embracing him as well — a mannerism that was returned after a moment's stiffness with genuine warmth.

“Welcome home, Master Gram."

The silence that followed that was uncomfortable to say the least, the palpable aura of unspoken words hung in the air as Gram returned to Lidia's side, and it felt as if that moment was a thin pane of glass, ready to shatter at the smallest breath.

“Gram is likely very tired after all of his travels, would you care to continue this in the parlor as the maids make up your rooms?" Baron Richart interjected, breaking the silence in the least destructive way possible, he smiled at his eldest, “I have left it just as you did."

“Truly?" Gram asked with a grin and a faint blush, “Ah… that will be an experience, yes the parlor sounds lovely, I could use a drink to wash the dust of the road from my mouth,"

“Aye, a little sip o' somethin' sounds grand, wouldn't object to a spot o' food either," Lidia agreed, to a soft laugh from Richart at her side, laying his hand on her arm.

“Ah, you'll fit in well, with so many young boys in my home, I can hardly keep enough meals on hand to satiate them for a day," he remarked, smiling at his brood and they — in spite of any circumstances, smiled back.

“Let us adjourn elsewhere, standing around in this drafty doorway is poor for the humors."

~ ~ ~

The parlor and the path they took to it went even further to breaking up the foreboding exterior of the Keep, continuing the trend of carpets, tapestries and soft, warm colors and textures and extending it into large lounges and padded chairs. It was a small room, in spite of that — much like the rest of the building had been as they moved through it, a mix of the natural walls of the yawning limestone cavern and stone seemingly quarried straight from the living rock. There were places as they traversed, speaking stiffly of minute nothings, that blended hand-cut masonry and the wildness of raw stone in seamless transition, lending a sturdy, organic but slightly claustrophobic feel to the place that was somehow homey and hostile all at once. The parlor's ceiling was low and visible, heavy support beams held up the roof and various dangling lights and lanterns, doubtlessly kept lit by the staff. Baron Karnov pushed ahead of them, taking for himself a high backed chair and drawing a footstool out for Baron Richart as they proceeded.

“Compliments," Richart said quietly, gesturing to the rest of them, “Please sit, there are plenty of places to make oneself comfortable," he said, seeming to hesitate even as he sat next to Karnov in the two tall chairs that commanded the head of the room. Lidia could taste the power play happening in the room, Karnov was a man like Kull and his ilk, every move and mannerism a calculated move for his benefit. She found she didn't care for him independent of Gram's own clear malice and history. He was a predator, and she felt like prey under his eyes. Gram took one of the chaise lounges, drawing her along with him so she settled into the curve of the single arm between him and it, an innately comfortable position for her — she had always found being in snug spaces a comfort, and Gram had learned this with aplomb. Their fingers twined together as Louis sat across from them near Karnov, and Colette found a place on the rug on the floor near a few scattered dolls and books — the little girl clearly spending much time here. Alphonse however, drew himself up with a sheepish smile.

“I would love to stay and catch up, but Father Denis is expecting me for lessons," he explained and Gram smiled at him.

“Of course, I have a feeling my stay will be…" he paused and met Karnov's eyes, cool blue on blue like blades of ice clashing between them; “… extended, by all means see to your learning little brother, I will be here to catch up anon."

Alphonse smiled and gave a courtly bow before leaving the room, Steward Khanenko raising his eyebrow as he left and clearing his throat, “I will see to refreshments, do try to be cordial in my absence," he said in a dry, pointed tone that got Karnov's eyebrows up but a smile from Richart.

“Oh, if you would bring us a bit from the cellars, it has been some time since my eldest and I have been together, I would like to share a drink with him," the baron said in his soft, pleasing voice — Lidia found herself hanging on his every word, she loved the way he spoke… his cadence and tone very much where Gram himself had learned it, nature had it's say — but nurture clearly held power.

“I will make an appropriate selection," Khanenko said with a nod and spun on his heel to leave. Karnov reclined in his chair in an almost indolently relaxed posture, setting his saber aside against the arm of the chair — he, Gram and Louis were the only ones under arms, Lidia had given up her messer with her saddlebags, still wearing naught but simple traveling clothes beneath one of Gram's overlarge shirts, bound around her waist like a sundress. She felt a bit embarrassed of that now, but Richart's eyes held only warmth for her, and that was enough to spurn the ill feelings.

“So, a betrothal is it?" the tall, blond lord asked in a conversational tone, leaning forward to prop his chin on his steepled fingers, “I am somewhat poorly apprised of current events, but I am to understand you both are heroes of an order now?" he ventured by way of conversation, Karnov and Louis both icily silent, calculating. Gram only smiled.

“Yes, it was… something of a whirlwind courtship, we met under siege by the forces of the Empty Queen," Gram explained casually, so casually all three men's eyebrows went up in response, while Colette lay happily ignorant on the floor over one of her books, legs idly kicking back and forth.

“Siege you say?" Richart asked, and Karnov made an affirmative sort of sound.

“Lachheim has fallen, destroyed down to the foundations by the Queen's forces," he explained in a dolorous tone, Richart nodding patiently.

“Yes, of this I was apprised in my son's letters as well as communiques sent through Marshal Avalov, but Fort Ivory? That is no minor redoubt, even our formidable keep quails beneath its shadow," the blonde man countered in his soft voice, getting a grunt of affirmation from Karnov. Lidia spoke up.

“Aye, th' Queen tunneled right up from under th' very bedrock, saw it wit' me own eyes, the scores o' monsters in the dark, a place o' horrors," she said and a catch took her throat — the pain was still fresh, however many months had passed, one could still seem the smoke from Lachheim's smoldering remains across the Heartlands, and the wounds on her heart still bled. “They marched fer th' Lady in White, Gram an' I met durin' the siege as they tried tae break the Fort."

“Tried, and with my Little Redcap's cunning aid — failed," Gram added with a distinctly unsubtle tone of pride, going so far as to raise her hand to his lips and kiss it boldly before the others, reveling in his love for her almost defiantly. Lidia smiled sheepishly.

“Me an' Ser Bart simply 'ad fought ghuls an' ogres 'afore back in Lachheim, I jus' knew how tae track an' kill 'em," she said, her accent thickening as she felt put on the spot.

“Ser Bart? I have seen that name in reports from the battle," Karnov interjected, leaning forward on one knee to regard her, “Supposedly the Lady's champion now."

“Wee bit more than champion, yer Lordship," Lidia corrected with a raised eyebrow; “She took him as her Husband, an' her his Wife, we were there at th' weddin'."

Karnov's face was unreadable in that same, fleeting moment of being caught out, Lidia shrugged it off with a grin, holding up Gram's entwined fingers and smiling up at the man, “'Tis still very new, I dinnae expect all o' Northsea tae know o' the Lady's courtship, but we were there, I carried her veil like a proper lass," she said and a warm flush filled her face at the happy memory.

“Our union was blessed by the Queen of Love herself, I can think of no greater auspice under which to be wed," Gram added, leaning down to kiss her brow, only deepening the color of her cheeks as she turned and met Karnov and Louis' dual gazes again, both notably, forcibly neutral. They had been avoiding her mostly, some furtive looks, but all eyes were understandably on Gram — only now did they seem to truly see her. Karnov's icy blue stare met her eyes, and there was a sudden widening of them as his pale gaze locked against her green, slit-eyed stare.

In that moment, the entire room froze. Louis' own gaze followed Karnov's, and Richart's as well, three pairs of human eyes locked upon her sidheborn gaze, revealed now in the low light of the flickering candles — her eyes shining in the flickering glow like a cat's — none spoke immediately, but the burly Baron Karnov's expression seemed to harden, and there was a narrowing of his own eyes and tightening of his mouth that seemed to speak in the silence: I know what you are.

Lidia lifted her chin a bit, letting her ever-present hood shake back some from her red hair in what appeared to be a casual motion of brushing her hair from her eyes, leveling that cat-eyed gaze at Karnov with a touch of defiance of her own, the unspoken rejoinder passing between them in kind: What about it?

“Miss Shaw," Karnov said after a long moment, breaking the silence with his gravelly baritone like a hammer through a pane of glass, “Forgive my prying, but the Darrowmite way is one of traditions and bloodlines, so I am at a disadvantage here knowing none of such for you — where precisely do you hail from?" He asked pointedly, leaning back into his chair and raising his own chin along with one eyebrow, “Your features are unfamiliar to me."

“Oh me home is nae far from here, or was when I was a wee lass," she said gamely, meeting him fair — she was not going to play coy about her origins, but she was going to make him say it. She would not be bullied by this man, she had grown up around his kind. “Nae but a few days ride past yer borders tae th' northwest, on th' edge o' th' Black Forest."

“We passed her childhood home on the way here, even, reclaimed as it was by the forest, yet and still-" he raised her hand to his heart again pressing her knuckles to his chest above the pendant, “To think I grew up a mere ride from the love of my life, so close and yet so far away."

“It's like a fairy tale," came a small voice, and everyone in the room turned to regard Colette, who's gaze had turned from her book up to Lidia, face resting on her palms with wide eyes and inquisitive curiosity, “You met a Nobleman on a great adventure and fell in love, just like the stories!"

The tension seemed to leave the room at that, and Lidia giggled in spite of it all, leaning down to the little girl with a wide grin that only just concealed her sharp canines, “Oh aye, jus' like yer stories in a lot o' ways, there were knights an' paladins, an' th' Lady in White all in a pile, big monsters an' horrors o' plenty too!" she said in a dramatic voice, making the little girl's eyes grow larger as she reached up a hand towards Lidia's cheek.

“Is that how you got that scar?" she asked, with the guilless innocence only a child could muster, Richart and Gram both seemed to bristle a bit, Lidia blinked and raised her hand to her face, the faint line of scarring across her nose and cheek smooth and raised beneath her fingertips, the only part of the ambush beneath the Fort that remained on her skin — she'd nearly forgotten. Tears sprang unbidden to the corners of her eyes at that and she blinked them back, smiling a bit to dull the effect.

“Aye… 'twas in a battle beneath th' Fort, monsters in th' dark," she said soberly, sitting up a bit to look over towards Karnov and the others, “Lost good friends in that pit o' filth, good boys."

“So you can fight," Karnov observed, and Lidia nodded.

“Aye, raised scrappy, handy with a knife, but Gram an' the boys o' Fort Ivory have taught me more o' the blade," she said and jerked her chin back towards the door; “Yer boys carried me blade off wit' the rest o' me things, that short, ugly little messer."

“Wow!" Colette gushed, “A warrior princess!" Lidia couldn't help but laugh at that.

“Oh nae little lassie, Ah'm nae a princess, or a noble o' any stripe, I'm a peasant girl, a woodcutter's girl," she clarified, getting the little girl's eyes even wider. Lidia realized she'd probably just confirmed yet another Darrowmite fairy tale for little girls and she held up a hand, “Yes, ah'm sure there's lots o' stories o' wee girlies meetin' foreign dandies and getting' married," she said, forestalling the girl's next gush — which Colette confirmed with a vigorous nodding of her head.

“A woodcutter's daughter who fights monsters with steel and fire, fraternizes with Paladins and Churchmen both — all while earning the favor of the unknowable divine," Karnov said in a laconic tone, leaning his chin onto his upturned knuckles, eyes on her with an uncomfortable intensity, “Quite a resume for a simple peasant girl, your father must have been quite the man."

“He was… but nae fer any o' that," Lidia answered, her tone warm, “Nae a fighter, nor a holy man… just a man, a good an' gentle man with strong hands an' a big heart," she corrected once more with a little shrug, eyes gleaming; “Learnt all o' the scrappy bits on th' streets o' Lachheim, after he died."

“You are an orphan?" Richart cut in with a throb of concern in his voice, Lidia nodded as the softer of the two Baron's eyes filled with sympathy.

“Papa simply dinnae wake up one morn, left me alone all 'afore I was past me eighth summer," she said in a soft tone. No tears, no cracking of her voice — seeing her father's body had cut open the wounds fresh, but had also brought with it a sense of closure of sorts. She hoped he was in Godhome now, smiling down at her.

“How did a girl-child of eight summers make it from the border of these lands to Lachheim? Your mother lived there?" Karnov challenged, Louis seeming to seethe softly at the mention of mothers, his jaw bulging a bit the same way Gram's did when he was containing his anger. Lidia shook her head, looking up to her beloved for a moment, his cool blue eyes giving her strength.

“Me mum nae cared fer me, nae as such at least — I walked. Papa taught me th' ways o' the wilds, I took food an' me walkin' shoes, an' started out tae th' west til I hit th' Kingsroad… simple as walkin' til I wandered into th' walls, I'd been 'afore, Papa sold his scrimshaw and carvin' there." She explained, not letting her gaze waver from Karnov's, her cat-eyed gaze wide and intense. Aye ye bastard, get a good look. Look real deep an' long, tell me who th' monster really is.

“Surely you did not simply live alone on the streets, there are charities, the Church?" Richart ventured, and Lidia snorted a bit.

“Aye, fer th' proper folk, but I had nae but a few copper pennies an' a woodsy name… nae, twas the cutpurses and ruffians that saw tae me, I stole and snuck about fer me daily bread until I was nae longer knee-high tae a hound."

“A thief," Louis said, his voice long absent almost cracked with the bitterness of his tone, “Truly a wonderful addition to the family lineage."

“Louis," Baron Richart said with a soft tone of authority that rang like a bell, even Karnov seemed to raise an eyebrow at that — Lidia got the impression that the erudite blonde man rarely raised his voice in ire, and truly it changed him. The tone and the expression were hard as a blade, and within those coffee-colored eyes behind their wire-rimmed spectacles lurked a glimmer of disapproval that made her heart quail. Louis visibly recoiled from that, his shoulders hunching a bit.

“Apologies, Father — that was cruel of me," Louis said softly, Karnov was noticeably silent in the matter as Richart nodded. Lidia smiled at them both with a little shrug.

“A touch blunt but honest, nae harm done," she reassured him, giving him a smile, “Aye I was a thief an' cutpurse, best o' the lot, nae a single watchman could keep pace wit' me — iffin' they er'er saw me tae start!" she said with a touch of genuine pride, in spite of her turn at heroism she was proud of her abilities, they had saved her and her friends — and served to in turn save the world sure as Bart's magic sword had.

“As is to be expected from the unnatural powers of the sidhe," Karnov stated coldly, eyes staring dead at her now, she grinned at him widely — extra wide, giving him a good look at her sharp canines and gleaming cat-like eyes. Karnov's face darkened slightly, and Richart's expression returned to a careful neutrality — Louis on the other hand wore his derision on his face with a curled lip and a wrinkled nose.

“I was wonderin' how long ye'd dance around it," she said — peeling her hood back entirely and brushing her hair fully from her face, leaning forward onto her knees to stare at the three men with wide-eyed intensity and open defiance, her feline eyes dilating to blade-like slits, “I noticed ye noticin' iffin' ye get my meanin'."

“You were not particularly subtle about it, sidheblood," Karnov said with a touch of dismissal in his tone and Lidia shrugged, turning her gaze to Richart.

“What o' ye? I saw ye meet me eyes, ye knew 'afore his other Lordship did," she asked, Gram's eyes turned to his father as well as those of Louis and Karnov, both raising an eyebrow at the quiet blonde scholar — Lidia got the impression they had made a habit of underestimating the soft man. Richart to his credit took a moment to compose himself, removing his glasses and running his hands through his long blonde hair. When he reopened his eyes, the deep brown pools were full of a familiar warmth. He had kind eyes.

“Do you mean my family or son any harm?" he asked, and there was an iron in his tone that demanded honesty, Lidia found herself feeling the same quivering in her belly at those words that she had when Baba Yaga had questioned her — direct, guileless, unyielding.

“Nae," Lidia said — no bold proclamations — her voice was quiet and soft in return. She was a little girl again, looking up at her own father, “Nae could I ever. Gram made o' me a whole woman wit' his heart an' words… I could ne'er harm him, nor those who made of him such a good man."

Richart stared into her eyes a long moment, and she gazed back. Alien green slits against all-too-common brown in an unwavering lock. Had she not known the Baron was but a mortal man, she would have sworn he had peeled open her soul and looked upon her quality in person. After a moment he put his glasses back on and gave a little nod.

“Then I welcome you to my home, and my heart — for my dearest son has always been an excellent judge of character, even when I and many of mine own have not."

Lidia felt her heart swell, and Louis jerked his head back around at his father,

“Simple as that?! A child of monsters has sunk her claws into my brother and you simply accept it?!" he said, coming up out of his chair, jerking his fingers at Lidia, froth on his lips, “You are so weak as to let our blood be watered down by the filthy ichor of the unholy?!" Gram long silent, simply listening suddenly was on his feet — she had only seen him move so fast in the throes of combat, and there was a sudden flicker of limbs.

The sound of the blow was louder than she thought possible. Louis stumbled backwards with a cry, holding his face — lip split and bleeding as Gram wound back his hand, the blow had been open-handed, a slap across the cheek that had rang out like a thunderclap and nearly driven the younger man to his knees.

“GRAM!" Richart barked, his voice full of that iron authority once more, enough to startle Louis once more and even pull a slight flinch from Karnov himself — but the tall cavalier paid it little heed, he looked down at his brother, his tall, straight-backed posture putting him a full ahead above the cowed young man.

“You will not speak as such to my betrothed, brother or not — such vile epithets will not pass your lips in my presence or I will correct you," he said in a tone made of ice and grim sincerity, sure as the dawning sun. Karnov watched the entire exchange with an impassive face, his eyes turning back to Lidia with a flinty edge to them as Louis' chest heaved and seemed to struggle with how to respond, his eyes flicking momentarily to the saber by his chair. Karnov raised a hand then.

“No," was all he said in a tone that was as weighty as the mountainside, Louis nodded after a moment and looked away from Gram, unable to meet his gaze, hands shaking.

“I-" Louis began and the brutal baron cut him off once more,

“No," the tone rang out once more, still not taking his eyes from Lidia, “It is not seemly. You have lost your composure, take your blade to the yard and speak it to the forms."

“But-" he began again.

“Go."

Louis fell silent once more, looking between the three men, and turning a withering gaze on Lidia, he snatched up his saber with a stiff bow, and stalked from the room, spitting a mouthful of blood into a potted plant on the way out, the door banging shut hard behind him.

“So is the way of a house divided," Karnov said in that level tone, eyes still on Lidia as he shifted his posture, leaning forward onto his knees, hands steepled at the fingers down between them, “You understand why one would be suspicious, yes? You know from where your blood hails."

“You will also, not speak such things to her," Gram cut in, taking a step to stand over Karnov in open defiance of rank and station, in that moment the tall man seemed all the taller to her, a thousand feet of bravery as he had been before monsters and rough men alike, “Your hands are stained enough in the matters of mixed blood, and I will have none of it," he said and then added with a stiff bow that only came from the neck up, “Your Lordship."

Karnov seemed to take that in stride, but Lidia could smell the aggression in the air, the two men were practically spoiling for a fight long in the making, and the electricity between them crackled with almost visible arcs.

“You have grown a fine set of fangs, pup," Karnov said, not bothering to stand to meet Gram's challenge, “It pleases me."

“I am what my father and Lady made me, nothing more," Gram said simply, and Karnov parted his lips in a silent 'Ah' and nodded in acknowledgment, gesturing back to the chaise lounge next to Lidia.

“Please, sit. Louis is hot-blooded and has yet to grasp control as you have," He said with seemingly genuine cordiality, but Lidia could still practically smell the aggression in the air, see the dangerous gleam of the man's eyes, “He will learn."

“C'mere loverboy, no harm done — it's nae like I haven't 'ad coarse words tossed at me for what I am before," she said, reaching up to take his hand, pulling him gently away. Karnov's lips turned up in a smile.

“Yes, your woman offers good council — as a strong wife should."

Gram narrowed his eyes, but he allowed himself to be drawn back to the seat, Lidia making a point to wrap her hands in his once more, lacing together their fingers. She wouldn't let on to him just yet how much Louis' vitriol had stung her. She was used to it from strangers and ruffians — but this was her beloved's brother, not some fat dockworker with bricks for brains. Fear roiled in her guts, but she swallowed it.

“You're a fairy?" came a quiet, stunned little voice. In the commotion of the confrontation, it seemed everyone had forgotten little Colette sitting there with her books, now curled back away behind an ottoman a bit, a look of trepidation filling those dark eyes.

“Aye, half o' me is," she said and opened her mouth, showing off her sharp teeth and giving her a cat-eyed wink, “Mum was a woodsy spirit o' some sorts, Papa loved her fierce an' she gave him me."

“Wow," the little girl said, leaning closer to her, “I never saw a real fairy-girl before, no wonder you're so pretty." Once more from the mouth of babes, Lidia flushed with embarrassed pleasure and smiled at her. Gram drew her closer.

“Even a child can see your luster within the rough, so it must be true," he told her, and she flushed all the more, turning her eyes to Richart with a bite of her lower lip.

“Ah'm blamin' ye fer his silver tongue, I swear he could woo the Twin Maidens down from th' skies wit' jus' a bit o' poetry."

Richart smiled gratefully, and it was then that the door clicked open once more, the Steward, Khanenko turning up with an arched eyebrow and a covered dish in his arms.

“I saw Master Louis storming towards the yard with blood on his face and murder in his eyes, is all quite well?"

“Quite, old friend, just a family squabble," Richart said to the severe Steppefolk man, getting a curt nod of his head.

“Boys will be boys, apologies for my tardiness, I was torn between the apple brandy and the cider we've had chilling in the cold cellar for the summer, and eventually erred on the side of appearances," he explained conversationally, setting down the dish and a small, lightly dusty wide-bottomed bottle — lifting the lid of the former to a small platter of delicate-looking, round little cheeses and a delectable cut of cold, smoked venison already carved into slices paired with a heavy stack of crusty bread. Lidia's stomach growled and her mouth watered as Khanenko proceeded to the nearby cabinet and returned with four wide-bottomed snifters artfully threaded through his fingers by the stems.

“An apple brandy native to the local orchards, a Steppefolk vintage I am personally fond of," He said by way of explanation, pouring for Lidia first as guest before going down the line from Gram and finally ending with his master, Richart.

“You always know best dear friend, I daresay I am spoiled by your canny eye for spirits and delicacies alike," the soft-spoken Baron complimented the steward as he swirled the amber-colored liquid around the wide, bell-like glass, warming it with his hand. Lidia wasn't particularly cultured — but Kull had been fond of brandy himself, and she mirrored the motion before giving it a delicate sip.

“Oouh," she said with a shiver that ran from her nose to her toes, taking a longer drink, “I can smell th' apples even after I swallow," she gushed with an eager little smile. Khanenko raised an eyebrow at this.

“An astute nose, I would ask what else you can detect then," he inquired and she took another sip, turning her slit-eyed gaze towards the ceiling thoughtfully.

“Mmn, oak, prolly from th' barrels — Papa always said the Darrowmere lads liked oak — an'… cinnamon, vanilla an'…" she trailed off and took another sip, screwing up her face a bit.

“Is that a flower?" she asked, and Mister Khanenko's eyebrows raised in an impressed manner.

“Hibiscus, a signature note of this particular vintage, very faint — very hard to detect. My compliments to your palate, Lady," he said with a little bow.

“The powers of the sidhe are many it seems," Karnov noted dryly, sipping his own brandy with a pleased face. The steward raised an eyebrow at that, and Lidia met his gaze pointedly, once more showing off her inhuman gaze. The severe man stiffened a bit, and then nodded curtly.

“I see, Master Gram brings an exotic bride to the halls. I will enjoy testing that fair folk's tongue of yours with my collection," he said, quite readily. Lidia was honestly just a bit taken aback, surely she had been accepted by many before — but such simple understanding seemed to belie the man's intense exterior. She decided she may like him, she certainly liked him better than Karnov.

The rest of the visit passed with idle conversation, Khanenko joining them and serving everyone, bringing a glass of milk and sweetbreads for Colette before joining them in their light luncheon — Lidia spent more time listening as Gram regaled them with the stories of their adventures, filling in the gaps between their meeting and the gruesome destruction of Lachheim as Lidia all but gorged herself on the delicious offerings. The cheeses in particular, were soft and smooth with a creamy texture that spread onto the bread with aplomb and made her toes curl with the delightful, buttery flavor of the body and firmness of the rind. This was far, far greater fare than she'd ever had readily, and her fae-given sense of taste was practically overwhelmed by the flavors both delicate and intense. She may not have cared one whit if Gram had been highborn or a common soldier — but she could get well-accustomed to such simple delights that came with station.

The night wandered on in such a way and the tension did not so much lessen as reach a sort of equilibrium as the sun dipped low, the shadows in the yawning mouth of the Navel sharp, stark, and long, creating a dramatic contrast that created many deep places of darkness clashing starkly against hard lines of light. Even the shade in Baudelaire Keep was formidable.

“The hour grows late," Richart said as they all had fallen into quiet introspection around the finale of Lidia and Gram's little tale, much of the visit had been simply host to the tale — both Barons had been in rapt attention as Gram told the tale from his point of view — the tall man was well spoken, and knew how to weave a tale. Even so, she found herself detecting flourishes here and there signatory of their friend Nazir and his fiery imagination, the two had formed a fast friendship around stories and song and it seemed the spirited southerner had left his fingerprints on the tall man.

“Indeed, and the questions yet many," Baron Karnov agreed — he most of all was leaned forward, intensely listening to the tale of things impossible and savage, of the places beyond — of the abilities of Bart and Cithara in particular, “This champion, this husband of the Lady's seems like quite storybook hero, it demands much thought, begs much speculation," he said and Lidia snorted a bit.

“Iffin' ye say so, Bart's so damnably humble you start tae forget he's full tae th' brim o' divine fury til ye see him in the grips o' it," she said with a shrug, remembering the stark difference between her dear Big Brother at rest — and when he'd thundered through the Queen's demesne fueled by fire, faith, fury.

“Yet there are changes," Karnov said, his eyes were intense, white visible all around the icy blue-gray of his gaze as he looked dead-on at her, fingers steepled under his nose, leaning forward in his chair like a perching animal, restless and agitated, “You are in a rare place, a position to witness it first hand as a man is taken in hand by one of these unknowable divinities, even your fae eyes must see how they bend and mold a man so," he said and there was a fascination and fever in his voice that came with a ragged edge. He held her gaze like that across the couches, the sharp shadows of the fading day contrasting the hard planes and angles of his face.

“The touch of one's hand altered a nation forever. My nation. What will yours do?"

Lidia shivered, unwilling to meet that intense stare very long, hiding it with a show of leaning up against Gram.

“Gets a wee bit chilly once tae sun gets a bit low," she said, Richart sweeping in like a hero of swashbuckling legend with a stately little laugh and a nod, leaning onto the arm of his chair, patting the thick quilt laid across it fondly.

“Yes, much of the castle is cut out of the same limestone as the cave, or just simply carved wholesale into it. It does much to keep things even and cool in the summer, but the evenings are often a bit chill," he answered with a chuckle, plucking at his robes, “Why we learned men are so fond of robes they named us for them, it is terribly drafty in most keeps and castles."

“Yes, I will have some things laid out for you in Gram's old quarters, which while we have talked have been freshly turned-down," Khanenko added as he swooped in once more to clear away the remains of the entire bottle of brandy that had vanished in between the four, and another of the same vintage beside it. Lidia blinked a bit, the slow drip of alcohol had done little to impair her — but it had hidden the length of the conversation from her real perceptions: they had been talking for hours. The tension and trickle of drink had conspired to distract and distort the time, Colette had bundled off to bed in the advancing evening not long before and had finished with a light supper in between the grazing on cheeses, breads, and the odd smoked meat. Karnov raised an eyebrow at that.

“You will not board them separate? They are unwed yet," the fur-mantled Baron objected, Lidia's slightly-tipsy mind noting that was probably why he hadn't taken the big wolfskin off either, another window into the intense man's mind. Richart however, simply scoffed.

“Oh they are hardly children, and they have made their intentions known with such fervor they have come here in person to see it done, I see no need to stand on rigid ceremony in a house so long missing a bride and groom." Was his rejoinder and he smiled at the pair, “Besides, it is as I said — exactly as you left it, surely there is much you have to share with her still lying around on shelves, in chests, under bedframes…" he said and Gram stiffened a little, a gleam catching Richart's eye that mirrored the shine of irritation in Karnov's.

“Yes, I know. You are quite a trendsetter." Karnov's voice said as he leaned back in his chair, eyes still on Lidia for a lingeringly intense moment before turning to Richart, “Of that we are to still have words, and I see that as good a reason as any to allow them to whatever…" he paused and turned his gaze back to Lidia with a pointed raise of an eyebrow, “… Progressive activities, they choose to entertain themselves with." Lidia felt a little sting at the words, the tone was subtle, but not too subtle. He wanted to make sure the creature understood what it was being told. He'd all but called her a slut to everyone's face, and done so in clear expectation of a carefully calculated reaction.

Lidia had to admit, Karnov had a good read on her — from a year or so ago. A few months even, and he might have read Lidia as an unsure, uncomfortable creature at war with her needs and wants, but she'd slain that demon, or at least mortally wounded it. Far away in Baba Yaga's hut, she'd faced up to far more than the embarrassment of loving a man, earnestly and publicly. There was no outburst, simply a smile — the widest, most fae tooth-and-fang-filled smile she could give him, sliding her arms around Gram in a delightfully possessive clutch. Oh let him think her a whore, he already thought her a monster.

“C'mon loverboy, the adults wanna talk shop an' we're in th' way," she tittered at him, pulling the tall man to his feet with a devious wink, “I cannae wait tae see where me very own fairy tale prince grew into all these grand muscles an' ideals," she purred at him, snatching her lower lip in her sharp teeth at an intimate angle just for him. Gram gave her that stormy look that told her she'd struck home with at least one of her sultry hurled darts, as prim and proper as he was he had the soul of a poet most libertine, and passion burned in it proper.

Their goodbyes said, Gram lead her deeper still into the house proper, leaving Richart and Karnov together to discuss… business. Gram and Lidia both understood what was happening, to some extent — they were prisoners to the grounds, Gram brought her along a long, curious route, eyes alive as they did.

“Wherein' ye takin' me sweetheart, tae ye house o' th' grand tour?" she asked jovially after yet another turn through the surprisingly dense fortress, far, far more utilitarian than posh, it presented a constant juxtaposition of harsh, barren fortification and the lush vigor of living rock and soft contrasting textures. Three different ideals in sharp contrast and compliment both.

“Away, until I am sure we are not being watched," he said in a low tone, pulling her along still until they found themselves in some far, idle turret on the walls near where it ran flush to the unworked stone. Only one way in, and a sheer drop out of the long observable station, it was little-used and seemed to be more of a storage closet now than defensive battery.

“Iffin' ye wanted tae make out like teenagers, I'm sure there was a fine linens closet a ways back," she chortled halfheartedly as they stole into the room, putting her hands on his chest and curling her foot performatively upwards, drawing a faint smile at the edges of the storm cloud that was his expression. The big Darrowmite sank back against the far wall, facing the door, the little changeling draped over him fondly.

“My home is under siege," he sighed, turning his head towards the broad horizon beyond the turret, the late evening sky a glorious tapestry of colors across the steppe, its beauty a melancholy contrast to the mood, “If not by direct force of arms, then by the heart and soul of the place."

“Karnov," Lidia confirmed and Gram nodded, sighing as he flicked his gaze left and right.

“His men line the walls, they stand where my father's should under banners of the Red Wolf," he confirmed, cradling her close by instinct, as if to protect her from the very idea, “I know not by what means, but Karnov occupies Baudelaire Keep — something he has long craved."

“Nae seemed tae be with bloodshed an' murder at least, everyone seems real casual about th' army sittin' on top o' 'em," she responded and the thundercloud on his face only grew darker.

“It seems that Karnov has continued his gambit regardless of my removing myself from the board," Gram growled moodily, his humors darkening along with the oncoming night.

“Louis," she said unthinkingly. The lad had been hard to miss.

Gram nodded in agreement, “My thoughts exactly, Karnov's work. I had not thought him canny as thus, and served to simply leave my family uncovered from his machinations."

“Now that's nae a bit fair tae yerself," she quietly admonished her beloved, pulling him down closer to her, rising on her tiptoes to close the distance as a cool breeze whipped up into the turret, “Yer one man, loverboy — a towerin' example o' the breed that makes me weak an' jelly-like in all o' th' right places mind — but jus' one all th' same," she consoled him, reaching up to cup his cheeks. The anger in his eyes wanted to burn, but Gram remained far too icy for such things, and with a bleak exhale much of the fury left him.

“You are right, mine own council spoken back to me," he said with a faint smile, “You remain an able student in all things."

“Yer jus' very, very good at teachin' is all," she said with a lidded expression, smoothing her hands across his chest as his smile took on that knowing cast, leaning down and taking her face in his hands, the kiss was brief, chaste, and sweet as honey.

“You're correct in any case," he said after a long breath, casting his eyes back to the horizon, “I am here now, and that is what should be the focus. We may be ensnared in this same trap as my family, but we have an advantage that Karnov in all his calculations does not."

“Oh aye?" Lidia challenged him playfully, sensing that cozy warmth returning to his voice. The tall cavalier raised one eyebrow at her.

“Why, we're the heroes of course."

~ ~ ~

Lidia and Gram stole back towards the warmth of the castle proper after a spell of silence, towards his own accommodations. She found herself growing more solicitous of him, of touch and closeness. She may have had the compulsion cut free of her in Baba Yaga's hut, but by no means had it extracted every single predatory facet from her nature, and even now there was a bit of that thrumming desire that demanded to be sated. It would not take a kiss and cuddle as compromise, no — its domain had been threatened, and there was a primal desire to reassert her claim on Gram that was now, oh-so-clearly sidhe in nature. It demanded a concession.

Straight from the pages of a storybook, she stole away into the tallest part of the keep with her Dark Knight, grinning all the wider as they ascended to one of the taller spires that jut from the living stone of the mountainside.

“Really? Ye room is in th' tower?" she chided him playfully and he let out a long-suffering groan, shoulders slumping dramatically.

“Oh I know, it is dreadfully on the nose isn't it? The black sheep in his tower, brooding the day away," he said, massaging a phantom headache away at it, “A dreadful cliché to be forced to live one's impressionable years through — and in a house full of bookworms to boot," he sighed and guided her to the turret through a hallway equal parts living rock and masonry stone, a little on the nose indeed.

“My father meant well, he wanted to give me what he thought was space to find my own niche, and to his credit dramatics non-withstanding it did," he said as they paused at a tall, narrow window in the winding corridor up the turret, “Big Brother's room was a fortress of safety, a place you could go when you were in trouble. My brothers and I bonded that way, and it brought us all closer."

“He gave ye a tiny keep tae rule in practice fer th' real one," she mused at him and from that, it drew an earnest little laugh out of the stoic cavalier.

“I suppose he did, even then he was looking out for me," the man mused as they arrived at the door. It was not so fantastical as a fairy-tail, a utilitarian corridor that wound around the turret, linked with arrow slits that passed for windows leading into a dead-end corridor with equally heavy double doors. Lidia bit her lip at the presentation.

“Please tell me he dinnae 'ave this built jus' fer ye," she murmured to him and he scoffed, shaking his head.

“No, no this was some kind of study built by one of the previous generations before my father's time," He added, unlatching the heavy doors and pushing inside.

The tower suite was an elegant if sparse affair. If it had been anything, it had been a war room of some sort, a high turret offset from the main complex — complete with a large barred window at one side with heavy shutters that gave clear view of the whole approach to the pass. A vaguely L-shaped room that clearly defined two distinct chambers between the tower spire itself with it's great window, and the more squared-off entry, it presented a small sitting space with a large, well-worn couch, chair, and table — the visible scuffs and dents of years of who-knows-what adventure visible on their surfaces. She at once could see it all, a million games and shared experiences here in their own little keep. The miniature parlor even had a small liquor cabinet, and a selection of books before ascending up to the tip of the spire where a partition separated the fore of the room back from the slightly elevated platform upon which sat the heavy four-post bed with a thick draping curtain about it. Here more than anywhere was there the effect of muting the natural bareness of the utilitarian walls, and a dozen or more rugs covered every square stretch of the cool stone floor, and each chair and lounge had a thick quilt piled across its surface in some way. By virtue of its construction, the tower room also had its own hearth and flume leading out far through a natural chimney — cut into the stone by the elements, and repurposed by man, a small mercy for the consistently cool, cave-like keep. A fire already crackled cheerily in the hearth, and the smell of fresh linens joined the scent of woodsmoke in the air.

“Behold, my tiny realm," Gram said as she slid into the rooms they shared, even spying their effects from their saddlebags tucked near the door, most surprisingly her blade included. Lidia's eyes were alight with delighted glee as she pulled her hood back from her hair fully once again, eyes darting to and for, trying to collect every tiny piece of her beloved's life from the dents, dings, and divots in the wood and stone.

“I can see what ye father was aimin' fer…" she said in a quiet little bit of wonder, it was no opulent salon, it had a certain adventurous quality to it, a bearing of duty and intent, a tiny keep indeed. She would have to be careful around Baron Richart, for as gentle and warm as the man seemed — he had a mind keener than Gram's shaving razors, and was able to very easily conceal it.

“He denied me nothing, every interest I had, talent I fostered, he saw to it I had adequate tools and resources available," he said, pausing after closing the doors to run his fingers down the spines of the books on the small shelves that flanked the little parlor desk. “Never the best, but never the worst. Father believes a man earns steel by working first with iron."

“But nae sense in beatin' about wit' stone and sticks, aye…" Lidia agreed, sliding her hands up Gram's chest as she pressed to his rangy frame from behind. That peckish part of her predatory nature practically salivated at the chance to be so close to him in such an intimate place, spreading her fingers wide across his chest, up his pectorals to let her nails rake slightly through the linen of his shirt, her nose square between his shoulder blades as she let out a short, lustful little exhale down his spine. That moment froze like that, Gram's breath drawing back in a soft hitch as she molded her slender body up against his, before peeking around his trunk, hands still wrapped possessively around him, eyes gleaming across the titles of the books.

“Mmmn… high adventure and dramatic poetry… ye are such ah dandy boy at times," she teased him softly, grinning as she let her nails drag across his chest, “Dinnae take that fer me complainin'… I love ye soft, sensitive spots…" she breathed through his shirt, pointedly dragging her nails an inch lower to a needy, barely-there sound of desire from the man.

“Truly…" Gram murmured after a moment of simple enjoyment of the attentions “… Father left them all exactly where I had, not even the order is out of place," he said, letting a hand fall to hers over his heart, “Shelves, Chests, Tabletops…" he began and her eyes gleamed with mischief as she slipped slowly away, reaching up on her tiptoes to let her lips ghost his ear as she did.

“… an' bedframes nae?" she teased, fading away from him towards the bed, slowly undoing her short trousers and the sash across her waist, letting the pair fall away as she stretched, toeing her way out of her boots as well, stepping out of each layer in turn until she once more wore naught but his borrowed shirt and her smallclothes as she ascended to the draped bedframe under his hungry gaze.

“You wouldn't…" he ventured as the now barely-clad changeling girl tossed herself onto his bed, so large… so soft, she smiled at him with impish delight from her nest of downy pillows and raucous red hair, freckled face upturned in delight.

“Oh aye, I would… I cannae imagine what lurid things wee lil' Gram hid 'neath his beddin' out o' sight…" she purred at him as she draped backwards off the bed, hanging upside down as he strode to his bedside where she dangled, peering up at him with unabashed avarice from her inverted posture her fingers dramatically wiggling as she mimed reaching beneath the draping duvet. Gram sat heavily at her side, bouncing her with his displacing mass a bit and sending her into a giggle as she allowed herself to roll against him, splaying herself across his back once more, peering down across his shoulders as he stooped himself…

“It is not as if I am ashamed now, I merely was as a lad…" he said and pulled a careworn, simple little book. Marked by repeated reading and the heavy creases of the spine of being laid open time and again, Lidia raised her eyebrows as he turned and handed it off to her with a dark little smile. “Go on, your curiosity is eating you alive, I know it…"

“Aye… make me feel like a right proper busybody…" she said… but took the book and peered at it, it was unremarkable, but it did have a long-placed marker midway through the pages…

… Guillarme's tongue ran across her navel, licking every last sweet dollop of spilled liqueur, finding it had run deeper 'twixt her thighs, where his lips met her nethers in a seeking contest, spreading and probing her for taste and tawdry pleasure alike…

Lidia blushed a rosy red hue to match her hair as she pulled her eyes from that leading passage back to Gram's own slightly pink, but knowing gaze. He gave a little shrug as her eyes flicked back down to the book, then up to her beloved again.

“I am human, even if made partially of ice and stone," he said, sliding his hand back to touch her; “… the key parts are still flesh," he concluded, hand on her now bare thigh, she shivered and that hungry trill in her mind grew insistent. A concession was to be had indeed, and she had it.

“I recognize a few things in here…" she purred, sliding back up against her beloved's svelte frame, her lips touching his ear once more; “Th' way he kisses her throat here… ye've done that tae me…" she purred, and felt him tremble as her hands slid down his belly, slowly winding herself around him from behind.

“Did ye touch yerself thinkin' o' me as ye did her?" she asked in a low, lurid whisper just for him, her fingers sliding down past his waistband to tease his hipbones, up came Gram's hips on pure instinct, and she tightened her own bare thighs, slowly pushing him back down.

“Lidia… you know we're not yet wed…" Gram started in a soft voice, and she giggled like a mad, wild thing in his ear.

“That's not what I asked is it loverboy…" she teased him back, and Gram stiffened with a little gasp as her sharp, fae-given teeth alighted upon his earlobe, and she lifted the book, eyes flicking to one side as she parted her soft lips a bare fingerbreadth from his ear:

“'She lowered her mouth tae 'is lap, an' she tasted o' him, runnin' her tongue tae and fro 'cross his cock and its crown, polishin' it with soft moans like she had his great huntin' spear….'" she quoted in a throbbing voice that dripped with lust. Gram's body shuddered as she slowly nuzzled his ear. The book set aside, and her hands set about undressing him — she dutifully kissed his ears and throat as she bared his chest to her seeking fingers, shirt joining her bottoms and boots on the floor as she embraced him newly from behind, legs still tangled with his thighs, hands once more flat on his bare, muscular chest.

“Did I rile ye th' way this book did when ye were a wee lad?" she continued to question, dragging her nails down his bare chest, and with a hiss he nodded,

“Yes… your eyes… I saw your eyes in my dreams, in my lustful moments, I could picture naught but those shocking, intoxicating green eyes staring up at me…" he moaned and she slid her hands lower, feeling their hearts hammering away, hers tap-tap-tapping its rhythm against his back, his against her hands as they passed. Down over his belly, down past his navel, down, down until she grasped the laces of his trousers, slowly pulling each tie free — each knot drawing a little twitch of desire from him until at last, she'd bared himwith a deft motion, never touching him directly.

“Did ye touch yerself tae such thoughts o' me?" she queried — the shivering man's only response was a nod and a soft sound of assent — his trousers pushed down to midthigh, where her hands now rested, slowly sliding up his thighs as his arousal beat and throbbed in the cool air with need, her lips near his ear as she purred with open, unabashed greed.

“Show me."

Gram gasped, but it was then he understood her game as she raked her nails over his thighs, and he slipped his own fingers about himself, stroking slowly as she purred her pleasure into his ear, she drew the book back up, finding the rest of the passage and reading aloud, her voice low and hungry, “She swallowed him down tae th' root again an' again, strokin' the urges up towards the tip o' his cock where she suckled and mouthed them tae fruition…'" her silky voice moaned in his ear, pressing her body to his bare back, sliding her fingers down his arm. Over his hands her own went, the book abandoned once as she guided him — never touching him directly, her hands and their digits molded over his own, puppeting them along, squeezing and coaxing his length between his fingers with a heady, needy moan in his ear.

“So much tae stroke…" she mewled with a low hunger as she set his hands to motion, not daring to peek lest she ruin the game, feeling through his own hands and motions the second-hand sensations, letting her fingers flow back down to his belly, sliding along his quivering abdomen as she ranked her nails lower over his hips, the arching, bucking motions needily pumping the air as she coaxed another moan from him by dragging her fingertips like talons across the deep, chiseled runnels of his hipbones. She turned the page again, leaving the book lying open as was its purpose as she slid her fingers lower — barely ghosting along the edges of his bare groin, finding his fingers with her own again.

“'Her mouth left him unsated, his swollen tip pressing betwixt her dewy petals, sliding inside o' her deepest recesses…'" she recited and moaned in his ear, grinding her bare hips against him as she tangled her legs snugly into his own, Gram's breaths and noises growing more urgent as he bucked and stroked himself to her soft recitations, her breath lowering as she felt him throb and pulse through his fingers — and she once more mirrored their motion, covering his seeking digits with her own and coaxing a fresh, sudden squeeze from them — rewarding her with a needy moan and even more needy jerk of his hips.

“I'll nae leave ye unsated like that…" she moaned in his ear, taking the lobe in her teeth, her hands sliding up his chest to cup at his flat, tensing pectoral muscles once more, feeling his sweat-slick body as he grew towards his peak, her own moans joining his as she found pleasure in his personal delights, “Iffin' I take ye into me… nae leavin' til yer empty and ah'm full…" she hissed and rolled her hips against his back with a motion he carried through, arching his back into a pretty crescent of pale flesh and black hair, offering her the long expanse of his chest, belly and loins to slide her hands down, to leave red with welts and scratches as she tilted his neck to her mouth, feasting on him as she breathed against his flesh:

“Faster loverboy… don't leave me empty…"

He bucked in earnest now, eyes a haze of needy pleasure and alien sensations, Lidia herself was practically drunk on it — oh aye she could see now she was made for this, the hungry parts of her nature feasted on his submission to her, on his supplication to her power… but it only went so far before it was his love she became drunk on, his affection that made her heart race. The restraint to even play the game came from her dual nature for once acting in concert rather than in contrast. She craved his flesh and his happiness, and would not be herself sated if either was in undue absence.

Her hands took their time, eyes closed to all but his beautiful face, watching his eyes dart and flicker in surprised pleasure as she set the pace for him to follow, and set her hands about the rest of him, down his thighs again, her mouth finding the nape of his neck with a hungry little bite, her fangs prickling the skin there as she dragged the tips of her nails up his thighs, framing the curve of his pelvis with feather-light scratches that sent tremors of sensation through his whiplike frame. Higher and higher hands and mouth went, leaving a series of rapidly-fading scratches and blushing-red toothmarks as she drew him towards his peak while all but climbing her own body up his, her hands flat on his vulnerable belly as his head at last turned to her, their mouths meeting at the end of the trail of playful toothmarks, his own hands working at the ferverant pace she set for him as their tongues danced and eyes closed, wrapping her legs around him again, she squeezed him tight as his pace began to falter, her lips whispering in the soft space between.

“Come for me loverboy, let me feel ye unravel…"

Gram was as ever, a dutiful man who did as he was told, and with gusto — the tall man's slender, sinuous frame arched in another bridge of masculine beauty, muscles tense and rippling as he thrust his hips forwards, met by her own hands again. Down she plunged them, wrapping his hands in her own around his pulsing manhood, guiding his fingers, tightening his own grip around his gushing member — forcing him to squeeze tighter, earning her a series of urgent, needy bucks as he went over the edge. He belonged to her in that moment, she stifled his needy cries with another kiss, her powerful, lean legs holding him in place against her chest as she coaxed every last drop from him in an arcing mess of emission that landed far across the room, painting an errant corner of a lavish rug with the force — leaving him a trembling, shaking mess of pleasure as she slid her hands back up his chest, and her tongue back from his lips — both motions answered with a breathless gasp.

“I love ye…" she whispered against his mouth, and a shuddering moan was all he had to answer in return.

The pair slumped to the bed, Lidia still holding Gram from behind in a possessive, clinging embrace of both arms and legs, his own hands grasping her tightly in a reversed hug as she gently nuzzled her lips to his neck, the light little bitemarks already faded to simple tawdry redness. She didn't let go until she felt his heart slow and his breathing steady, clinging for every dizzying moment of their afterglow until he seemed to sag with content pleasure beneath her, and pure, unadulterated smugness filled her. He was _her_s, and hers alone. She had claimed something in him with this act, and that predatory part of her nature clung to it ferociously, sated for the moment with its concession.

Gram however it seemed, was not.

She gave a sudden gasp as he turned and reversed their positions, still half-dressed and covered in a layer of sudor from his exertions, she was immediately engulfed in the presence of the man as he drew her face up to his in a kiss, the taste, the scent of Gram suddenly fully in her every sense and sensation — and just as suddenly, a part of her wasn't sated. It wasn't sated at all.

Gram it seemed, also had a plan for that.

His hand captured hers once more and he brought it to his lips, murmuring soft nothings against her flesh as he kissed and suckled down each finger, her wrist and then the hollow of her arm and elbow, drawing up the wide, open collar of her borrowed shirt-turned-sundress until he had her mouth in his again — and this time he was the conqueror, lording over her with size and presence, pushing her into the mattress as he pointedly devoured her in ways he only reserved for their deepest intimacies, her lips tingling and flushed with the rough, hungry kisses and tawdry little bites and nips much like those she had given him. His hands never left her own, and in fact, melded together in a lacing of digits most peculiar, at least until he boldly lifted the hem of her stolen shirt — and pressed her own hand flat against her bare belly, her fingers covered one to one with his, just like she had done to him moments prior. Her eyes dilated with sudden, nervous excitement, and her breath caught in her throat as he slid her hand slowly down that bare, taut expanse of belly towards her visibly soaked smallclothes.

“Gram…" she gasped needily and guided him as he guided her, sliding her fingers down her body the way she wished he would touch her, feeling the pressure of his hand atop her own, the weight of his touch guiding hers — she had no idea how good it would feel, how good she'd made him feel, but she was already shuddering and curling her toes in the bedding as her hand reached the subtle curve of her mons and she looked up to her lover, his eyes also not leaving hers — he understood the game, and was playing it in earnest. She gave a little nod.

He pushed her hand into her underclothes, and she arched up under the welcome invasion, her own fingers knew the way and the extra pressure of his grip only added a sense of urgency to her own touches, he seized her other hand as well, enfolding her against his body, pressing his bare chest and loins to her now-naked back and buttocks as he took her hands, one between her thighs, the other pressed up across her chest until he guided her questing palm to one small, perky breast. She gasped, excitement and surprise causing her legs to squeeze together around their joined fingers — he knew her so well, even limited as thus he instinctively found her most sensitive places. She stroked over her nether lips experimentally, and found his guiding fingers were just as curious, pressing and exploring her through her own touch, causing her legs to spread even wider as she mewled upwards into his mouth for a fresh kiss — his hand forcing her to stroke and caress her dewy petals in a slow, circling motion that made her toes curl with a mix of need and hot anticipation.

“Wound tightly as always… let me fix that…" he breathed against her mouth, tilting his mouth to her neck as he squeezed her fingers around her breast, and set her fingers further dancing betwixt her thighs, two of his calloused, war-hardened digits guiding her softer, more delicate hands along her equally delicate nub, the sensitive button of flesh engorged and swollen like the rest of her, the wet sound of her sodden folds beneath her fingers loud in the quiet room, only covered by her own moans.

“Mmngh… fook… ye dinnae know how tight…" she gasped lewdly, and he grinned against her ear, taking the soft lobe in his teeth, and pressing her fingers firmly down over her sensitive opening, causing her to buck as she dipped her fingers inside of herself, clamping down reflexively even if the invading flesh was only her own.

“Tell me then…" he teased and she could offer nothing but another mewling cry of pleasure as he slid his hands down her body now, having set her to working as she had him, she caressed and plunged her fingers into herself, imagining for all the world the sensation was Gram's manhood wrenching her apart inside, remapping her innards to his shape… instead, his hands did that. He grasped her, squeezed and caressed her — his hands were strong and smooth, and he freely grasped her. Where she had teased with scratching nails and soft caresses, he gripped and explored her, his hands strong and firm, defining her with his touch as she followed his lead in coaxing pleasure. She whimpered in delight as she filled herself again and again with her fingers, feeling his own grasp her hips, grinding her back against his naked torso as he filled them full with the soft, taut expanse of her rump and thighs, only serving to drive her more wild with the powerful sensation of being handled.

“Loverboy, Lady's Teats I'm…." she gasped in urgent need, she had never been so sensitive, so short of a fuse, but the experience on her virgin flesh was so intense that she was shaking, body quivering as she rapidly stroked and plunged fingers into her slick honeypot and over her swollen, demanding pearl — eyes rolled back to the whites as she felt his hand slide over hers again, and coaxing her to focus particularly on the latter — slowly, rhythmically stroking her most receptive place until her legs practically slammed shut with the arching of her body, trapping his hand between them as she felt her climax come roaring out of nowhere at the head of a flood of new, welcome sensation. She had finished to the thoughts and even scent of the man before, but never like this — never with him right there. Her climax dragged a shrill cry of delight from her, unblocked by kisses or shyness, it rang off the tower walls as she rocked and bucked through the waves of pleasure, his hands forcing her fingers down with extra firmness and unexpected intensity that caused her to quake and jolt with new surprises of sensation.

“GRAM! OH GOD GRAM YES!" she at last managed with words as his presence betwixt her grinding thighs drove her to a new peak, his hands still guiding her own contact with her oozing quim and forcing her to a dizzying height of ecstasy her body alone could not reach. He bodily restrained her much as she had him, his powerful arms wrapping her body, his mouth ghosting along her throat and jawline as she writhed against the welcome binding pressure, given a limit to strain against she strained gamely at that excruciating delight at the limit, body taut and wracked with pleasure so intense her scream dared to turn nigh-painful as she finally, mercifully fell from the heights into the rolling, warm afterglow, falling slack in her beloved's arms.

Gram was not finished.

He eased her down, his fingers sliding free from between her now quivering, weak thighs to simply… smooth her, he pressed his hands firm and strong across her every curve, belly, rump and all, like he was pushing seams from a block of clay. His touch was hard and compellingly so, giving her a firm anchor to grasp hold of in the shivering sea of sensation he and she had cast themselves adrift in. Slowly he settled her and himself in each other's arms, clothing as barely-there as it was, covering themselves, the scent of sex thick in the air in spite of the barely-chaste nature of their act. She breathed deep — finding the scent of the man intoxicating on a whole new level.

“I love you, Lidia…" Gram answered in kind to words that felt hours rather than minutes away, she could only smile as he brought his mouth to hers and kissed his immortal love for her into the little changeling. Her belly quivered, and the little facets of her mind that hungered and paced were fat and well-sated. Satisfied with their concession, quiet and content to wait once more.

“Love ye too, Gram…" she answered against his lips, winding herself into his arms as the cozy environs took their toll, lulling both sticky, tangled lovers to slumber…

~ ~ ~

Sleep came but did not remain long before Lidia's glowing green gaze snapped open in an unfamiliar bed, in an unfamiliar place — and a dozen or more deeply-rooted instincts all rebelled as they had once at Fort Ivory, and once at the mere thought of having a bed.

Lidia gently untangled herself from Gram's still sleeping form, their tawdry ordeal still a bit of a mess between them, careful to cover him where he had been bare…. But she did let her eyes linger on him after. No lights but for stars, her gleaming gaze was in its element, revealing to her what she understood was absolute darkness to others. Gram was cast in soft, cool tones of gray and silver, in her gaze everything was brighter than she supposed it truly was, the glow of her eyes seeming to cast itself onto everything she looked upon like a hunting cat. His long, lithe body seemed almost alabaster beneath her gaze, white in ways reserved for divinity and the dead. The shadows played and poured across him as she lingered like errant runnels of wax and silk, making the sharp planes and angles of his face cast themselves like the hatching shadows of a woodcut. She sat there knowing aside from the odd wild animal, only she had ever seen him in such a way. This image of Gram was hers and hers alone. Hers to keep.

Romantic as it was, her wakeful agitation made the discomfort of her first half-started intimate encounter with her beloved evident on her skin, and she stole away to the basins in the corner, washing and sponging herself clean and clear, the water smelling refreshingly of roses. Now clean and more comfortly, she found herself chilld. Cautiously padding from the room, she sought about in the armories and shelves until she found a large, woolen robe — clearly belonging to a young Gram — and with a girlish smile, pulled it on over a fresh change of clothes, though she longed to strip nude and climb back into bed with her beloved, the long morning hours spent in his arms one of her favorite memories. Agitation tasked her though, and soon a faint hollowness in her belly gnawed its way to her awareness, oh of all the times to get peckish!

That tore it, and the little changeling, borrowed robe on top of borrowed shirt, stole away from the rooms, pausing to only reclaim her long knife from her saddlebags near the door.

No point in taking chances.

Slipping quietly from the tower, she found the keep unearthly still. Far accustomed to the constant liveliness of the city, places like Fort Ivory and the Navel felt eerily empty to Lidia in the dark of night. A city seemed empty in the small hours, but there was always someone nearby — probably nearer than you'd like. The windows were black as pitch to human eyes, but her sidhe gaze saw out into the valley beyond, lit only by moon and star as plain as a late-evening sky to her. A faint chirping came to her sensitive ears, and she peered skyward to see an entire rookery of bats take flight from the depths of the cavern the castle was built from, flooding out into the night sky for their evening forage. The keep had a magical quality to it, feeling like it was truly built out of the surrounding mountain and wood, more than simply being able to reach up and touch living stone within the confines of the walls, but the way life just… continued on around it. It was part of Darrowmere, built out of its blood and bones as much as the mountain was.

The walls were silent save for said unique bloom of nocturnal life, and the little changeling instinctively reverted to her earlier nature, moving quietly and with purpose, she wasn't so much sneaking as being intentionally unobtrusive — there was a difference, she'd explain it to someone adequately at some point. She was fit to wander for a while, getting a feel for the way the air and floor responded, usual things she did in new places — old habits of the thieves' world, one stayed silent by experience more than skill, knowing what floors squeaked and what windowsills whistled when they opened was the true talent of a master thief in the world. While she was no master, Lidia was fairly good, and had learned from better. The Keep's melancholy quiet seemed to exude from the stones, maintaining a consistent mood as she picked her way around, peering into empty halls and slipping past the patrols of Karnov's men in their Red Wolf livery, even in those places populated there was a palpable sense of quiet, accepted sorrow in the air. The men were quiet on their patrols, and the few staff she came across in the late night were similarly subdued… it was not a bad feeling, there was a quiet serenity in the isolation of the place that tempered the feeling of quiet introspection. She found herself gently smiling as she sniffed, and found a familiar scent from earlier in the evening drawing her along: Apple Brandy.

Similarly, she found she had returned towards the parlor area, and found herself ascending another set of stairs until she found the flicker of flames dancing beneath a heavy door — the scent of the brandy wafting along, now coupled with the even more familiar, dank odor of pipeweed. She oddly found the area ringed in Karnov's men, patrolling a considerable distance from the area, but once she'd slipped past them the rooms around the parlor and foyer were fairly bare of armed men. Curiouser and curioser, she peeked in the door — finding it unlocked, and moreover partially ajar.

“Oh!" Came an immediate exclamation, and as she blinked, her luminous gaze was eye-to-eye across the small distance with the coffee-colored eyes of Baron Richart. Sprawled in a chair in naught but a similar robe to what she'd borrowed from Gram — and still wore — he was undone in many ways, his long hair flowing across his shoulders erratically, his glasses askew down his nose, his long, slender neck and chest partially bare, a book laid open across his breast and an open bottle of brandy at his side, lying in a perfect tableaux of excess alongside a pipestand and small tinderbox.

“Oh!" she exclaimed in return, “Th' door was open an I…" she trailed almost ducking back out of the room as she seemed to intrude on an intimate, private moment, but the baron rapidly shook his head, gesturing for her to stop.

“No, no, I was clumsy and lost in my own thoughts, please, please come in!" he said, his entire manner… different, he was wide-eyed and attentive now, his body language far more like Alphonse had been, eyes tracking her every motion and his utilitarian stiffness replaced by an almost bird-like poise. Lidia closed the door behind her pointedly. The room wasn't the parlor, but a smaller, more intimate place, a wide desk on one wall and the center of the cozy room dominated by a fireplace that crackled before a pair of chairs sharing an end-table, currently occupied by the palette of vices the Baron was indulging in — among them, a plate of those buttery, creamy cheeses and meats nestled between the spirits and smoking implements.

“Sorry tae intrude, I jus'…" she felt… disarmingly at ease around the man suddenly, despite being incredibly aware that she was also conspicuously washed, and wearing his son's robe. “… Fidgety, could nae sleep well in new places," she admittedly honestly, shrugging her shoulders.

“… And you did not wish to wake Gram," he said with a knowing sparkle in his eyes and shook his head, “No, no I know that feeling all too intimately — please, please, sit with me a while, you will find yourself no bother," he said putting aside his book with a marker and gesturing to the chair beside his before the fire — she caught a glimpse at the spine of the tome as she did, 'Of Seelie and Circumstances — a Primer on Summer Fae Physiology and Sociology' glinted in gold gilt by the firelight. His eyes followed hers and he answered it with a little shrug of his shoulders, offering her brandy decanter,

“Care to partake?" he asked, and to his surprise she reached past the second glass sitting unused and instead took the matching pipe sitting in the stem-holder, the whole affair clearly designed around being used as such — two people drinking, smoking, relaxing by the fire… she wondered idly if this had been bought at first for his wife.

“That sounds lovely," she responded, and he gave her an impressed sort of smile, taking the pipe from her hands and setting about packing its bowl with finely-chopped herb in the Rezarian style — a resinous block of potent, grassy-smelling hash. She peeked over at the book again as he did, he cast a rueful smile at her, setting the prepared pipe in the hold and taking up the brandy decanter again.

“I must apologize, an old favorite that seemed relevant again," he said at the well-worn tome's presence, handing her a snifter of the apple-flavored liquor and gently lighting a rush from the tinderbox with the flame of his lonely little lamp. Lidia took the glass and raised the pipe, which he lit for her in a gentlemanly fashion. She took a long drag, and a longer sip of the amber liquid, and felt the dual shivers of sensation ripple down her spine from the tip of her head to her toes, settling back into the large, overstuffed chair in a cozy little sprawl.

“Oh nae… was jus' surprised is all, guessin' I've become used tae assumin' th' worst o' people where me blood is concerned," she admitted, looking back up to find him… practically staring, erect, forward and attentive to her, with a glimmer of wonder in his eyes — nothing like she had seen before in the parlor, so genteel and cool.

“I imagine so, out on the streets as you were, little trust for the child of two worlds in the gutters," he mused to her, still eyes wide. She couldn't help but grin in spite of the situation, he was so… bright.

“Little enough o' that fer anyone, let alone a wee little redcap," Lidia agreed, and he settled into his chair in such a way he could see her easily, nodding with agreeable enthusiasm,

“Little enough even here in the seats of power, there is few enough places for those who don't fit the preferred order of things, fewer still for those of uncertain — or otherworldly — births," he agreed, and there was a pause as the pair of them fell to silence for a moment, the lithe man casting his hand across his face in a blush.

“Forgive my candor, I am often required to be the face of the estate more than anything, such a role requires a certain poise that I find… comes at a cost of warmth," he explained, leaning his face into one long-fingered hand, drawing off his own pipe as he looked at her with a glimmer of boyish wonder in his eyes, “The Darrowmite way, a certain aloofness that is expected I find terribly stuffy."

“I'll say so, seein' ye like this is almost like seein' a different person," she said with her own little grin and the older man chuckled, and daresay she saw a little blush color his cheeks.

“I suppose it must for an outsider, you have yet to see me as more than Baron Baudelaire, particularly with Matevi haunting the place like an ill-tempered ghul," he said somewhat irritably drawing off his pipe, and in that moment she heard Gram in his tone truly for the first time, so this was the Baron Richart that Gram loved so — this attentive, bright, curious man. “He is a troublesomely traditional person, and becomes completely irascible if I do not extend the same perceived courtesy to him," he lamented with a sigh; “It is exhausting, particularly when I have such wonderful news — my son is returned, and with him an exotic bride full of life and love!"

“Has it truly been so long since he's been home?" she asked from her cozy nest in the chair and it's plush padding, the warmth of the fire making everything perfect, cutting through the anxiety with the help of the herb and drink — and the bright-eyed man nearby, whom nodded sadly.

“A decade or more, I have missed him dearly, we all have."

Lidia fell silent at that, to think he'd been gone so long with only letters and correspondence when his family loved him so, it was a terrible sacrifice to make. She found the man staring at her intently again, looking up to him as if expecting a question, and all she was met with was another disarming smile.

“Miss Shaw… Lidia," he began, leaning forwards a bit, “May I be completely candid with you?" he asked her, and the little changeling's eyes widened, but she encouraged him to continue with a little nod. He seemed to take a moment to consider his words before continuing, “I am something of a scholar of the supernatural in my free time, so long have I spent being taught to defend my realm I couldn't help but take interest in The Other, its perceived threats so close," he said, gesturing to the gilt-inlaid book again, “Interest turned to fascination, and I must admit… decades of service to Church and Crown, maintaining this redoubt and its charges — and I have never once seen a monster of The Queen, or so much as a Brownie or Dewdrop fairy from the far woods, in spite of all tell of them both wonder and woe…" his eyes gleamed with boyish excitement as he peered at her… and she got it.

“Oh… oh!" she exclaimed, a girlish grin of her own spreading across her face as it dawned on her, and he extended his hand gently across the distance.

“May I?" he asked shyly, and with a little grin she nodded, leaning forward and giving him a wide, toothy smile — exposing all of her sharp, fae-given fangs tucked just past the little pink bow of her mouth, four little too-long incisors tucked above and below, just beyond her eyeteeth — his eyes widened and he leaned forwards closer, curiosity blazing in his coffee-colored gaze as he reached out a finger and gently touched one to the tip of a canine. A boyish giggle escaped him as she winked at him with a playful snap of her teeth.

“Magnificent," he breathed, pointedly turning the shutters of the lantern down and leaning across the way to tilt her face to his, the low light of the fireplace causing her slitted, feline eyes to shine at him like mirrors, their green radiance — and for once, Lidia didn't feel gawked at in spite of the abject attention paid to her differences. Nay, the Baron's interest felt genuine and as he tilted her cheeks to and fro to watch her eyes shine, she smiled at him in earnest as he seemed fit to burst with excitement. “To finally get to see such things after so long reading of them… you are just magnificent, Lidia."

“Nae scared o' th' wee fae girl takin' yer son away?" she asked in an equally candid tone, and his smile did not waver at all.

“Not for a moment, not my Gram," he said without hesitation, still staring into her gleaming slit-eyed gaze in wonder, his fingers on her chin gentle, warm, “Fae nor Fair folk, nor Queen's own champions could sway my Gram's heart, I know anyone who can must be of the finest quality."

“Yer quite confident o' that…" she said in a quiet voice as his smile grew in earnest and he instead cupped her cheek in a fatherly manner.

“Absolutely certain," he agreed with her and the warmth of his expression washed any worries she had about him away in it's presence, “Quite a treasure he has brought to us… look at you, just big as life, right out of my books…" he mused to her in genuine awe, finally taking his hand back from her and lifting his pipe stem back to his lips. “… and you love my son," he added with that same complete confidence, his smile turning wistful as he drew a deep drag from the pipe, leaning his chin in his hands as he regarded her with a slow exhale.

“Just, magnificent."

Lidia blushed at that, and felt a warmth in her belly adjacent that which Gram had lit there — how rare it was to have her fae features so… praised, she wasn’t a wee monster or freak in Richart’s eyes, his gaze was full of wonder, fascination at the ways she was new. The slender man clapped his hands to his chest, eyes wide in realization.

“What am I doing? My notebooks!” he said, and rose from his chair in a mussed, excited scramble, his long limbs were graceful, the avian comparisons coming fast and furious in her mind as the tall man crossed the room in long, darting bounds — hands seeking like a heron’s beak along shelves until he came back with a small box of charcoals and a battered, hand-bound book.

“What are ye about?” she asked through a faint giggle, the weed and drink having warmed a playful giddiness in her heart, leaning over the arm of her chair at the man as he laid out the various accouterments.

“I am a scholar, of that Matevi attempts to insult me but he merely paints me as I am,” the tall man chuckled and pulled a long stick of spindlewood charcoal from a silk holder, and opened the book to a page — and upon it, sat wonders.

The pages were covered in erratic, lavish detail. Everything from dense, hand-written blocks of notes to scribbles of designs and diagrams — but most eye-catching of all were the sketches it all hinged around. Fast, loose, fluid art that captured much of what was presented as it truly was, details of trees, birds, local flora and fauna both, leapt from the page. A scholar’s notebook on the world he lived in, he turned pages quickly and for blinks she saw faces of people, outlines of buildings complete with notation and measures, gone by too quickly to note more than the sum of what they were, he arrived eventually at a blank page.

“I am bound to my duty, and of that I am not regretful, proud even — there Matevi has misjudged me as you will soon no doubt hear. I am a Darrowmite before I am anything else, but…” he trailed off as his hands began to dance across the page, capturing curves, shapes… capturing her. She blinked rapidly as she saw her wide-eyed visage begin to appear on the parchment in rough, structural hatching and linework, her large, slit-pupil eyes being rendered out in specific, minute details as the drawing progressed with alarming speed. “… I am prone to fancy myself a scholar of sorts, an ecologist of sorts,” he said humbly as he began another sketch of her face in-situ, the bewildered, shy expression so… raw when it was suddenly rendered onto the page in what felt like only a handful of strokes beneath the lithe man’s fingers.

“There is so much wonder in this world, we should as good people — make some note of it.”

Lidia had nothing to say to that, stricken speechless as the lithe scholar’s hands continued on in earnest, like they were only just keeping pace with the flow of ideas from his mind — and in the minutes between, she blossomed across the open pages. Smiling, laughing, expressions she’d worn for mere moments suddenly emerging from the forest of scratching marks. Notes and passages followed, and she found herself fascinated as he drew entirely from memory, a detailed diagram of her inhuman teeth — leading to her idly tapping them with a nail as he worked, a man possessed and a smile spreading across his face that was entirely without guile or station.

“That’s th’ second time I’ve seen a real smile on ye face,” she said quietly, breaking the silence after several minutes, seeming to jar him out of his trance, two whole pages covered in sketches of her face, features, and observations made in the moment.

“Oh! Forgive me, I grow so deeply attached to my work I can lose track of even fine company,” he said with a blush and she return a quiet little laugh, leaning over the chair’s arm towards him, pipe hanging from her teeth as she gave him a slow, glimmering green wink.

“Th’ first time was when ye saw Gram on th’ bridge,” she went on, propping her chin on her hands, exhaling a cloud of smoke out of her nose, “You covered it with ceremony, but ye smiled wit’ yer whole heart then, and jus’ again now.”

“I suppose it is hard to hide when one is truly happy,” he admitted, laying his pencil aside a moment to look at what he had seemingly entered a fugue state to create, Lidia’s eyes following his to the spread of images, “My boy returned home after so long, and he brought with him this curious, beautiful creature who has built a home in his heart like I feared none ever would,” he admitted, raising his eyes back to hers with a faint gleam of tears there.

“This rare and dangerous creature, that he writes of as I did once a wife, that stands beside him in times of danger, that saved the world at his side,” he sighed and reached up, very carefully dashing the tears from his eyes as he met hers once more, and gave her the third, genuine smile she’d seen from him.

“My whole world is going to smash, invaders walk my halls, and my family rival sleeps beneath my roof as if it were his, and yet I am happy. My boy is home, and he brings with him his own joy.” he said and she laughed, and he lifted his charcoal again. “May I…?” he asked again, and she giggled and nodded, leaning forward to watch as he once more set about sketching her.

“Tell me about yourself, of places far from these troubles, please. I wish to know everything.”

Her laughter lead into the rest of the night, and indeed — she told him everything. The nighttime hours crawled by and a half-dozen pages of sketches and stories spun between them as the pipes burned low and the brandy ran short. She told him of sorrows and successes, of her life on the streets, of the Tanner Street Redcaps… of Elly and of Kull. The latter stung more than she thought it would, and it was her turn to wipe away tears as she spoke.

In the end, they found the end of drink and the sky threatened to lighten when she bid the kind man a good night, tired now both physically and emotionally. Leaving Richart similarly in a mixed place of tired contentment, dozing in his chair — she took a final drag of the pipe and bid him a good night, to which she got a tired smile as he seemed to simply recline his head again. She got the impression this was not the first time he’d fallen asleep in his chair, notes and pencils about him. She excused herself with a smile, her fingers and toes tingled with the spirits and smoke still dancing along her pleasantly tired nerves.

She did not even see the figure that simply seemed to loom out of the darkness as she closed the door to the parlor until the gleam of the far sconces of the hall gleamed off a pair of frigid eyes. Even as rich with drink and pipeweed as she was, Lidia’s reflexes were far and above that of a normal girl of her size, and with a gasp she whipped her knife free and fell back into a fighting posture, more of Gram’s teachings finding their roots in her instincts and heart alike, legs shoulder-length apart, knees slightly bent and her feet stable in an L-shape, blade held tight to her body before her in a half-curled motion, her free hand raised in a half guard before her face — ready to uncoil like a spring in a lunge or cut. The figure seemed to tilt his head at that — it was definitely a he she realized as it melted from the shadows.

It was a man, of medium size, medium build, thin and rawboned beneath tightly-wrapped clothing of not all-black, but rather various, unobtrusive shades of earth and gray, the attire themselves deceptively common in cut. He truthfully — did not look like anyone at all, his hair was drab and flat black, cut in an unremarkable military style, his face was all hard planes and angles like any other Steppefolk man she’d met, with no visible scars, nothing even remotely identifying about him — except his eyes.

He had no light in his eyes. They were the flat color of stormclouds and seemed to barely shine even in the gleaming torchlight as it fell across his face. Icy and dead, like a doll’s eyes — or a corpse.

“You hold that professionally,” came a quiet, almost pleasant voice. The mystery man stood a head above her but at least half that below Gram or any of the Baudelaire men, “If you intend to use it, you have about two more steps before I am too close and will take it from you.”

“Is that a fact?” she retorted flatly with a dangerous gleam in her own eyes, the blank-faced man nodded, stopping one step short of his proposed mark.

“You are out of your rooms at a curious hour,” he stated in that same almost mellifluous tone, his head tilting the other direction — like an owl considering the scurrying of a mouse, “Armed no less, outside of the Baron’s private study. Curious hours. Curious circumstances.”

“I nae could sleep, felt like I was bein’ watched,” she said, her poniard glinting dangerously, the little changeling having not moved an inch, “Cannae imagine where I got that impression.”

The man smiled and there was no warmth to it, his dead-eyed face was like a serpent grinning at her, it made her skin crawl — but he did not move closer, nor did he step away. His gaze remained unwavering as he observed her for another long pair of heartbeats.

“You should return to your suites with the prodigal Baudelaire son, the grounds are unsafe for little girls at night,” he said in that same pleasant tone, his voice cordial and soft, “One might get hurt in the dark places of the estate.”

“I do finer than most in the dark, I’ll take me chances,” she shot back and the thin man tilted his head back the opposite way once more.

“So I have heard.”

They stood like that another quiet moment, Lidia had no desire to speak to this unsettling man, his attire lacked much in way of distinguishing marks, but she had no doubt who he worked for. His casual posture was more unnerving than she would dare let on, the longer he stared at her, the more she believed he could take the blade from her.

“The Baron will be most displeased to learn guests roaming the halls past curfew, such things lead to… misunderstandings,” he said, and Lidia snorted back.

“Th’ Baron’s happily dozin’ in front o’ th’ fire nae twenty paces behind you, I’m thinkin’ he dinnae mind one bit,” she retorted, and one sharp eyebrow rose above the blank-faced man’s brow.

“Not that Baron,” he corrected in a tone that came across dipped in ice. She had her confirmation, but it did little to reassure her. “You should return to your rooms, we would not want any… unfortunate misunderstandings.”

“Ye’d nae dare tae touch me, Gram would make a canoe out o’ yer skin,” she said quietly, and the plain man simply regarded her coolly, he made no attempts at bravado or rebuttal… and the calm of the man scared her more than any grandiose threat would. Mihai had been like that. Unconcerned.

“Who th’ hells are ye?” she breathed softly, feeling unsure of herself, the standoff between them no longer felt quite so even.

“A watcher, and a listener. Baron Karnov has many eyes and ears, I am but a pair of them,” he said cryptically, “You may call me Mister Koval.”

“Yer fookin’ creepier than’ a corpse Mister Koval an’ I mean that,” she said, and he gave her another mirthless smile.

“A fault of mine, I am aware,” he stated in that serene tone, leaning forward slightly over that line, his soft voice lowering a bit, “You should return to your rooms.”

“Or what?” she replied, but her voice was a whisper that lacked the bite she desired. Koval’s lightless eyes did not blink, and it was then she realized what was most wrong with him as he leaned a fingersbreadth closer.

He had no scent.

It wasn’t that he was freshly bathed, or smelled of something too mild to detect — he didn’t smell like anything at all. Silent and scentless, unnaturally so. A complete blank space, he could have been two paces from her the entire trip and she’d have noticed nothing at all. Her belly went cold at that as his voice came to her ear in a quiet whisper.

“We discuss it instead. In private.”

She felt her mouth go dry, that was hardly a threat as they went — she’d been promised much worse by larger, more dangerous men — let alone what unholy beasts she had slain and battled.

But this man frightened her.

Every instinct she had screamed at her to run. To run from a predator, to flee this superior hunter that had spied her, to scamper away like a street rat into a hole to hide. She decided her instincts were the smarter of the two, and slowly straightened, not wanting to show any more fear than she was sure the unremarkable man had detected. Her blade lowered and Koval simply inclined his head, melting back into the shadows he’d emerged from, two points of pale gray the last to disappear.

“Very good, Miss Shaw.”

She wasted little time, hurrying past him, turning to look furtively behind her, seeing those lightless eyes follow her but naught else. She rounded two corners, and ducked into a side passage, retracing a parallel path back to the tower. Ten minutes later, her heart had finally calmed as she saw the moons beginning to dip below the horizon, her chilled blood warmed by her speeding exit. She had never been so easy to rattle… but something about that man, about the way he moved, the way he stared at her… she believed he could hurt her. Would have no qualms about hurting her.

He may even enjoy it.

Shaken still, but feeling better with distance — she found her way back through the quietly wakening house, back to Gram’s bedding, falling into the sheets alongside the slumbering man after barring the door — her last thoughts and sight before sleeping her lover’s serene face. She leaned in and kissed him drowsily, and as she nodded off, she saw his lips quirk in a sleepy, half-aware smile. The sudden, icy spike of fear finally melting away as she nestled herself up against his chest, finding sleep at last coming as her breath synced with his.

Aye, here she was safe. That she knew.