My Valentine — Part Two (Patreon)

Just a quick note: These are all deep in their romance routes, and I’ll use most (if not all) of these gifts in the game itself.

-

A hand covers your eyes.

You jerk in surprise but swallow the gasp that almost makes it past your lips. Your world is forcefully plunged into darkness, but you recognize this palm at once. "Who would launch such a terrible assault?" you ask, grabbing onto the invading hand with a smile growing on your lips.

His deep voice rumbles close to your ear. "Take a wild guess."

"Hmm, let me see. A ring on almost every finger," you say, nails scratching the crimson rock he likes to wear on his thumb. "A leather bracelet and, oh!"

You lean into him until your back presses against his chest. His chin is beside your cheek, and even with his hand covering half your face, you can feel the hairs of his long beard. "A tied beard. I think I have all the clues I need."

Your captor chuckles. "Share them, peach."

"It's Hadrian, naturally."

His thumb presses on the middle of your forehead, making you tilt your head back. "Way to hurt a man's pride," he mumbles, but when you laugh, he gives a quick kiss to your temple. "Now, say my name."

You almost say Alain’s name. Almost. "It's my pirate, of course."

"Ah, good enough." The hand lets go, settling on your stomach as The Pirate sits behind you. He keeps you close, putting his chin on your shoulder. "I can tell myself you've earned this."

When you open your eyes, is to see his other hand right in front of your face. It's holding something in a fist, and when the Pirate opens his hand, gold flashes in the sun. "Oh," you gasp now.

Dangling from a little circle at its apex is both the strangest and most beautiful... jewelry? Instrument? Object you've ever seen. It sways from side to side, but you can see all the intricate details on its surface. It has outer circles of pure gold with numbers and letters etched into them. They seem like they can move, but you daren't touch them for fear of breaking it. Two wide columns cross the center, which, too, seem like they move, and the background is white, like a map, where lines and circumferences are drawn.

"What is this?" you ask, voice awed. Your hand hovers next to it, but even still, you hesitate.

Another chuckle from behind. "It won't shatter by your touch. Not even you are that powerful," the Pirate says and drops the treasure in your palm. It's warm from being carried by him. It's a little too big for your hand, the large circle going over the tips of your fingers.

"What is it?" you ask again.

The Pirate maneuvers his arms to circle you and slides his hands on top of yours. He starts to guide your fingers, the two of you together making the outer circles move. It’s like a clock, all the pieces turning at once. "It's an astrolabe," he reveals. "It's used to measure time and distances. When the ocean stretches on all four horizons, and the sun seems stuck in the same place, you want to know how far away is that little dot in front of your ship. It lets you track the stars, too. Some call it star-finders. I always liked the name."

"An astrolabe," you whisper, turning it gently in your hands. The back is just a plate of gold. "This is beautiful."

The Pirate's lips widen against your cheek. "I'm glad you think so. It'd be a poor gift if you didn't."

You snap your head to the side. "What? You're giving this to me?"

"I think the giving it's a part of gifting, yes. I know we pirates have a reputation, but we can give shiny things too. We don't only take."

"But—" You turn your body so you can face him properly. The Pirate smiles indulgently at you, and you’d find it condescending if… if his black eyes didn’t seem to drink in the sun. "But won't you need it?"

"I have others," he says dismissively. "And, to be honest, peach, that one is too fragile to use daily. Best to stay in safer hands than mine."

You're still not convinced. "Are you sure?"

The Pirate chuckles. "I always am."

Looking down at your lap, you roam your fingers across the astrolabe outer circle. "I don't know how to use it," you say.

His hands join yours again. "I'll teach you."

You smile, still looking down. "I’ll hold you to that."

He tugs your chin until you face him. He looks so handsome, then. "I hope this helps you find your stars," he whispers, and you don't know what to say, so you only lean in and thank him with a kiss.

- - -

"Open your hand."

She gruffs out the command, but Neia doesn't wait for you to follow it. A large hand grabs your wrist and squeezes until your fingers spread in five directions. "Ouch," you protest, although it didn't really hurt. Neia can be rough, but she never crosses the threshold into pain. At least, not when it comes to you.

You've always marveled at how much control she has over her own strength.

"Stop whining," Neia commands again and drops something in your palm.

She lets go of you, leaning her back on the wall with crossed arms over her chest. You lift an eyebrow, purposely not looking at the long, odd-shaped object you're holding. "Can't you give things like a normal person?" you ask her.

Neia frowns and looks to the side. "Is normal what you want from me?" she gruffs. And you almost find endearing the way she clenches her jaw and refuses to acknowledge you. "Because you're bound for disappointment, sweetling."

You chuckle. "You can be so dramatic, Neia."

The ex-Inquisitor turns her chin to give you a piercing glare. In the past, in another life, it would freeze the blood in your veins. Right now, it only makes you laugh louder. "Just fucking look at it."

You do.

And see that you hold a large folding knife. The handle is the perfect size for your palm, and when you close your fingers around it, you can feel as much as you see the rich texture of its handle. It seems like wood, but you know the material: it's a deer antler. "This is..."

The handle is carved beautifully. Red flowers with bright green leaves are etched on them, the colors so vivid, you think it was painted the day before. The knife is folded, and when you open it, it springs free without a sound. The blade is large but deadly thin, the point sharp and the edges glinting in the sunlight. "A knife?"

You look at Neia and find her watching you. Her eyes like two yellow flames. "A vendetta knife," she says and then jerks her chin at your hands. "Turn it over."

You do so and see the words engraved on the blade. "May all your wounds be mortal," you read aloud as your fingers trace each word. "Did you carve this?" you ask, flinching as soon as the question leaves your mouth.

"Of course, I didn't," Neia scoffs. Of course, she didn't. You knew it was a silly question, but you just... you can't stop staring at the knife. "I'm no blacksmith."

You turn it again and then make a practice swing. It's so light, perfectly cutting the air. "Where did you find it, then?" you ask, swinging it to the other side.

Neia is quiet. You stop and look at her over your shoulder. She's watching the horizon again. "Neia?"

She thins her lips. You see her fingers clenching on her forearms. "... I had it made," she says at last.

You fold the knife, spinning it as you walk towards her. "Well, it's finely made. It'll serve you well," you say, holding it out for her to take. "I didn't think the flowers were your style, though," you add with a teasing smile.

But Neia doesn't find it funny. She turns her head and fixes you with such a bewildered look that you falter for a moment. Neia studies you in eerie silence, and the more confused you get, the more she seems as if she's being forced to deal with the biggest idiot ever spawned from the earth. "Holy Hell," she says at last. "It's a bloody gift, you dumb wit."

You can only blink. "What?"

Neia's lips pull up, and it looks like a snarl, but her voice has an edge of a smile. "It's for you. The knife is for you."

You can't believe it. "Wait, you— you had this made for me?"

"How many more dumb questions do I have to answer?"

"I—" You look at the knife. "I don't... why?"

Her brows knit. Neia straightens up, then, growing a head taller than you. Both of her hands close around yours with the knife, her fingers squeezing until it's almost painful. Almost, but it never is.

Neia leans down to put her face next to yours, eyes piercing, and lips so close. "So that you never miss," she hisses, pulling you ever closer. "And when you strike, sweetling, you make sure the wound is mortal."

- - -

Lance has your hand in his.

"And this one," he says, pointing at the deepest line that crosses the middle of your palm. "Is the lifeline. It shows how long your life will be."

You cock your head at it. "Doesn't seem very long."

Lance shakes his head, blue hair swinging from side to side. "Ah, no, no, do not be deceived. Do you see this?" His nail travels along the lifeline, curving around your palm until it merges with your wrist. "It keeps going, my mercenary. Look, it thins here, but over here it deepens again and—" At this point, Lance has your arm lifted in the air as his fingers go down your forearm to your elbow. "I find it here still! You'll have a long life indeed."

You can't help but laugh. "I don't think that's how it works, Lance," you say. His fingers massage your elbow, always so nimble, always so quick.

"Please. I have a great knowledge of palm reading," Lance retorts. He's smiling, truly smiling, and it makes his grey eyes seem so light, they look blue. "It is honestly quite insulting to be doubted."

It's your turn to shake your head. "Oh, really? Great knowledge, do you? And where have you acquired it?"

"I saw a reading not once but twice."

You laugh, and Lance rewards you with a proud smile. His gold tooth stands out amongst the others, and as it captures your gaze, you fail to notice Lance's quick fingers reaching for something in his vest pocket. In a flash, both his hands are on your arm again, and now he starts to drag them down towards your own. "There is yet another important line in our palms," he says.

You lift an eyebrow. "Is that so?"

Lance hums and turns your palm up. "Its reading was the most sought-after in all the two sessions I've seen. To be honest, I think most young ladies attending only cared about this one — and the young men too, mind you, but those tried to pretend they did not. Life, wealth, fortune... they all paled next to this line."

"Do share."

His pointer finger follows the line stretching across your hand directly under the fingers. "It is called the love line," Lance reveals. "And yours is unlike any I've seen before."

You smile. "Really?" you ask, leaning closer to his face. Lance still smiles, but it's a smile harder to read. "And why is that? Am I about to hear a minstrel tale?"

"No, no tale here," Lance says. And it's so quick, it seems like a magic trick, but Lance's hand turns, fingers dancing over yours, and when he lets go, there's a golden ring sitting perfectly on your ring finger.

You stare at it as Lance cradles the back of your neck and leans in. "Your line matches mine," he whispers against your temple before dropping a sweet kiss.

With a leap, he gets up and walks towards the door, keeping his eyes purposely away from yours. "Lance," you call, but he only flashes you a smile.

"I will not be long," he says and disappears.

You look back down at the ring. It's on the thin side, the gold with the type of dark shine that tells you time has left its mark. This is an old ring, but beautiful still. You turn your hand and see a little skull embedded in the band. Curious, you take it out of your finger to inspect it closer and are caught by surprise when you see words written on the inner band.

They're small but perfectly eligible. And they have your heart squeezing in your chest. "Let Love Abide till Death Divide," you read quietly.

Lance.

You stay still for a moment, your thoughts buzzing... but then you jump to your feet and run towards the door. "Lance!" you shout, ring clenched in hand, and a bright smile on your lips. You'll kiss that man to death. "Lance Silverthread!"

- - -

He dumps it in your lap.

Not even dump, the bastard throws the package from across the room. He always had good aim, and it lands perfectly between your crossed legs. You look down at it, seeing a small package with badly wrapped brown paper and rough cords tangled on each other. You make no move to reach for it.

"What's this?" you ask, lifting your chin at Rafael.

He's stalked the room to the corner to lean on the wall with his hood pulled up. It hides half of his face but doesn't hide the way his lips twitch. "Easy way to find out is by opening it."

Your eyes narrow at his tone. You know how Rafael sounds when he's irritated, or upset, or... well, every other negative emotion. He hasn't used that tone with you in a very long time. No, this isn't Rafael being snappy, this is something else. You try to pierce through the shadows to peer at his face, for he always wears his emotions on his sleeve. He's so easy to read, your rugged thief.

You suppose that's why he chooses to hide away now.

"I don't like doing things the easy way," you answer back, crossing your arms stubbornly over your chest.

Rafael's hood turns to you. "That's bloody obvious," he mumbles before letting out a deep sigh. "Can't ya just... just open the damn thing."

"Beg me to."

You see his lips purse, and you know he flushes. "You godless vixen/rake. I don't know why I bother."

You smirk. "Because you adore me. Now, Raf, if you're not going to beg, you have to take that silly hood off," you say, crossing your arms even tighter. If you're honest, you can barely wait to open the mysterious package, but you're not about to let him win this. You need to see his face. "Or I'll just toss this in a drawer and never look at it again."

Rafael's shoulders hunch. "Ya wouldn't."

"Try me."

Silence... Rafael sighs. "I have, and I always lose," he says. You laugh, and his lips quirk as finally, he pulls the hood down. You can finally see his face with its narrowed cheeks and brown eyes and crooked nose. You adore him too.

"There's my handsome thief.”

He scoffs, but his lips widen until you can call it a smile. "Just open it."

You do. Carefully, you start to unwrap the package. "Did you wrap this?" you ask, pulling on a cord. You see him nod from the corner of your eye. "Marvelous job."

"No need to be an ass. I was rushing."

You grin but keep silent. The brown paper falls to uncover a small wooden box. It's roundish and completely unremarkable. You glance at Rafael, who watches you intensely before you tug on the clasp and open it.

Inside sits something you know quite well. It's a worn cube with rounded sides from years of use and little circles carved on each surface. It's whitish and cold to the touch, and you know it's not made of wood but bone. You pick it up between two fingers.

It's Rafael's favorite die, the one he always uses in every game of chance. He told you how long he's had this — since he was a young boy roaming the streets of Navarra.

"I figure you need it," Rafael speaks, breaking the quiet. He has his hands plunged deep into his pockets, but he tries to keep his tone casual. "You’re always gettin' yourself in trouble. Maybe it'll give you a little bit of good luck."

"Raf..."

He clears his throat. "And I may have a little bit o' rest. I'm tired of cleaning up your messes," he says, looking away. "So... there."

You close your hand around it, the six sides digging into your plan. "I can't keep this."

Rafael’s head snaps at you. His eyes are narrowed, and his lips are pulled in a familiar sneer. "Don't be an idiot," he says sharply, but then his brows lower, and Rafael's face softens. He licks his lips and slowly gets away from the wall to take a hesitant step toward you. "If I'm givin' you that it's cause I want to. I— I don't have much, but what I have... I want ya ta have it."

It's rare he ever sounds so serious. You rise from your seat and close the distance between you. "Then, I'll keep it," you whisper, welcoming his arms as they wrap around your waist. You lean in to kiss him and feel his smile against your lips. "Thank you."

"I stole it," Raf reveals. "Long time ago. I think it was one of the first things I stole, now that I think 'bout it."

You laugh, looping your arms around his neck. You hold the die in two fingers as the others play with the hairs on his nape. "Then it's an even greater honor than I thought."

"Very great," your bastard agrees and claims a kiss of his own. His lips are fervent and tongue insistent, and you succumb willingly to his passion.