She didn't visit him for a long time after that. She covered her fear with anger. He was manipulating her. She shouldn't feel bad for the man, he didn't want her pity – but maybe he wanted her anger. Was that what he wanted? For her to be mad at him? He seemed to teem with some surging writhing something, and parsing out just what that was was beyond her. She didn't have the energy to invest.

The Outsider became just another subject she was briefed on. How his health was, plans for integrating him into society. He would need a name.

"Will we give him a title?"

Corvo seemed surprised at her question. "I… hadn't considered it."

She avoided her father's eyes, keeping her tone blasé and her eyes glued to the papers she perused. "It seems he would be useful to have on hand in case of any… Void-related occurrences."

Her father's body stilled and his eyes narrowed. Maybe she was a little too eager. "…Void-related occurrences," he repeated, just barely holding back his incredulity.

"And how much does he know about all those we come in contact with? Surely he's the most reliable spy you can find, regarding people's pasts."

Was it so wrong for her to want the former god near? Yes, he was angry, but he was newly changed – he'd been wrenched from a life - an unlife - he'd known for thousands of years. His anger was justified. Why he directed it at her and not Billie… she had no clue.

"Emily… You haven't seen him. He's not the same pe-" Corvo stopped himself, seeming to rethink his words. "Not the same being he was. He doesn't control the Void." His voice turned wry. "He has no control whatsoever."

Emily turned her eyes on her father, imperious. "Isn't that your job?" She straightened her back, her tone authoritative. "You said you'd be training him."

Corvo's lips twisted, but he didn't object. She was the Empress, after all. "Yes…"

She heard it in his voice. "But?"

"But he's like a child! No, worse than a child, because you as a child were already training! You had discipline. He has a smart mouth and a fatalistic attitude that makes him just…. impossible." Corvo was rarely so outspoken. Truly the man must be grating on him.

"Who's training him?" She cocked her head at him, as though she didn't already know the answer.

Her father shot her a knowing look. "You know damn well who. I've had to take time away from my duties as Spymaster - my duties to you as your Protector - twice a week for three months. And he's no better with a blade than he was when we started."

"Have Billie do it."

Corvo raised a skeptical eyebrow at his daughter. "Billie Lurk stayed her hand from killing him when she knew nothing of him. Arm her with a blade against him now, after months of having him as a constant burden? He wouldn't last ten minutes."

Emily felt irked at her father's words. Constant burden? Her neutral face shifted to a scowl, and her voice hardened. "As Empress of the Isles, I order you. Lurk is to train the Outsider. She's already been conditioning him, getting him strong again – weapons training is a practical addition. Send her anything she needs."

Corvo's lips pursed, but he would not refuse a direct order. She very rarely made them - at least to him - and when she did, she would not budge. "Yes, Your Majesty." His voice was gruff.

She shrugged off the twinge of guilt that always followed those words.

The third time she visited him, she came prepared for confrontation.

Over the garden wall, Billie was down and out before she could see what hit her (a sleep dart, as it happened to be), and then Emily's hand reached the ledge, she pulled with her magic – and the window was open. Had it been open when she'd arrived? She'd taken Billie down virtually silently, as she'd been trained, surely she hadn't tipped him off to her presence with mere noise.

"Come on in, Empress." His voice was even, relaxed, and when she blinked into dark vision she saw him around the corner of the window, facing inward, as though waiting for her to appear. So she did.

"You knew I was coming?" The words were out of her mouth even as her body was reappearing. Emily glanced him over, curious.

He looked good. His skin had gained some color, still quite pale but no longer a waxy pallor, mostly likely thanks to the sunlight out in these parts. It must have been nice being free to walk around after weeks holed up recuperating. He'd gained muscle tone, too, and weight, looking the healthiest she'd ever seen him. Of course, he would be no match for anyone with fighting experience - not hand-to-hand, not with that build - but maybe if he did some cardio conditioning he could just outrun his opponents. He'd need much more work if he were to ever work for Corvo.

Emily's eyes moved up from his body, and her eyes met his.

They were different now, too. So different from what they had been. Clear. Sharp. Engaged. She felt a rush of relief she hadn't known she'd needed. And with that relief came the realization that he was giving her a look – a slightly smug look.

He crossed his arms, and she wanted to roll her eyes, almost positive that he was just preening from her attentions. She'd honestly just been checking his healing progress, but the idea that he'd think otherwise, that was an amusing one. What a very human thing, ego.

"I had a feeling," he deadpanned.

She glanced around. The room wasn't exactly clean, still scattered all over with learning materials, although now diagrams of exercises and fighting stances also littered the desk. Under books, she observed, wondering if he even bothered looking at the exercise diagrams at all. Based on her conversation with Corvo two weeks prior: no. "Hm." She pursed her lips. "Really know how to make an empress feel at home." She didn't look back at him, instead beginning a walk around his room again, checking over the titles he had scattered about.

"I didn't exactly plan for your arrival. My 'feelings' are a bit more immediate, Your Imperial Majesty." His tone was wry but… playful? A dry humor. "More a sensing of Void powers. It's how I knew the first time you visited."

The first time? Emily realized with a small pang of guilt that he was actually referring to her second visit. He hadn't known she was there that first night. That night he'd been cold and weak. That painful night. She shook her head to clear the memory, glancing down at the book on the bedside table. The Metaphysika Mysterium. Her lips twitched. Back to his heresy. She was glad. "I see you've concluded your studies on the Abbey." She glanced up, lips forming a small smirk.

He hadn't sat down. He didn't need to anymore. He had closed the window softly and moved to lean on the side of his desk, watching her. That look was back in his eyes. Interest. Fascination. She fascinated him. It was a feeling she realized she'd missed. Her eyes spotted a spine that looked familiar on the desk beside him. Why did it look so familiar? She made her way toward the desk, running her fingers over books as she went, glancing over the maps, drawings, diagrams that were everywhere.

"Hm, yes," he hummed his confirmation, "I'm quite the pious one these days."

Emily raised an eyebrow, picking up on his playful attitude. "A good little heretic, are we?" The words came out in a sarcastic murmur. She found herself slipping into the play of it surprisingly easily. She hadn't acted this way since before the coup, when she'd grown up so fast. Maybe it was just being so far from the tower, or maybe it was time of night, or that she was free of the burden of lies that came every day as she hid her Mark from the world, but she felt a blessed relief from the pressures of imperial duty. As though a weight had been lifted, and a woman had waltzed out from under it, magically intact.

"Heretic?" He placed a hand on his heart, a look of mock offense. "Never. No, I have the strictures well memorized. All that business about the Wandering Gaze, the Lying Tongue," he glanced at the ceiling as though to help himself remember. She highly doubted he'd forget. "…those Restless Hands, Roving Feet, Rampant Hunger," he shook his head. "That Outsider, truly," his words were spoken with tight lips but good humor, "always after the Errant Mind."

Emily paused as she reached the opposite end of the desk, toying with the edge of a diagram she'd been looking at as she glanced to the aforementioned offender. Crafty bastard. What was he getting at? Whatever it was, she found herself not minding it. Beyond not minding it, she found herself happy to take the bait. How did that Errant Mind stricture go? 'Two contrary thoughts…' something about 'he will become weak-willed and subject to any heresy.'

Heresy, indeed.

"That's only six." The words were out of her mouth in a heartbeat. She'd willfully taken the bait. Her eyes glanced over him again, and she didn't see just his current body. She saw him as she had every time before, in the Void and out of it. All of him. His weak points, his failures, his cunning, his wit. His knowledge. His fear. And she didn't mind it.

She didn't mind it at all.

"Six?" He seemed to be finding it difficult to hide his amusement, his lips twitching into a smile - a satisfied smirk, even - as he cast a sideways glance at her.

He hadn't moved an inch, still perched on the edge of the desk, but she could see the tension in him. He wouldn't spring, himself. No, he wanted her to make this decision of her own free will. She wondered if, in some part of his mind, he had taken the strictures to heart. If he wouldn't come after her because he wanted her to be able to pull away.

Not that she would.

"Which did I miss?"

She raised an incredulous brow. "You damned well know." Her voice was lower than usual, deadpan but with an underlying current of accusation. Still, she shifted closer to him.

"Do I?" His voice had dropped too, becoming a quiet murmur as he turned to face her, leaning his palms on the desk now.

Tiny incremental movements drawing them closer and closer together, into each other's orbit.

She turned away, a smirk on her lips, feeling like the most powerful woman in the world. A god - well, former god - at her beck and call, if only for a moment. "I'm sure you're familiar."

He shifted around the corner of the desk, coming up next to her, his right hand brushing her left.

Her skin sang at the touch.

His shoulder ever so briefly tapped her back, and his voice was on her neck, still waiting for her to come to him, even as he drew closer and closer. "You are, too." It would have been a sing-song tone if his voice hadn't been entirely in his throat, lending it a gravely texture that was…. distinct.

Hair raised on the back of her neck as his breath slid over her. She finally spotted that familiar spine and pulled it from where it lay. Ah. Of course. She'd been given a finely bound copy of this just before its release. A smile played on her lips as she turned to face him, finding him far closer than he'd ever been before. "Reading up on me?" She purred, holding the cover to face him. When he was bent down ever so slightly just like this, they were at perfect eye level.

He held her gaze steadily, and Emily found her blood was rushing in her ears, her face heating, her lips parting, breath shallow. Standing, turning to face her head on, his graceful hand took her biography from her fingers, placing it back on the desk. Again the brush of his skin on hers was electric. Her eyes briefly fluttered closed, so entranced by the sensation.

"You didn't answer my question, Empress." His words were quiet, a whisper.

A hand cupped her face and she very nearly jumped, shivering at his touch as her eyes opened again. Immediately she was ensnared once more: lost in those clear hazel eyes. She felt the puckish smile playing over her lips even as she saw it mirrored on his. Her hands were pressed against his chest, feeling the oh so human heart that pounded furiously within him. She leaned just to the left, his hand sliding down her neck, raising goosebumps in its wake, and she lifted her chin to speak into his ear. "…And I don't intend to."

It was a tease, a game - a strategic move - and she wondered where he would play next.

His free hand slipped around her waist, reeling her in. Her body pressed against his and her heart leapt as he cupped her face again, fingers combing back and tangling in her hair, leaning his forehead against hers. Warm breath played over her lips and she found her eyes closed once more, savoring the sensation. Her mouth watered. His lips were mere millimeters from hers and she felt him smiling. "Truly, there is no quicker means by which a life can be upheaved and sifted than by the depredations of uncontrolled desire." His lips moved against hers, but never close enough, just out of reach, his words feeding her.

She strained to bring her lips to his, to finally seal his words away with her breath, but he pulled ever so slightly away, his fingers woven in her hair serving to anchor her from reaching his lips.

If she truly wanted to, she could pull free in an instant. She could have him dead in a split second if that was what she wanted. But she didn't want that. She never wanted that. She happily accepted his hand in her hair, enjoying the massage-like tug as he pulled her lips back.

And again he was there, lips just out of reach, teasing her. The hand from her waist raised, running his thumb along the curve of her lower lip. "…Within these things, the Outsider dwells."

She felt a groan from deep in her chest, yearning for him, and her hands clenched into fists in his shirt, but she wouldn't pull him down to her. This was a battle and she would stand her ground. He would come to her. She licked her lips in anticipation, and felt as she accidentally tasted his as well. That was the breaking point.

And his will broke before hers. As it should.

"Fuck – Emily-" His words were lost between her lips, along with so many other words and sentiments. Why do you do this to me and why can't I stop and how did we get here and yes – so much yes.

Their kisses were hungry and passionate, mouths eagerly exploring one another. She led him in how she liked to be kissed, he was quick to respond in kind, and they were locked together. Every moan, every rasped breath, every time their skin met stars danced before her eyes.

She found her hands roaming the planes of his chest, his waist, the sharp dip of his clavicle, fingers tickling trails down his neck – wanting to touch all of him. The thought that popped into her mind had a low chuckle escaping her throat.

He pulled back, eyes sharp, not missing a thing. He didn't look angry, only amused. "What?" His voice was low, too, not quite breathless.

She glanced at him from under her lashes - eyes dark and burning - then looked away, a smile on her lips as she ghosted them over his jaw, letting her words drip like honey in his ear. "Restless Hands…" Her teeth grazed the skin just below his ear, and she felt his hands, wrapped around her waist, squeeze her in quick response.

"Mmm…" His hum of approval rumbled through him, lips dropping to her collarbone, his movements coaxing her to turn her head, letting his mouth work small kisses up her neck. His breath was hot, wrapping tendrils of air around her, his words crashing against her skin like dark warm waves. "Wanton Flesh."

He closed his teeth at the base of her neck, nipping her, and she couldn't stop the moan even as an impish grin spread over her lips. "Forgetting this sixth stricture?" she mocked his play from just moments ago. "You seem to have quite the Lying Tongue."

The words were lost again, that same tongue quick to silence her – to cleanse her of the Abbey's dogma, to raise her to her own place of worship. His kisses took her breath away, and she found herself tugging at the buttons of his shirt, entreating him, begging that she might continue. He leaned toward her, aiding her efforts, and when she was nearly done his own hands hesitated only briefly before working their own path over her clothes as well, coaxing every fastening open. "Oh my beautiful blasphemer…" Despite the smirk in his voice, his tone was still almost reverent.

Her hands were steady and eager, no doubt or fear in her, as they traced over every line on his torso, his skin warmer than she'd expected – flushed with heat, just as she was. She pulled away just long enough for each of them to shrug off open clothes, and then she was on him again, his mouth stifling a hungry cry she hadn't realized she'd uttered. As his fingertips grazed the soft skin of her belly, running over lean lines of muscle, she found her hands tangled in his hair, pulling him to her, his hands now on her back.

She wanted to leap into his arms - wrap her legs around him - but, knowing he was still building muscle, she instead broke away from his kiss. Her body pressed up against him, rolling her hips against his as her eyes found that piercing pale gaze. "I want this."

His breathing was heavy as his eyes seared into her. Did her eyes have that same hunger in them? He had the air of a cat playing with its prey. His mouth captured hers again, nipping her lip, eliciting a satisfied moan, and he rested his forehead against hers. "I live to serve, Empress." The playful, wicked curve of his lips made her insides melt.

"Damn right you do."