It had been months since they had last been on the deck of a ship. At the time, Del had looked forward to disembarking if only to have her feet once more on solid ground. While that had been a boon, what she had missed, sorely, was the companionship of a particular Moon Elf, a man who had pretended to be her husband and she his wife while they went about protecting a hapless arms dealer while undercover. The threat of water wasn't so bad when she was with him-- in fact, he had pulled her from its surface in her dreams on that very same trip. Despite her fear of water, the inky black that would absorb her once more given half a chance, Del had found herself missing those days aboard the Judeia. Dancing, sharing meals, being close.

Very close.

And now, as she and Cyran approach the boarding dock to the yacht of their gracious host, Del finds herself in such a situation once more; dressed in finery, on the arm of someone who made her heart flutter... but this time, there was no secret to be had. This time, they were, truly, together. And that was a bliss in and of itself.

Duchess Aroha Pewhairangi, a human woman and a Dowager from Moonglade and the Crescent Isles, was a bit of an eccentric. After striking up a friendship with the "Mellora's" over the course of their journey aboard the Judeia, the sharp old Dowager had wished to stay in touch. While things had been hectic as of late, between the volcano, the yeti, and all of the other general unpleasantness, contact had been sparse. Until the Dowager had reached out with a formal invitation to her favourite pair of gambling buddies, seeking audience and hoping they would join her for a fine bit of rabble rousing aboard the her humble vessel, 'The Earnest Heart', named after her late husband.

It was indeed the time of festivals and other light hearted shenanigans, with a nearby party they had been invited to in the Crescent Isles. This ship was meant to carry them to their location, while also enjoying Duchess Pewhairangi's hospitality and charming wit, all within the trappings of High Society. Though the reason for her invite, beyond simple socialization, wasn't mentioned... it was hard to pass up the opportunity. Especially when they were all headed to the same location anyway.

It would be nice to have a chance to take it easy, before things got out of hand again.

Del hugs Cyran's arm as they navigate the docks, taking care to not look too close at the water as they make their way towards the ship. Her skirts follow her as they walk, breezing lightly in the wind. A more modest dress than those she had adorned as Elen, but at least trying for formality, out of respect to their host. "It's been a while since I've been over in this part of Charon... it really looks like not much has changed, has it?"

Apart from the harbor itself being a little more sparsely occupied, the city of gold continued to gleam. Del adjusts the scarves around her hair, part of a necessary precaution in case anyone who knew of her was paying attention. Still, she felt relatively safe. It was sunset, and the guard was not patrolling this area as closely. Which was fine in Del's book. The less she had to speak to the people here, the better.

As they approach the ship, a head appears over the side. "There you are!" The Duchess calls out over the rail, waving to them to hurry up. "Right on time! And you brought some whippersnappers with you!" she gestures, of course, to Andromea and Oriole behind them, also on the way to the Queen-Consort's party.

---

SPOILER: Click to show

Quest Name:Enjoy the Festival!
Participants: Two or more
Location: Sol City
Post Requirements:4 posts per person, 150 words per post
Reward: +1 Renown, +1 Mystical Archive Ticket
Description: The festival is booming, and all that is required of you is to have fun! Stroll through Sol City partaking in any kind of festival-like activity. You can attend the joust, or participate in a sword duel. Maybe watch some jugglers or Bardic Virtuoso's perform in the city square. Enjoy some of the rare cuisines found across Charon at local vendors and markets. The choice is up to you, as long as you enjoy the festival!
(This quest can be completed once per character, however you can only earn the Mystical Archive reward once per member, regardless of how many times it is completed)

Despite the fact that Cyran could not claim to be a fan of the noble, ruling class of Charon, he found that despite his best efforts he could not so easily escape their entanglements. His exile had brought about a… different sort of life for him. Never before the recent years had the assassin known for want of money, or what it meant to have to fight and struggle for a roof over your head and food in your stomach. Hard lessons to learn, and ones that he’d had to ingrain quickly over fear of starving or finding himself gutted in the woods. He’d not always been the same person he was now, but being thrown out of the safety and comfort of what he had never quite considered a home had been, in some ways, the best thing that ever happened to him. It was not a punishment. It was freedom.

… The best thing to happen to him in all manner of ways but one, and Cyran had not had a say in that particular manner. There was only one person that Cyran would ever choose nobility for over his status now, and that was the girl he’d left behind. The one he’d failed. But that was no longer an option for him, fatherhood to his firstborn and only biological daughter a right he did not properly own. His only regret.

Besides that, Cyran was quite happy his ties had been severed with nobility. No reputation to uphold, no poisoned name to claim. He was just Cyran, sometimes the Specter, and all the time himself. Though that was not a particularly good person, no longer did he have to conceal who that was behind layers of fine fabrics and silvered opulence that weighed so heavily on his head he thought he suffered constant migraines. He was content, and that was more than he had ever hoped for.

Every so often, though, Cyran still found himself… donning the hat, so to speak. Not of his own volition. Of course, he had friends in higher places nowadays, but the criminal nobility and influence of his allies like Zarius were much more tolerable than the merchants and politicians he’d used to know. And working as the Specter necessitated a wide range of disguises, adaptable to whatever a given situation called for. Most recently, he’d fallen back on an old cover, the Moonglade textile merchant, loving father, and doting husband, to secure passage on a ship and protect a client’s vested interests from an assassin. It was a challenge he’d tackled with his partner, Del, the first of many missions and encounters they’d worked on together since. It was almost surprising to Cyran, at times, how synchronously he fit aside Del in those moments after centuries of being accustomed to self-reliance. But they just… worked, and under the guise of a married couple, they’d been able to neutralize the threat and save the man during the voyage that spanned several months.

And that was supposed to be the end of it.

But… things had unfortunately gotten complicated with some of the others that they’d gotten to know onboard as Illias and Elen Mellora. Forging friendships while using a false name was not the worst thing in the world, so long as you made sure that you well and truly disappeared when all was said and done. No contact, no trace, not even a whisper. You couldn’t give them even the barest inkling of who you were or that they’d been duped, and they couldn’t get too close to your true identity.

And you most certainly weren’t meant to become pen pals with gambling buddies.

Del had spent more time with the eccentric Duchess Pewhairangi than he, though Cyran had shared enough casual evenings with the widow to ascertain a fair portion of her character. She spoke her mind with little worry of recourse, far too old to care about the thoughts and worries of others. She seemed to have a sharp eye, as she’d supposedly been the one to identify the feelings that Del and Cyran truly had for one another before either elf had. And she was, unfortunately for either of them, rather good at cards and checkers. Cyran wasn’t sure what to make of her request to keep in touch after the voyage’s conclusion - a business connection with the Mellora’s, perhaps? But she was far more influential than them, and more than anything she seemed to have a vested personal interest in the couple. So he didn’t quite trust her intentions - not yet - but agreeing seemed a better idea than denying. So for the past few months, there had been light correspondence with the woman, letters that had petered off the busier they became.

Until the most gracious invitation extended to the married couple to accompany the Duchess Aroha Pewhairangi on an ocean voyage to the Queen Consort’s party at the Crescent Isles.

I’ve no doubt the two of you intend to enjoy the festivities. And if not, I would be delighted to have you accompany me aboard the Earnest Heart.

… Do tell Elen to bring ginger for the seasickness, Illias.

Cyran wasn’t sure what to make of it, but it was true that they’d already been planning on attending the beach-side celebration in the Crescent Isles, more curious and desperate for a modicum of a break than anything. So they decided to reprise their roles, if only for a small voyage with the Duchess and her party. The group intended to celebrate the Sol City festivals all the way down south, and the Melloras had been extended an invitation that was meant to be quite prestigious. This time, however, things were a bit different how they’d been before.

For one thing, no longer did it feel weird for the two to pose as husband and wife, considering, well.

The ring on his finger was no longer just for show.

In contrast to the unease, discomfort, and barely-concealed longing that had been the cornerstone of Cyran’s performance as Illias, there was an ease with which he walked now with Del’s arm snaked around his own. She looked beautiful. The way a noblewoman ought to - effortlessly ethereal in a flowing dress. Cyran had at least attempted to put some effort into his own appearance, wearing his hair long down his side and covering up his unseemly eye just enough to look normal. The robes he wore were light, traditional Crescent Islander garb designed to beat the heat, even with long, flowing sleeves that had been embroidered with silver leaves and Elvish runes. A casual staple of Illias’s, and something more comfortable for him to move in.

And though he still was not entirely sure what the Duchess’s intentions were, Cyran could not help but feel butterflies at the reminder that this was truly an extension of his own life… in a way. Not something he would have to dream about and feel guilty for wanting. Not an illusion that would disappear when the clock struck midnight.

It was not an act. It was love.

That made this entire venture far more tolerable, in his opinion.

Cyran clicked his tongue while the two scanned the area for the ship in question. “I suppose that’s as much as anyone here could ask for.” He replied. “Considering how much money and funding have gone into repairing things and keeping the peace, looking the same is probably a triumph.”

This month, they celebrated. But it was easy to cover up tragedy with exotic foods and shiny objects and music and dance. Perhaps that was exactly what the people needed, though. A distraction from the Capitol as to their declining state could serve to inspire hope in its people. The intentions did not negate the good of this little sliver of happiness and joy seen in the dancers and partygoers that tapered off the closer they got to the docks. People were relaxed, enough so that they did not pay much mind to the two, quite criminal, elves and their two criminal human students.

Eventually, they found the ship bearing the name they’d been told to look for - where the Duchess was waiting for them already. Contrary to any formal greeting Cyran expected, she ushered them onto the ship, acting as if they’d been friends for centuries rather than only a few months. Cyran blinked, and cast a bewildered glance at Del as if to ask if the elderly human was usually like this. Nevertheless, he acquiesced, ushering Oriole and Andromeda along - both of whom had abandoned their usual leathers and weapons. Andromeda looked uncomfortable being back in her home country, though the broad sun hat covering her head made her a little more at ease.

Once they’d boarded, Cyran dipped into a bow, posture effortlessly rigid with practice - and an easy smile on his face. “The Mellora family thanks you for your graciousness in inviting us on this voyage, madam Duchess. Of course, you are well acquainted with my wife, Elen. And these are Eleanor and Rhi’as. They are… our students, training in the business. I hope you do not mind that we brought them along with us. They were ever so curious about the festival held by the Queen Consort.”

Oriole dipped into a bow - Andromeda, a curtsy.

”How do you do?” The thief spoke first. Though he was nervous, he was generally more talkative and friendly than his knife-throwing counterpart, who was staring longingly at the ocean like she was considering the benefits of throwing herself into it.

Del nods absently, looking around the harbour. A triumph, certainly, but for who? Was it a success for the city's morale, or was it a comfort for the ruling class-- an inconvenient truth painted with a veneer of normalcy to try and hide the growing cracks in the world around them, to keep them complacent and meek?

Turning her gaze back to Cyran shakes the errant thoughts out of her head, replacing them with a saccharine warmth. Above everything else, what she wanted was for her... her fiance (a word that still sent a shiver of delight down her spine) to unwind, enjoy himself, to not have to worry about the man, many burdens they all faced. He looked resplendent in the loose silver embroidered clothes, catching facets of the grays in his hair in the low torchlight around the docks, as beguiling as the specter he was. Now, she didn't have to feel guilty for admiring how the fabric draped off his shoulders, pinched together around his narrow waist, or the way his hair fell in a river over one eye like a waterfall of ebony and moonlight.

Pulled from her reverie by the boistrous greeting aboard The Earnest Heart, a mirthful smile blossoms across her face. She lifts a hand to cover her laugh as they approach, reduced to a quiet snort as she catches Cyran's bemused glance. Del gives him a quiet, subtle nod, and squeezes his arm again in assurance.

It was nice to see the old woman was eccentric as ever. As the Mellora family ascend the gangplank of the ship, a pair of colourfully dressed half-elves whisked away their bags to their quarters, moving quickly and quietly. Standing next to the duchess in the standard attire of a Steward was a fellblood man in his middle years, looking rather blaise as the Duchess stepped forward to regard her guests. Despite the finery of the attendants, the steward, and the duchess herself, everyone had a voluminous lei of plumeria, orchid, or hibiscus draped about their necks.

Next to Cyran, Del drops a proper curtsey, remembering her manners as Elen, flashing a small smile at the old woman.

Duchess Pewhairangi watches this bowing and curtseying, the formal, well thought out greeting from Illias and the introduction of their students.... and takes the opportunity to step forward, draping leis around the necks of each of her guests without any preamble whatsoever. She claps her hands together once, and gives the group a smile. "There. That's better. Now you all look like you're ready for a festival." She looks at each of her guests in turn with the glimering mischief of someone in her twilight years and an absence of fucks in her eyes. "But if we insist on formalities, I am Duchess Aroha Pewhairangi; you may call me Lady Aroha if that's easier to remember. And thank you for coming, truly... though I don't believe I got either of your names..." she squints a little at Andromeda and Oriole, landing on the young man as he was the one to speak up and greet her. "Very fine indeed, young master student, now that my guests have arrived. Now we can shove off proper. HEAVE TO NOW, YOU LOT." she suddenly barks, and the hands aboard the deck scramble, yanking the gangplank off the dock, starting to haul the anchor, and beginning the process of unfurling the sails. "I WANT US OUT OF THE HARBOUR IN NO LESS THAN THE HOUR, AM I CLEAR?"

There's a chorus of enthusiastic 'Yes, Duchess' echo across the deck. The duchess turns back to her wonderful guests, suddenly serene once more. "I won't spend one more second in the Lilac Bay than necessary; place gives me the creeps. It truly is good to see you both, Master and Mistress Mellora, after so long. Have you been eating?" She leans over to give Del a poke to her stomach, brows arched with elegant scrutiny. "Got that ginger I mentioned to you, Illias, old boy?" Her eyes shift to his, sparkling with mischief. "You wouldn't want your wife to lose her womanly figure to seasickness, mm?"

Del makes a sound somewhere between a cough and a laugh. "Illias is taking wonderful care of me, I can assure you, Duchess. You are in fine humour tonight, I see." Her brow arches at the old woman, playfully reproachful.

The Duchess flaps her hand, nonplussed. "But of course! It's a celebration!" she smiles broadly as she waves her hand and music across the deck starts playing, struck up by a trio of bards with numerous instruments. The smells of braised meats, fried dough and roasted vegetables start to waft towards them on the breeze near the bow of the ship. "Come, come, we have games, dancing, a dinner, entertainment, all for you to peruse. By all means, don't wait on account of my old bones, go and explore."

The Duchess made short work of waving formality away with flowers. Cyran truly should not have been surprised at her lack of propriety - or, perhaps not lack of it, but an utter disregard - given how she’d struck up a friendship with them so quickly aboard the Judeia. Nevertheless, he blinked as a colorful lei of soft pinks and yellows was draped around his neck by their host, offered with a knowing smile that spoke volumes of exactly what she thought of those stuffy manners. Cyran supposed that once you reached a point in your human lifespan, acting as others thought you should was secondary only to how you wanted to behave.

“Ah… thank you.” He blinked owlishly. They were here for a festival, weren’t they? Even if such an event was only pretense for the Duchess’s true intentions, whatever those may be, Cyran figured he may as well play the part. That was only polite to their hostess, after all. He fell silent, fiddling with the flowers of his new accessory while Oriole and Andromeda introduced themselves. Oriole’s face turned a bright shade of pink at being called a young master student. He’d not been raised around nobles, and his understanding of them was that they were quite self-obsessed and vain. Back before he’d met Cyran, he’d been the kind of thief who robbed from the rich. But the Duchess seemed rather nice so far, if not a little bit eccentric, and the kind of person for whom the world moved around her whims.

Not long after she issued the order, the deckhands immediately moved to set off onto the water. The Earnest Heart gave a lurch, Cyran bracing himself against the wood and reaching for Del on instinct, but it only lasted a moment. The water was quite smooth, a byproduct of the serene weather. There was nary a cloud in sight, cerulean skies painted in every which direction, undisturbed by the wind. The silence was only interrupted by the occasional burst of fireworks and enchanted magic in the air, a shower of color. With any luck, they’d only encounter smooth waters at this point in summer, after the storm season had died down. The only thing left in the season was the heat.

Cyran drew his gaze away from the skies as the Duchess spoke once more, suppressing a bout of surprised laughter at her bold proclamation. It was, if he were being frank, a sentiment that he shared. It was not especially safe or smart for a criminal to spend much time in Sol City, especially given the nature of the bounty on his partner’s head. Even before that, though, he’d never enjoyed spending time in this artificial gilded city. It left the taste of too many old, bitter memories on his tongue. “At least wait until we’re on international waters and they can’t banish you for such treasonous thoughts.” Cyran joked, his tone mild - trying to give nothing away of his own political views. The Duchess was honest and blunt, disarmingly so. The last thing he wanted was to get caught slipping up and giving away anything that might implicate them in anything.

“It’s, ah, good to see you too.” Cyran replied honestly. Of all the nobles he’d met, she was perhaps the easiest to be around. “Outings since our anniversary cruise have not quite been the same without someone there to rob me of all my pocket change in a game of cards.” His shoulders stiffened as the Duchess’s gnarled, pointed finger darted out to poke Del in the stomach - instinct made his hands twitch for a dagger, to eliminate the threat, prevent her from getting close. He bit his lip, banishing that gut instinct of panic-fear-protect. The Duchess was no physical threat to them. And she was just having a bit of harmless fun.

There was no need for him to overreact, seriously.

Cyran brushed off the action of reaching for a dagger that was not strapped at his belt as Cyran pulling out a flask on his hip belt, one decorated in shells that read ‘CHARON’S BEST DAD’ in cursive on the front. “I’ve got some tea right here, and root to chew on in my bags should the weather get too rough.” He assured her, face turning a fine shade of pink at Del’s assurance that he was taking care of her. It was likely just a platitude offered in a polite manner, but he sincerely hoped that there was some truth in it. That she… believed he was truly treating her well. He still worried sometimes, that he was too stained by his past marriage to ensure that this one would flourish. Cyran rubbed at the back of his neck, secretly hoping that he would one day be deserving of that praise.

“It’s good to see you in fine spirits.” Cyran continued while the Duchess kicked up the instruments. The smell of fine food hit his senses, the promise of a fine evening to be had. “I wouldn’t say no to a drink.” He tucked his flask back on his belt, sneaking an arm around Del’s waist, a casual, thoughtless gesture. It was no longer so strange and foreign as it was when it had just been for show.

At the Duchess’s invitation, Oriole and Andromeda sprinted off, making their way off to the crow’s nest and parts beyond with excitement in their eyes. It wasn’t long before the two started climbing up the rafters like spider monkeys to get a better look at the sea on the horizon. “Eleanor, Rhi’as!” Cyran called after them, but his words fell on deaf ears. “… Forgive them, they’re quite adventurous.” He apologized. “I can get them down if need be.”

Though he had a feeling that the Duchess would not be especially put out by their excitement.

“Dancing?” He smiled, glancing down at Del with a look that could perhaps be described as shy. They’d enjoyed no shortage of dancing aboard the Judeia, a byproduct of their cover. Cyran would be lying if he said he didn’t miss it, holding her in his arms and twirling around a ballroom like they were the only two in the world. “Perhaps this evening you’d do me the honor of a dance, my heart?”

It was a difficult endeavor to make himself comfortable on a virtual stranger’s ship, practically offering themselves to her with no idea of what her intentions might be. And yet, as she insisted that they relax and celebrate, no need for ceremony, he tried to allow himself to relax. Perhaps it would not be so horrible to enjoy a little bit of downtime for himself. Perhaps it was alright to just… be for a moment.

”Your vessel is wonderful, Lady Aroha. I’m truly grateful you invited us to delight in your amenities - I cannot remember the time I last partook in a summer solstice festival this lively. Elen, can I get you anything to eat?”

As the ship lurches away from the docks, Duchess Aroha doesn't so much as twitch, her sea legs holding steady. Del on the other hand, makes a soft "Eep" of alarm, reaching for Cyran just as he does the same, slipping close against his side out of instinct, knowing that he would protect--

--Oh, nevermind, it was fine.

She clears her throat, a little embarrassed by her moment of panic, and gives Cyran a sheepish smile as they right themselves.

The duchess barks an abrupt laugh. "Better men than those of the Golden Army have tried and failed. Just you watch, I'll outlive the High King himself."

Del exhales a soft chuckle. "I should very much like to see that, Lady Aroha. You with us for a long time, that is." She adds quickly; it wouldn't do to be so... blatant about her dislike of the Crown. She resist the urge to look over her shoulder with suspicion at the city behind them. Hearing Cyran's little joke, she giggles quietly. "We've been practicing our stone-faces in order to stand a chance against you."

"Oooh, offering me a challenge this time, I hope?" Lady Aroha gives the couple a wry look. Her eyes shift slightly at the twitch in Ilias' hand as she gave Del's stomach a poke, but she does not address it otherwise. If anything, there seems to be a faint sense of approval.

Feeling it more than seeing it, Del brushes her fingers lightly against Cyran's a quiet reassurance-- and a little fluster. It still felt so new to be protected instead of being the one doing the protecting all of the time... and she quite liked it, to be honest. Cyran doted on her in ways she could never have dreamed of, and every instance brought a new rush of elation and delight. While not sure she was worthy of such lavishing of attention, she was hardly going to discourage him; she had little frame of reference for what a marriage was meant to entail, how a fiance, let alone a husband, was meant to act. They both were playing this a little by ear... but the sound was good. And togther, they could figure out the steps.

Case in point, Del blinks as Cyran reveals the tea in his flask, and the fact of his ginger root in his bag. She gazes at him for a moment, struck by the notion of his thoughtfulness. Even if the Duchess had reminded him, Del was sure Cyran would have done so regardless. Giving him a melting puddle of a smile, she leans up to kiss his cheek. "My perfect C-- husband." She quickly catches herself on the words with her stumble, pressing her nose to his cheek for an extended moment.

Waving a dismissive hand, she turns her gaze to watch the two apprentices tear off to climb the mast up to the crows-nest, bemused. "Nonsense! It's nice to see youth well spent." she gestures for them to follow. "They will get a fine view from up there. Come, come, let's get you situated."


Dancing? She meets Cyran's gaze, her own look coy. Apart from little twirls around the kitchen now and again, they had not had the opportunity to dance as they had back on the Judeia. She feels heat rush up to her face at his offer, those memories vivid in her mind with the words on his lips. Words she had heard time and again directed from Ilias to Elen, but now from Cyran to Delaela.

His heart. Oh, how that made hers flutter.

"I would love nothing more, my soul," she murmurs back, bumping her hip lightly against his. "I think a little meal before we dance is exactly what is in order I smell something delightful at the table."

"Top of the line ingredients and recipes from home," the Duchess announces proudly. "Lomi Lomi Salmon, Shoyu and Huli Huli Chicken, Steamed Long Rice, Molokai Sweet Potatoes and Sweet Bread Rolls, to name a few. We also have several kinds of pork, including suckling pig, and a bevvy of seafood for you to enjoy. Whatever your pleasure."

The table was indeed packed high and full of different foods, steaming and warm and smelling of fragrant richness. Del looks over everything with wide eyes, delighted "Ooh the rice certainly... we could mix that with a little of everything and find something to sample, what do you think, my dear?"[/font]

He stammered at the momentary slip-up; in part because his true name was a dangerous thing, and in part because that meant Del had just been able to say something entirely and utterly ridiculous with so much sincerity that he thought he might choke on it. My perfect Cyran. Oh, he did not think it was possible to become even more tongue-tied around her, that she’d already said and done anything that might turn him into a swooning idiot. And yet, she always found a way to surprise him with the kindest words and the fondest actions.

She couldn’t possibly believe that… could she?

Something to ponder later in the solace of the night when they were laying next to one another, he supposed. That was another beautiful, terrifying thing about the intimacy that came with marriage; sharing a bed was no longer this terrifying prospect, nor was it something they did out of a lack of better places to rest. It was much easier to find solace when one had strong arms to rest in. A grown man such as him shouldn’t want to be protected and cradled like something precious, but the way Del treated him sometimes, like he was not a killer masquerading as a person or a failure of a father, made him feel as if he’d been handled by velvet gloves.

He… he just wanted her to feel the same.

Lady Ahora started waving her hands, grabbing Cyran’s attention. She was leading them across the deck of the ship, over to where a table and a couple of chairs were set up a little ways away from the side of the deck, and delicious smelling foods were wafting over to him. “Ah, of course.” He murmured as the couple followed after the eccentric noblewoman.

His gaze couldn’t help but linger on the polished wooden deck, perfect for dancing as Lady Ahora had promised. She bumped into his hip, a gentle encouragement, and then -

My soul.

Dear gods. This woman was determined to be the death of him.

Cyran cleared his throat, ashamed at having wanted, only for a moment. He rapidly banished such thoughts - Del had shown him time and time again that it was okay to want, and that it was not a sign of weakness. There would be plenty of time to twirl with wild abandon once they’d eaten. Not to mention, she was right about the delectable smell coming from the table.

Cyran brightened when Lady Ahora started listing off familiar dishes.

“My mother was from the Crescent Isles. We often ate meals similar to this when I was younger.” He noted. One of the southern isles - though Cyrilla had never been especially wistful for her island home, she often had chefs prepare food from her old home. He had fond memories of evenings where the table was piled with delicious food, and Mother had a vacant smile on her face, and if he closed his eyes while he ate it was easy to pretend they were a family. He never quite understood his mother, but he wondered if that was what she was pretending, too.

As he sat down, so preoccupied with drifting memories and hazy not-wishes that he almost missed the knowing smile on Lady Ahora’s face.

“I wouldn’t say no to some sweet potatoes.” Cyran replied, grabbing an empty bowl and putting some rice in it, waiting absentmindedly for Del to indicate what she’d wanted with her meal. A little bit of everything, huh? He grabbed a pair of chopsticks and started preparing her bowl first, handing it to her. Once she had her meal, he prepared himself some sweet potatoes and salmon, nothing too heavy, and grabbed a colorful looking sweet drink in a glass that looked like it had a suitable amount of liquor in it - complete with a minuscule parasol tucked in the corner.

He took an experimental bite, aromatic spices and warm meat and starch filling his tongue. A strangely nostalgic feeling.

Strange, because Cyran so rarely experienced nostalgia for a place he could barely consider home.

“It’s delicious.” He praised. “My complements to the chef. You say these are recipes from your home? What part of the Isles do you hail from…?”

Feeling a little rush from him, she smiles softly to herself, enjoying those private moments of understanding between them. A window no-one else had into his soul, allowing him to know her in a way no one else ever could. The idea of dancing was... extremely important to her, too. A thing she had missed, and couldn't wait to do again, without fear of propriety and able to enjoy the fullness of moving in unison with Cyran across the dance floor as music isolated them from the world around their twirling and swaying. It meant everything that he still wanted that.

She wanted, too. Very much.

"Is that so?" Lady Aroha says thoughtfully, though she doesn't seem terribly surprised... but rather than wryness, there is a slight wistfulness to her expression. "It's a good way to bond with family and friends, eating at gatherings such as this. It sounds as though your mother valued that a great deal."

Del follows the conversation carefully. The Duchess was speaking in light even tones, and did not appear to have any underlying motive, at least as far as she could tell, but something about the whole exchage made her tilt her head. Reminding herself that she still needs to be Elen, she looks to Cyran, holding his arm tightly as he fills a bowl for her. "Thank you, darling heart. A little of thiiis-- ooh, the salmon and the pork for certain. These grilled vegetables look incredible too, don't they? The bok choy, yes, and the unagi." She eyes Cyran's bowl of sweet potatoes and salmon, pleased to see him eating and excited for their meal. It had been a long time since she had partaken in anything that resembled where she had lived at the earliest part of her memory.

What was essentially the best poke bowl of all time. Taking her own glass, a stouter one than Cyran's, though still a mixed drink of some sort over ice she takes a cautious sip. Ah. Whiskey in this one. No complaints on her end, though it would probably be the only drink she needed tonight. Taking her place next to Cyran, Del sits down to eat, happily using her chopsticks to consume the delicious meal. And it is delicious-- sticky, savoury-sweet, hearty, fresh, and light. It went perfectly with the sea air as it brushed past them on the deck, tousling their hair and clothes.

Lady Aroha, for her part, takes her time in creating rolls from pork and butterfish and lu'au leaves, rolling them with practiced ease before taking a bite. "I'm from one of the smaller islands originally, though my family moved us to Starlight City when I was an adolescent so my mother could be closer to her work as one of the palace advisors. She was the Princess's third cousin, you know." She looks at the food around them, even as the staff themselves drift to and fro, grabbing bites for themselves. "Earnest, though, he was from the mainland. I had to educate him, shall we say, in the manner of good food. His favourites were those potatoes you've got there." She looks pleased with the result. "The secret is to soak them in coconut water, and then wrap them in thick kombu leaves. They leach the salt out of the leaves while they roast."

"It does look good," Del muses, before reaching into Cyran's bowl with her chopsticks to steal a bit of potato and giving him a cheeky, bright-eyed look as she nibbles it. "Mm! I was right."

Cyran hummed noncommittally at the Duchess’s appraisal of his mother. He was not necessarily sure that was true, but it was a lovely illusion. Perhaps one day, long in the past before his existence, his mother had valued love; though that love was eclipsed by her desire for money. Now, any desire for a real family only resulted in her cultivating the illusion of one. It was a nice dream, though.

“I do have fond memories of enjoying these meals.” He relented, because that much was the truth, rather the gatherings were real family ones or not. They were some of the closest he had before Marlow came along. “I used to try cooking them for my own daughter, but never with quite the same success.” That same knowing smile grew on Lady Ahora’s face - this time, as he was filling the bowl with all the delights that Del wanted, he furrowed his brow, thoughtful. A part of him, no matter how he wished to relax, was still skeptical of the Duchess’s intentions here. But what reason would she have to dig into Illias’s family? He resolved to make sure to keep his story straight, as not to give her any ammunition that might poke holes in his cover.

It did not occur to him that she might already know.

Conversation was light over the meal, each of them enjoying their own bowls. Cyran nibbled at his own meal, his caution temporarily suppressing his appetite, but not enough for him to enjoy pieces of salty salmon and sweet, cinnamon and spice-coated potatoes while Del enjoyed her bowl and Lady Ahora rolled leaves of pork. She certainly appeared unconcerned with digging more into Cyran’s family, as if she truly was just rolling with the tide of conversation. Always a difficult woman to read, the contents of her thoughts contained within a book penned in a language Cyran did not understand. Given time and resources, he could crack it, but that still made it difficult to judge in the present.

He raised his brow when Lady Ahora mentioned her relation to Princess Meloku Leylani. He’d figured she’d been close relation to the crown, but the conventions of titles and royalty was always lost on him. Her tone seemed neutral, almost disinterested, until the subject of her husband came up. She truly loved him more than anything… Cyran knew little about Earnest save the anecdotes Lady Ahora told, though he was aware that she and Del had spoken more about the man at more length, in a way. The two were besotted with one another, once upon a time. Cyran remembered, on the ship, being somewhat envious of that love. He’d wondered if such a thing would ever be in the cards for him. He’d doubted such a thing was even possible, and dropped the silly notion almost immediately.

Little did Cyran know that such love was right next to him the entire time.

Said woman who was currently sneaking over with something approaching a devious smile on her face before swiping a bit of potatoes from his bowl. Cyran replied by swiping a piece of steamed bok choy from her own that he popped in his mouth with an equally playful expression on his face. “Is that so? If you like them so much I suppose I’ll have no choice but to try and replicate them at the o-at home for you.” He mused, only half-teasing in a gentle manner. But if she truly wanted them, Cyran would try learning in earnest. Practice until he had the recipe just right, to give her a little piece of something she’d enjoyed.

If Lady Aroha catches the slip-- my daughter, not our daughter-- she hardly shows it, only continuing her amiable smile as the older folk chat among themselves over their lovely dinner. It was a fine start to their journey across the bay and towards the Crescent Isles, such lively and amicable conversation. Though, if anything the Duchess did seem perhaps a bit more certain in her demeanor, as though she had decided something important.

Del catches it-- not the fact that Lady Aroha caught it, but the fact that he mentioned Marlow, brightening. "I think you should try again, with these new tips! I think she would quite enjoy them." She squeezes Cyrans hand-- Del knew how painful the thought of Marlow was for him, but she believed there was still yet time, still a chance for them. More than anything, she wanted to see him happy and reunited with his beloved daughter again, even if it was only for the sake of redeeming his potatoes.

"Of course! You'll have to let me know how it goes." Lady Aroha agrees, watching the too with glittering, amused eyes as they rob eachother's plates.

"Hey!" Del laughs, feigning offense as Cyran deftly steals a piece of bok choy. "You Rogue!" She leans over to kiss his cheek, feeling warm, energized. It was strange to think they could do such things so openly now-- well, semi openly, if only to keep up appearances to such a good potential ally as Lady Aroha was-- but the light exchanges of affection that before would have made Del feel guilty, almost salacious, that she should enjoy any of Illias and Elen's pretend for even a second. Now, she did not have to feel as though she was indulging in things not meant for her. He was meant for her, just as she for him. They could enjoy this precious time with one another with unabashed delight. Though alcohol did help a little, of course, in setting down her guard.

Speaking of-- lifting her drink to finish the last of her drink, Del exhales a contented sigh. A nice light buzz, enough to wash away the anxiety of being at sea but not enough to be inebriated, prompted her to bring Cyran's hand up and over her shoulders, tucking against his side. "That was a wonderful meal, Duchess. Thank you for allowing us to share in it with you."

Setting aside her plate and sipping at her cocktail, the Duchess looks over her two guests, pleased. "The pleasure is mine, my dear, I assure you. Now, you've had your fill and there's a whole shp at your disposal. What strikes your fancy?"

Lifting her amber gaze to Cyran, Del gives him a sly look. "I do believe my wonderful husband owes me a dance...?"

Cyran did not consider himself an infallible man. He liked to think he had a proper estimation of his own skills and abilities, neither overselling nor overselling what he was capable of. He knew what made him tick, and what set him off. And there was nothing that fogged his heart and clouded his judgment more than the mention of Marlow.

(Though Del had certainly jumped up to the top of that list in all the best ways possible).

Marlow was his Achilles tendon. The softest, most vulnerable little piece of him. His Star, his Songbird. Marlow was, without a doubt, the best thing he had ever made. It was entirely difficult, because he knew that she was the very thing that softened his edges, that the mention of her made him feel week, brought to mind the very day she was taken from him. Even though Cyran himself had been the one to bring her up in this instance, to conjure her image to mind once more, it did not occur to him that it might have given any information about himself away. Gods, it should have occurred to him, but speaking of Marlow made him feel more than just an assassin. It reminded him of the days when he was still a father.

Only when Del squeezed his hand under the table did Cyran come back to himself from the halls of Eclipse City and chasing the sound of a young girl’s laughter. He forced a smile, acutely aware of the humming certainty through their bond, a pitch-perfect harmony, that she believed he would see Marlow again. And gods, that was such a kind thought. That she wanted to make space for Marlow in their life, that there was always a home for his starlight should Marlow return to them. Though it seemed a simple reassurance for sweet potatoes, it meant so much more to Cyran.

He wiped at a wet spot under his eye.

“Of course.” He said, nodding to both Del and Lady Aroha. Tried to force the unpleasantness aside. He’d not meant to make it heavy. With his other hand still under the table, holding to Del’s like it was his last tether to earth and he might simply float away like a balloon if he was let go, Cyran leaned closer for her.

Somewhere along the line that had become ingrained instinct in him. Knowing that when the storm raged, she would be his port. His homecoming.

… And it also made it easier for him to reach over and steal her food from her plate.

He could not help the smile blooming on his face as Del reached over and kissed him on the cheek, so wide that it hurt his face, so deep he thought he might drown in it. While she was still close to his face, Cyran held her wrist and murmured, “Are we sure you’re not the rogue here, stealing my heart?” He could not keep his voice from dissolving into giggles, such a light feeling. The mixture of the alcohol and the company had already done its magic, leaving him feeling a lot lighter than he had before he boarded the ship.

He pulled away, hiding his smile behind his hands while the Duchess looked infinitely pleased at the display, and a touch knowing. When the meal wrapped up, Cyran startled at the mention of dancing. He’d brought it up earlier, but it still made his heart do leaps when she asked him, desired to press his chest to hers and spin until the rest of the world was nothing but a distant memory, to fly with her once more. Excitement trickled through their bond, but Cyran merely leaned against her shoulder, softly pressing his weight into hers. “Oh, I’d love nothing more than to dance, Salen Eath’she, but I am so satisfied by my meal that I appear to be slipping… into a food-induced coma… I’m afraid that I will need to be awoken.”

“Oh, let your wife up, Illias, and take to the dance floor!” The Duchess waved her handkerchief at them, bidding them up and out of their seats. ”That’s enough tomfoolery out of you loverbirds, now let’s see some dancing. I’m sorely disappointed to have missed your little display aboard the Judeia; I heard it was marvelous. Go on, get!”

Cyran pulled himself up, forcing his laughter to still as he pulled himself to his feet. “But of course. There’s nothing I would trade for a moment to hold you in my arms.” He held his hand to her once more, another invitation; he could not say the words he so desperately wished, but he hoped that she could feel them through the bond, the question he wanted to ask.

Delaela Asiliari, may I have this dance?

Del emits a sputtering giggle, immediately flustered by his low tone and the proximity of his face to hers, and soon, the both of them were giggling helplessly, their mirth effervescing in a way that made them both give in to the giddy joy of being the besotted fools they absolutely were.

She clears her throat as Cyran pulls away, but it looked to her like the Duchess was far from perturbed by their little displays of affection-- which was wonderful, because it made their collective silliness that much more fun to partake in, as Cyran leaned onto her shoulder, burdened suddenly by a sleepiness that was woefully timed and very much not real. Del burst into a laugh again, pretending to struggle under his weight. "Oh, woe, my poor love, so sleepy in his--"

She cuts herself off, at the same time that Lady Aroha encourages them to get to their dancing already, as the words he spoke translate into her mind and strike true at the anvil of her soul.

Salen Eath’she. My Forever.

The words are enough to make her heart leap into her throat and make her air grow still in her chest, a spooked deer pausing with breathless trepidation to ensure its footing was sure, that what it had heard was correct.

It was.

She's frozen for a moment of pure, unbridled affection. Such words had a way of stirring her that only Cyran could accomplish and she was damn near swooning. If not for his extending his hand, his intent clear-- this was meant for Del, not Elen, he was inviting her for their first formal dance-- she might have imploded on the spot. At least, that's how the aching swelling within her heart felt. So full of love for him, she just might burst.

Still speechless by her beloved's words Del's hand slides into his, where it belongs. Looking up at him from under her lashes, coy but eager, Del lets Cyran help her to her feet, her own strong feelings pulsing through their connection in answer.

Nothing would make me happier, Cyran.

As they walk towards the open floor, the musicians seem ready to take their cue, finding the right bar to end their current song on as the couple wanders to the dance floor.

She could not have said it earlier, at the table, even if she had manage to construct the necessary words by that point, and being so tongue-tied presents her with a perfect opportunity; As they take up position, her hand in his, her hand smooths up his shoulder to the side of his face, caressing his jaw with a look of hopeless fondness. An expression that was all Del, no trace of Elen to be found, as she leans forward to touch her forehead to his. "Salen Qarsice'tho." she whispers against his skin, before stealing from his lips a gentle kiss.

My Always.

They have a few beats to collect themselves before the music strikes up, a low, sultry tango that gives them a few trilling notes with which to circle one another, forehead to forehead, staring into one another's eyes with blazing passion.

A long time ago - a different century, a different life - Cyran’s mother had sat him down to have a long talk with him. One about duty, and family, and what it meant to uphold the expectations that were placed upon you since birth. At the end of her speech, she announced that within the next year, Cyran was to be wed to the daughter of an allied family. A quiet woman, one whom Cyran had met at other functions before. Rowan Pavyre had never been especially kind to him, but he didn’t mind. Back then, Cyran didn’t even really understand the concept of kindness, much less know what he was missing. His mother was one of the few who’d ever favored him in any capacity, though perhaps that was due to the striking similarities in their appearance. Cyran was a near-mirror image of her, from her dark hair to her pouty lips and silvery eyes. Because of that she’d always had some sort of softness for him. Well, as soft as a woman like her could be, really.

But there was none of that fondness in her face when she delivered the news to him.

Cyran remembered pausing. A stricken expression must have crossed his face, because Cyrilla Fenastra’s eyes narrowed, scarily perceptive.

“Do you take issue with your father’s decree?”

“Well, no…” Cyran shifted in his seat. “I’d just always thought. Well. That I would be able to marry for love when I inherited the business.”

“Oh.” The word almost sounded like surprised laughter. “Oh, no, boy. Marriage for the sake of love is a dream constructed by the lower echelons. People like us have a different purpose. We preserve our bloodline, grow our fortune. As you are Lormundel’s only progeny, this has always been your purpose.”

There had been sinking disappointment then, a sensation that Cyran was growing all- too familiar with. He remembered staring at his lap, searching for the right words to say. He’d never quite managed the eloquence of his parents no matter how hard he tried. And back then, he still maintained a bit of his optimism no matter how hard his parents tried. “I understand.” He nodded solemnly. This was what would make father proud, then, was it? He’d fulfill his duties. “Besides, there is nothing to say that Rowan and I can’t fall in love down the line, right? Just because it is a union born of circumstance does not mean that love and respect cannot blossom.”

He asked, hopeful. Not really sure what he was searching for. His mother’s reassurance, perhaps? She and father had been an arranged marriage, but they had been together for centuries now. Was there not a chance that they’d drifted into it over those years as they got to know each other?

But his mother just laughed again, patting his head like he was little more than a child who didn’t understand anything.

“If there was ever a drop of love in your father’s heart, it is not reserved for me or you. As for you…” She sized him up in that moment. Searching for something different, perhaps. Cyran never learned what she was truly thinking in that moment, looking at her son. “They say the apple does not fall far from the tree. I do not have high hopes. But perhaps you will manage it.”

It was a hard lesson that Cyran had learned that day; but a necessary one. In his first century of life he’d had to come to terms with the fact that romance was not meant for him. Not when duty came above all. Even when he left home, becoming an aimless drifter, there had perhaps been fear that his mother had been right, after all. A doubt planted within the back of his mind, even when he met the most stunning and interesting woman he’d ever laid eyes on in his life. Even when they fell into a fast and easy companionship. Even when she, in all of her strength and confidence, had asked for his hand in marriage.

And yet, there was something in Del’s reply, the affectionate name uttered, that melted through the most vulnerable parts of his heart. Those fears, evaporated, because surely, there was nothing else to call this feeling but love. The way he yearned so much that it ached, and yet, there was no urgency to the feeling. There was no worry that it might end or fade away, because he did not have to worry about its finiteness. It would be there.

Forever and always.

Cyran clasped Del’s scarred, calloused hand within his own, closing his eyes with a wistful smile while they pressed their foreheads together, a stolen moment before the dance began. They’d done this back and forth before, a tango back on the ship. Neither of them had requested this song in the present moment, but Cyran had a feeling Lady Aroha had specifically set this up for the two elves - not that Cyran minded. The Duchess felt all but invisible now. The band felt all but invisible. All that mattered was the two of them, flying back and forth across the ship.

The rolling waves were an added challenge, but Cyran kept his hands as firmly on Del as he could to prevent them both from losing balance. And eventually, even the rocking of the boat didn’t matter while they sashayed, moving back and forth with passionate, purposeful movements. Perfectly in sync.

The two could have danced forever, Cyran thought.

Del did not have the benefit of remembering her childhood... although, that was, perhaps, a boon all on its own. But as such, her guidance on relationships such as she knew of them came late in her life, during conversations with Sensei Maruyama, though in a more roundabout manner. She was far from an adolescent in need of guidance and information; she was a fully-grown adult with no concept of who she was or what she had to offer, as she had to start over from scratch. The natural isolation of their home in the mountains of the Crescent Isles did not help matters any.

It was during a dinner, where Maruyama received a letter-drake and read over a letter that made his face fall and a heavy sigh leave him, that Del paused. She knew better than to ask about such private things-- whyever Maruyama was in the mountains was his business. Such was the nature of their relationship; she had no past to speak of and, as far as he was concerned, neither did he. But as she continued to watch as her mentor read the letter again and again, care and concern overrode their custom, and compelled her to speak up.

"Is that something we need to be concerned about?" Del asked outloud, pointing with her chopsticks towards the letter.

Maruyama did not glance up for a time, seemingly lost in thought. Then, he lifted his hands, signing back to her 'No. Nothing of concern.'

"Then... can I ask what it was?" she asks, her voice a little more tenative.

This time, the question earns her direct eye contact with the old dwarf. He stares at Del for a long time, his expression inscrutable before he again sighs and begins to sign. "It is a letter informing me of my former wife's passing."

Del stares vacantly, both mortified by her own questioning and the fact that she had no idea her mentor had been married. He was a monk! "I... I'm sorry for your loss." she managed to get out, setting down her chopsticks. "I, uh... will you be planning to attend her funeral?"

Maruyama shook his head. "No. I am needed here, and I would not be able to get to the ceremony before the date. Aside from that, we had... ideological differences, shall we say." His shoulders bounce in a silent, rueful laugh. "If I am to honour her memory, then it would involve staying as far away from her as possible." He folds up the paper and tucks it into the folds of his yukata.

Del nods, before going back to her meal, though her mind wanders through the confusion this revelation caused, making her reflect inward. Eventually, words find her again. "Was it worth it?"

Maruyama lifts his gaze to her again, brows arched in silent question. She presses again. "Being... married. Being with someone only to have it not work out and wind up..." she gestures around her, frowning slightly. "Here. Alone, I guess."

"This 'isolation' as you call it, was a choice, Delaela." Maruyama signed, his brows arching again that seemed to impart an almost chiding tone. "It was that particular choice that caused us to separate. She did not wish to follow me into isolation for my beliefs. That was her choice, and I would be remiss in forcing anyone of my family to follow me on my task. That does not mean I do not have regrets... but I would not do anything differently, either."

"I have many wonderful memories and gifts from that time that I treasure deeply. Though we are apart and she is.. gone. I do believe, with certainty, that it was not for nothing. Love is always worth it." He added, his hands moving a little vehemently now. "Love is the reason we are here at all. Love for craft. For people as a whole. For giving them tools to express their own love. Love is the whole point of this world, Delaela. It can be the single most devastating and uplifting thing in this realm, it can build you up as easily as it can tear you down, but it is always, always, worth it. Even when it is fleeting or even when it is forever, the world is better with that little bit of genuine adoration in it. Nothing is more sacred. When you find it... it is worth holding on to, like the precious treasure it is."

Del fell silent for some time, staring down at her plate and feeling a pressure rising in her chest. An... odd pain. Not like something was missing, but an ache to know, and an inability to know how. "Do you think I will... could. Maybe. Find something like that?"

Maruyama looks surprised for a moment, and then softens. The warmth returns to his face. "I know you will." He smiled gently, reaching over the table to pat her hand before signing again. "If I have one piece of advice for when you meet the one who makes your heart soar, it is this; when the one you find also makes you feel found, when you can be your truest self without restraint and in full safety, and feel accepted, admired, and wanted... that is when you will know you have found the real thing."

And as Del moved, her eyes locked solely on Cyran, her body moved of it's own accord, connected so deeply that she barely had to think about how to move, save for listening to the tempo. She spun away from him, crooking her finger with playfulness to draw him into a little chase, quickly and easily caught and slipping back into their footwork as if they had done it a hundred times.

Now without the pretense of only pretending, Del has no qualms about carding her fingers through Cyran's hair as they dance, tipping one another back and forth in a lavish display of adoration and teasing. She kicks a circle around him, sending her skirts fluttering up and over in an arc, allowing him the moment to take hold of her again and hold her close, the hem of her skirts flaring around the two of them like wings until the music halts and they are again standing nose to nose, breathless and helplessly in love. In that pause, she leans in again, cupping his face gently in her hand as she pulls him down to her for a slow, searing kiss.

She had known for some time that this man waS the one that Maruyama had mentioned to her-- the one who made her heart soar, the one she felt at home and comfortable with, loved and respected by. Letting go of even the restraint of propriety, she kisses him in an attempt to convey the absolute depths of that admiration for him in turn. He was real. He was hers. And she was never, ever, going to let him go.

The deck erupts into cheers, the crew having taken the time to stop and watch the couple dancing across the deck. Del blinks and blushes furiously, looking at Cyran with a shy little smile. "Incredible as always, my love."

Cyran might not have known the semantics of Del’s curse, the invisible chains shackling her that weighed on her heart, and kept her tied to the ground. But as they twirled around, his hands delicately brushing her waist with feather-touches, grabbing hold of her and spinning her through the air with wild abandon, he so adored watching her fly. And he knew, even where his rational brain did not, that she was quite beautiful in the air, satin swishing around her like a pair of silken moth’s wings. And if he could bear the weight of those shackles just for a moment, and allow her to truly soar.

He was not truly sure how long they danced, merely dominating the ship’s floor - Cyran, a gentle, steady shadow while Del blossomed around him - but eventually, the last notes of the song were plucked from string instruments, finality hanging in the air. The dancers came to a halt, flushed faces pressed together and chests heaving. Cyran closed his eyes, one hand secured around the small of Del’s back to bear her weight while they dipped and another cupping her cheek while they kissed, as if sealing the deal with a promise. The fireworks had not yet started in the sky but Cyran felt them alight in his chest, fizzling and sparkling and clear and alive.

Only the sound of the polite, scattered clapping from spectators reminded Cyran that they were not actually alone in this moment. He pulled away, shy from the praise, the eyes on him - and the gaze that mattered most, as if piercing his very soul. He ran his thumb along her cheekbone a moment longer before pulling his hand away, if only because they were in public and such displays of affection felt so incredibly vulnerable and private. “All because I have a partner that shines.” He replied.

The Duchess approached them once more, a smile on her leathered face and something decisive in her eyes. What decision had been made, Cyran couldn’t say. But whatever her enigmatic machinations were for this meeting on the sea, her expression was a closed book as ever, as shrewd as she was when she played cards. The assassin could make guesses - but it was difficult for him to parse much when she spoke so little for him to parse truth from lies in the first place.

”Oh, how lovely.” She spoke, clasping ‘Elen’s’ hand with her own. ”I’m sorry to say that I missed this show about the ship.”

“We are hardly professionals.” Cyran murmured, still sheepish that other people thought there was much of anything to watch at all. It was a novel concept.

”Nonsense. Training matters little when you move so light on your feet and have such a deep connection to one another. Technicality can be bought, honed. But there’s no replacement for such intimate understanding and trust.”

“I suppose you’re right there.” He squeezed Del’s shoulder, sheepishly accepting the compliment for what it was. Though the Duchess played her cards close to her chest, he could tell that she was being honest. She was a woman who loved love, having held and lost it herself. Hell, they stood on the bones of that Union, the spirit of her husband still looking out for her after the grave. He wondered if the two of them had ever danced like this aboard their own ships, them against the world.

”I am always right.” The duchess teased. ”Now, if the two of you haven’t managed to tucker yourselves out, I think a game of cards is in order. The night is young, the fireworks along the coast are a sight to see from the waters, and I’ve a hankering for some gambling.”

It would have been very easy to forget that they weren't alone in that moment as they stood there with their breath between them and her heart so full it felt as though it could burst from her chest, if it weren't for that applause and and the fact that they were not alone. But in that moment, where his thumb skimmed delicately across her cheekbone, Del allows herself to forget for that brief moment, leaning into his hand to leave a small kiss behind on his palm.

Remembering herself, Del greets the duchess as she approaches with a smile, taking her hand in her own. The old woman's joy was affirming in the best possible ways. They had seen so much one another while on the ship, it was clear that the Duchess had some investment in her and Cyran's happiness. Perhaps merely reliving the days with her Earnest vicariously through the elven couple. Del squeezes her hand back. "Ohh, I don't know about all of that... though we did get a fair bit of applause, as I recall." Del chuckles wryly. "Though I must admit, I find every dance with my partner to be my particular favourite." Releasing the Duchess' hand, she reaches out to wrap her arm around Cyran's waist for a moment, kissing him on the cheek. "Of course! We'd be happy to join you. I'll just be only a moment, I just need to freshen up. May I ask for the powder room?"

"Just through the galley there, Elen dear. Not to worry, I'm sure Ilias and I can entertain ourselves for a few minutes. Don't keep us waiting, though!" She beckons Cyran to follow while Del gives Cyran a small, reassuring smile, before disappearing into the hold for a few minutes.

"It's nice to see the both of you so happy," The Duchess pipes up as they sit down. She reaches over to take the deck of cards and begin her shuffle as they settle in for a night of gambling as soon as Elen returned. "You know, it rather reminds me of an old friend of mine. She didin't get quite the hppy marriage that you two seem to have; it's rather rare for the elite and noble to be able to marry for love, of course."

The Duchess says all of this breezily, as though simply making polite conversation. The cards ripple through her hands as she performs a card sharp's shuffle. "And to have had it last so long? A rare thing indeed."