Q&A — Part 1 (Patreon)

• What are the ROs thoughts on children and marriage?

I will admit, at this point in their lives, none of the ROs can seriously think about marriage and children or anything ahead of what is the immediate future. They all live... very unstable lives at the moment, and those circumstances don't allow them to think much of what stability can look like.

Hadrian doesn't think of the future much. He doesn't like to. He also doesn't particularly like to dwell on the past. Which puts him in a difficult position, because Hadrian isn't one of those people who can breeze through life with their heads in the clouds, a shrug on their shoulders, and a smile on their carefree lips. Events matter, choices matter, and they matter because they not only affect others, but they affect himself — they affect his future.

He's one prone to think. He used to meditate while kneeling in front of a cross with prayers on his lips. But lately, he tries to steer away from that, and the prayers taste empty because there's no substance behind the words. He's a mercenary now. He lost his family name and doesn't know what he'll want to do in the future. For now, he has his sword, people he's grown to care about, and he'll stand by them.

That's enough. He'll try to do good and ask for forgiveness when he can't. But that's enough.

Marriage? Kids? When he was with the Templars, that was something Hadrian was told he could never have. He couldn't. Now, he left, but... Hadrian still believes God doesn't have marriage in His plans for him. It's a beautiful dream but one so intangible that it hurts just thinking about it.

So, again, he doesn't. He doesn't think about that.

Alessa, at this point in time, doesn't see herself as anything other but a part of the Company. She's a mercenary of the White Company, she's in Tarek's inner circle, she has her own dreams and ambitions, and they all revolve around it. It's been a long road to Alessa, a long, tiring, jaded road. She doesn't know if she's halfway there or still at the very beginning, but she does know that whatever length is left, she will not abandon it.

She's come too far.

Right now, she wants those maps. They're important, they're pivotal. That much is becoming more and more apparent. Tarek wants them, some noble lords want them, and she suspects these two parties aren't the only ones. They matter, and they can help the Company move ahead.

Marriage and children aren't even a glimpse on the horizon. They are so far beneath the waves, Alessa often forgets other people have such dreams.

Alain can only smile. Marriage. What a poor taste it leaves in his mouth. He's been hearing about marriage, children, and duty for as long as he can remember, and for as long as he can remember, it bored him to hell and back. More than bored, it made his skin itch, and Alain may never admit it, but it made the walls seem like they were pressing in.

He and his sister need to rise within the ranks. Not amongst other nobility, mind you, but within his dear family. Within the Theers. They have to grow in importance in the eyes of his uncle, and what better way than to provide him with an advantageous arrangement? A binding contract, one locked by holy matrimony.

Do you want to know what Alain thinks of marriage? It is a contract. One he will have to sign one day. And what a bleak day it'll be. But alas, such is life, and at least, it'll make it less dull for a while.

For just a little while.

Ysabella was raised with the same expectations. But while her brother has grown to despite it, Ysabella is adamant to seize what comes and use it to her advantage. She lives a privileged life, but even a gilded cage is a cage nonetheless. And she's so aware of the chains that keep her in place. One has to play the game with the hand they are given, and she swears, in the dead of night, while her brother runs away from responsibilities, that she'll slacken them.

She may one day remove the chains altogether.

And what is marriage but an opportunity? That's how she sees it. She'll influence it as much as she can, and when she marries, she'll use it to her advantage. Children? Ysabella... prefers not to think of them. It opens a deep pit in her stomach. She will not think of them.

The Pirate King laughs, the sound scattering in the wind. Marriage? He's already married to the ship that sways beneath his feet. He has other lovers too: the breeze washing his skin, the seagulls singing him praises, the axes on his belt, the gold hanging from his neck.

He's married to the sea, and there's no better mistress them her. None more beautiful, more dangerous, more giving too. He cannot marry anyone else, and children? Spirits, he may not be what most call a good man, but even he wouldn't bring a child into this life. Not right now. Not ever, probably. How could he?

The Pirate looks at his armada, riding the proud waves. Here are his children.

And then he looks at the horizon and sees the black walls of Tarragona, and all thoughts melt away under the harsh sun. There is his destiny. Marriage, children, a normal life. It sinks beneath his feet, for blood calls louder.

The moment Neia hears the word marriage, you listen to a sound not many have ever witnessed. The specter laughs. It isn't a joyful sound, it's more akin to a rasp, like the growl of a large predator when it sees you have nowhere else to run. She will laugh and shake her head and tell you to piss off before your nonsense stops being funny and just becomes annoying.

Neia, the former Dawnseeker, will never marry. She can't. She lived for the Church, and now... she still does, just in another way. Her road will be as long as God deems it to be, and she'll follow it every step of the way, but she's no fool. She knows how it'll end.

Marriage, children, a little fucking house she can call her own? That's not part of the deal. It never was.

Lance stops. Marriage? His fingers tap restlessly on his lyre, and there is that smile on his lips but his eyes look towards the floor. A string of calm, nonsensical music lifts in the air, filling the sudden silence that hangs between you. Marriage. Now, that is a funny question.

Lance bites his lip, and now the smile becomes wider, and he chuckles along with the notes plucked from the strings. That is funny indeed. Would you believe he has never thought of it? Never. Not for himself, in any case. And children? The bard's laugh sounds of disbelief. No. Not him.

He has— he has Chouriça. He has his job. He doesn't... he doesn't require anything else.

But he'll think about this now when there's quiet, and the world is dark. He'll sit beneath a looming moon and think about your words. Marriage. What would that even look like?

Rafael scoffs, drowns his drink, and then looks to the far wall, his lips pressed into a thin line. He won't say it, not even when deep in his cups, but he's dreamed of it all once. Marrying, finding the one. He wanted to have that, once. He wanted to have little kids with brown hair running around a house that he'd buy with his own gold, fruit of his own labor.

A pretty wife or a handsome husband leaning in the doorway, welcoming him home with a smile and gentle hands and whispered words in the dead of night. Yeah, the bastard dreamed of it all.

But he was a damn idiot, and now he'll be lucky if he makes it to the next winter. Rafael doesn't like to sleep anymore, for it brings the dreams, and he doesn't like those either. He's in survival mode as of now. There isn't much on his head but the hope he'll live to see another sunrise.

• Would Alessa be open to adoption?

Would her life be different, and she's settled down? If that is what her partner desires. She has no particular fondness for children, but it wouldn't be the first time Alessa has grown to love something she never wanted.

And love the child she would, with every fiber of her being.

• Would Hadrian prefer a Disneyland type of spectacle proposal or a simple proposal?

Definitely simple. It would be something to be shared between you and him only. He would agonize about it for weeks, biting his tongue, losing courage, and then gaining it in intense spikes that had him marching towards you with a dark look on his face and closed fists, and you'd think he is absolutely furious if he wouldn't grab your face and kiss you until you had no air left in your lungs and then...

"I, uh. I have to go." Hadrian would turn away and practically run out of the room.

This would keep up until finally, one late evening, with a candle burning and a soft mattress between you, Hadrian would watch the flames play with your profile and the question would slip out of his lips. Naturally, quietly, so perfectly. Like it was meant to be.

• Do you think Rafael would be a good dad?

Me, personally? I think so. One of the relationships I can't wait to write about will be between Rafael and Beka. Rafael has many flaws, but I believe he has his heart in the right place. He doesn't have much, never has had much, but the little he does have, Rafael values deeply.

He values people deeply, as much as that breaks him. As much as he wishes he didn't, he does. And a child? God, Rafael would look at the babe and swear before the Lord to live his life for them.

• Would the Pirate King take the kid for a spin on his ship?

A spin? The Pirate laughs with gusto. He would give the kid a ship the day they were born. "There, little spirit, you'll be sailing it one day, so grow strong and steady those chubby legs."

He'd name the ship his child's name until they could pick a name for themselves. The child would have the sea in their blood, a sailor before anything else. They'd know about constellations and tides, sails and ropes, sandbanks and storms, ports, maps, compasses, white flags, and the ones to keep away from.

They'd learn it all before they'd turn ten. He scoffs. A spin.

• Would Neia finally show her soft side towards a smaller version of herself?

A little kid? It's hard not to soften when you have a babe in your arms. No matter who you are, unless your heart is made of stone, there's some pull of protection there. Some want deep within us that tell us that this little being is not one to be hurt. Yours or not, no one can stand the sight of a crying child.

Neia would be softened in the ways that she can. You wouldn't find her singing lullabies, or cooing and making silly faces, but she'd adjust the cover if she noticed the babe was cold, and she'd carry them to watch the stars when they couldn't sleep at night. Whispering promises of future lessons, of how one day she'll show them all that she's learned. She'd show them all so that they could be better than her, so they could achieve what she couldn't.

"One day, you'll reach for the stars," she'd say, pointing at Heaven. "And the doors will be wide opened."

• When did Alessa realize she had feelings for the MC? Other than the feeling of annoyance I mean.

For the male MC? She realized something was "wrong" when she kept thinking of you when she wasn't supposed to. In your absence, Alessa would find herself wondering about your whereabouts. She'd find herself wondering what you do, not in the sense that she's suspicious and wants to make sure this newcomer won't betray the Company, but in the sense of...

Alessa tightens her lips. Foolishness.

But yet, here you are, haunting her thoughts, again and again. And she likes when you look at her, she likes when you smile. She likes it when you sit beside her, and her skin tingles with your proximity, her heart beats faster like a foolish blushing teenager, but Alessa cannot help it.

That's when she realizes something is wrong. For she cares for you, more than she should. More than sense would advise. She cares about you, she wants to know more.

With a female MC, it happened much more recently. She warmed to you much quicker than she does for most other people. Alessa was suspicious when she first met you, as she always is, but she soon found that suspicion... lessening. She did not mind it when you'd sit beside her at meals, and she would indulge in your stories and tales, listening to the cadence of your voice, admiring the way you had brushed your hair that particular day.

Alessa finds herself admiring a lot of things about you. 'Tis curious, but she thinks nothing of it. She thinks nothing when she seeks your company in return, thinks nothing when her hands clench into furious fists when she sees you in danger. You are an ally, someone under her protection. It is her duty to watch you.

It is her duty... and now, here you are, taking her hand. And here you are, smiling at her with heavy-lidded eyes. And suddenly, Alessa realizes she has been admiring your lips, wondering if... wondering how your hands would feel on her, wondering how soft your skin may be, wondering...

Alessa blinks. And realization settles like a warm breeze.

• What changed in Hadrian's mind after he kisses the MC? Before that he is all proper and "I don't deserve this". "Hadrian don't be sinful" but then he seems way more chill about being a sinner.

Lord, what changes? Everything. Hadrian doesn't believe he deserves you, a fact that doesn't change even after the kiss. He doesn't deserve you because he puts you on a pedestal. This will be explored in the game, as slowly, his admiration and infatuation will start to become more real. More tangible. Hadrian will stop romanticizing you and actually see you as you are.

See the real you, and love you so much more for it. Beautiful.

People have asked me if Hadrian is in love with the MC in this first book, and if he was to answer, he'd say that yes. He is. After the kiss? He's madly in love. Lord, he's lost.

But as the writer? I can say that not really. He thinks he loves you, but he'll only really fall once he takes off the rose-tinted glasses. Once your relationship starts to truly grow, that's when the ground will melt away from his feet, and Hadrian will plunge so deep that he'll have no hope of ever getting out. He'll realize it too, afterward, how naïve he was. How little he understood. How he didn't love you, then, but a projection of you.

A projection he bestowed upon you, made of his own fears and insecurities.

He doesn't deserve you because he was told he would never have the right for this: a simple love.

Why am I telling you all this? Because you need to understand it to understand what Hadrian means when he calls what he feels for you a sin. The lust, the attraction, him wanting what he shouldn't. That's the sin. That's what he's been taught to repent, what the Church told him is shameful. He wants what he doesn't deserve.

His want is the sin.

And he still sins because, despite it all, Hadrian can't stay away from you. When you flirt back? When you held his hand, when you kissed his cheek, when you said yes when he asked to kiss you? How could he ever call it a sin? Call you a sin? Blasphemy. You're not a sin, and you want him. He doesn't understand why, but Lord, Hadrian is not about to question it.

The Lord gave him this, gave him you, and how could you ever be sinful when you feel like such a blessing?

His unwanted desire was the shame. Your desire is not shameful, you deserve all that you want, including him. Especially him.

• Favorite animal for all the ROs and Beka.

Hadrian prefers dogs. There's just something about them that naturally clicks with him. He never owned one, but, in those rare moments Hadrian allows himself to dream of a different life, of a house somewhere with a garden on the back and rolling hills in the front, dogs are always a part of that fantasy. Little ones hanging from his lap when he's sitting, and large ones sprawled at his feet.

He can't help but smile every time he sees a dog. Their waggly tails are a joy.

Alessa also prefers dogs. They are reliable, loyal, and smart. If she must take an animal as a companion, she needs one she can trust, and she knows she can trust a dog. That they have big, soulful eyes, and adorable ears and twitch and turn when they dream is unrelated. That her lips quirk whenever one goes running like mad when they see their owner is also irrelevant.

'Tis not important how pure they can be. How cheerful. How different they are from her. A sturdy, reliable companion. That's what Alessa would pick, if she had the freedom to. If she led a different life.

Alain likes all kinds of birds. He likes watching them, likes listening to them, likes to imagine what it'd be like to flap a pair of wings and fly wherever one desires. To have the sky as your home. Yes, he wonders, wine in hand, eyes on the ceiling.

He likes all types of birds but, if hard pressed, Alain supposes he prefers those little sparrows. They're not impressively handsome, they don't have flashy colors or large plumes or wings that take up the whole of the sky. Their song isn't very complex, nor is it particularly beautiful. They are just... little beings, flapping around, but it is their voices he hears first thing in the morning. Every day, without fail.

Alain can count on it. To hear the song of the sparrows.

Ysabella adores horses. She adores them. She could spend hours looking at them, eating grass on a hill, running on a track, or simply laying with their big bellies on the ground, tongue lolling, hooves sticking in the air. She adores them.

She wishes she could ride one every day. She envies those that can, the guards that roam the city streets, the merchants that leave on their wagons, and the peasants who ride with their wares. Oh, how she envies them all, standing near her window, looking out onto the world.

It is in her dreams, in their freedom, that she rides one while wearing trousers with her hair free in the wind and a large, unladylike smile on her face. She jumps over walls and races other riders, and, in the end, she sits with her mare beside a creek and shares the shade and the cold water. A friend, a companion. A soul as free as her, in the depths of this dreamland.

"I have no need for little beasts," The Pirate King would tell you, eyes firmly set on the horizon, beard swaying with the wind. His clothes would be swaying too, long coat tails flapping near his chins and a loose shirt covering and uncovering his chest.

He has no need for pets. He doesn't mind seagulls, for they warn when a storm is coming, but their cries are like knives to his ears. Dogs are too destructive, and horses are a nightmare to maneuver. He keeps falling off the saddle, and they never listen to him, and The Pirate has steady legs, but he turns into an awkward halfwit whenever he rides one.

Fish are fun to look at, especially when he comes across the bright pink and blue coral reefs. The Pirate sees the multitude of little fishes there as well as big ones, and fat ones, and ones so long and slippery, it reminded him of tight ropes. Once, he saw a great shark, skin grey and head as large as a boulder, patrolling the shallow waters, and The Pirate supposes that was impressive enough. But fishes rule the seas, and no man has any right to own one.

He has absolutely no need for beasts. Humans are more than enough, he doesn't need anything else on his hands.

But... but. He's been seen, oftentimes, scratching the heads of stray cats on the various docks he travels to. And he thinks their noses, so tiny, can be quite fond to look at. And their eyes, so round and big on their tiny heads, are like the moon on a cloudless night. And The Pirate would never admit it, but the sounds they make have him biting back a smile.

They make so many strange, nonsensical noises. They rumble like birds sometimes or yell like a babe crying for their mother's tits, and there's this one cat, this one black and white stray who he swears he's heard saying "no" once. He swears on all the rings on his fingers.

And the way they wiggle their butt when they're about to tear the throat of a poor mouse has him cracking up laughing.

The little devils. The Pirate has no favorite animal, he's not a soft-hearted fool. But, if he had a sword to his neck, if he had to absolutely pick one... he supposes he'd keep a cat on his ship. At least, until he could find it a better home.

Neia used to rest her forehead against the forehead of her horse. The horse who burned alongside her, the one whose screams she listened to before she started to scream herself. Her horse, Dawn. Her bloody horse.

Neia doesn't have a favorite species, she cares for individuals. She cared for Dawn. That's who her favorite animal was. To hell with anything else.

Lance likes to think of himself as a lover of all animals. Squirrels, rats, magpies, butterflies, cats, pigeons, worms, and even spiders, hanging upside down from their marvelous webs. Once, the same moth kept coming near his night candle for three nights in a row, and Lance mourned when the little thing — which he baptized as Lucy on the second night — didn't return for a fourth.

Lance likes them all, but only one has his heart and that is, naturally, his dear Chouriça. His old lady, the dog that landed on his lap when she could barely open her eyes, and a younger Lance swore then, that he'd be there when it was time for her to close her eyes for eternity. He'll be there in the final goodbye, with a bleeding heart and a crying soul.

But he'll be there.

Rafael likes them quick, clever, and lithe. The kind that escapes, that uses its wits to trump over those who are more powerful and naturally gifted. Fuck that. It's not fun to have it all, you have to earn it. So, Rafael respects the prey who doesn't fall for the predator.

Whether it's rats, too quick for them cats to catch, or rabbits, twisting away from an eagle's claws at the very last second. Or a little ferret, scarring up a tree to escape from a hound's maul. He likes to sit on the ground when he's watching a building that he'll rob later, and leave pieces of cheese on the palm of his hand.

Sooner or later, Rafael will see the little snout of rats sniffing the air, and his lips will twist in the barest of smiles. A long enough watch will have those little buggers coming closer and, the next day, closer still. Until, eventually, they'll take the cheese out of his hand and scurry away.

And Rafael will laugh, delighted. Cute little bastards.

Beka doesn't like dogs. They're friends of the blue-capped pigs, and they guard the pretty houses with high fences full of coin and food and trinkets Beka can only dream of. She doesn't like horses either because they help the guards run faster than she'll ever be able to. She doesn't like cats, those round-eyed creeps, always watching her when she tries to be silent. She dislikes pigeons because they carry away pieces of bread on their stupid beaks, and Beka can't reach them on top of the walls.

She doesn't like... many things.

But she never hurt one of them stupid animals either. Once, the kids were having fun playing with a snail they caught on some leaf. They were trying to separate it from its shell, and Beka knows she couldn't hear it screaming, but she swears it was. She picked up a rock and cracked the nose of the leader. Beka left that fight with a black eye and a busted lip, but the snail had been safe in her palm.

She also found a white puppy once, so small it couldn't walk, freezing in a corner on a rainy winter night. The thing was full of fleas and reeked like hell, but he was shaking and whimpering, and Beka took him in her arms and curled around him until they both fell asleep.

The puppy never woke up. Beka will never admit to the hot tears she had shed, nor will she tell anyone about the patch of dirt she dug to bury him.

Animals are stupid and worthless, and they don't do anything but make her life harder. But Beka would rather cut off her own hand than hurt any of them. They don't deserve it.