June Q&A — Part One (Patreon)

• Beka is left alone with Alessa and Hadrian.

The door closes with a soft thud, and silence falls over the room. Three pairs of eyes look anywhere but at each other. Hadrian sweeps his tongue over his lip, clears his throat, and then lifts his chin to count the number of cobwebs on the ceiling.

He counts three, no, two. That last one is just a particularly damp stain that somehow looks more alive than the cobwebs do. Hadrian narrows his eyes, trying to see the spider hanging from her silken traps, but the light is too dim, and he can't meet the eight little shining eyes that, unknowingly to him, watch him just as intensely.

This is her house, after all. All these meddling humans are always coming to disturb the peace.

Alessa sits like an iceberg in her chair, her back so straight that she rivals the wood. Her hands grip her knees, and her lips disappear in a tense, flat line. She stares at the window, although she cannot see past the veil of night. A slither of a pale moon illuminates the sky, its light as pathetic as the handful of stars that litter it. Alessa thinks this night is a poor example of one, but then again, right now, she would think the whole world is a poor affair.

Alessa does not like, nor is she accustomed to feeling... which is the correct word? She supposed it can be called uneasy. Yes, discomfiting. A fool like Hadrian might even call it awkward. She does not like to feel awkward. And yet... she steals a glance at the child in the corner, sulking on top of the chair like a great bird of gloom. Alessa feels she ought to say something, but what that might be is the real problem.

Why is Hadrian not speaking? Is he not the thoughtful one? Alessa turns her glare at the big fool, who, for some reason, is squinting his eyes at a cobweb.

She mentally sighs.

Beka... Beka glares at the door, and she'll be damned, but it seems the thing is glaring right back. "Damn Richie," she grumbles with all the fervor of a young soul. She sucks on the hole between her teeth, her mood darkening by the second.

She doesn't like to think of herself as neglected. She ain't some dependent stupid little girl. She can take care of herself, she always has. But Beka can't believe you left her here with...

Her narrowed eyes glide over to the two idiots. They're breathing way too loud, and she doesn't like the way that woman is sitting in her chair. Beka never saw a stiffer human. "What's wrong with ya?" she asks aloud, partially because she's done with this odd silence. The other is because Beka likes the way the woman jerks in surprise.

She cracks a mean-spirited smile.

Both the woman and the man turn to look at her. Beka knows their names, but she refuses to even think them. They're just Richie's companions. Not even allies, she's Richie's only ally.

"Whatever do you mean?" the woman asks, then, and Beka's smile vanishes at the tone of her voice. "I am sitting, as are you."

"Am I?" Beka challenges, without much reason. She just wants to challenge something. "That's news to me. I thought I was laying."

The woman's eyebrows shoot up. "Then perhaps you are more slow-witted than I granted you credit for."

The words take a while to process. Beka doesn't like how the woman talks, all complicated, but she blinks, and slowly, she understands. Beka snarls. "Whatcha mean by—"

"What she means." The man jumps from his seat and crosses the floor with eager energy. Both Beka and the cold woman look at him, and Beka can't help but think of how dumb his little nervous smile looks. "Is what would you like to do, Beka?"

The girl turns her chin to the side, giving him a side-long look. She puts in it as much disdain as she can. "... what can we do?" she asks tentatively, voice suspicious. She likes it when people call her by her name, very few do, except for Richie and now... this man. But she won't be so easily conquered.

The man smiles wide again. Beka hates how kind it looks. "Well, how about... we play a game?"

She scoffs. "What do you take me for? A baby?"

"Certainly not an adult."

Beka's head whips at Aless— the woman. "And ya certainly a bitch."

The woman's mouth hangs open. The man grabs his cross. "Lord," she hears him mumble, and Beka throws her head back and cackles merrily at their stupid, stunned faces.

"... let us play a game," the woman suddenly hisses. Beka stops laughing to look back at her. She is smiling, and it's the kind of smile that sends shivers down Beka's spine. It looks dangerous. "But there shall be stakes involved. What say you, young spitfire? Do you accept?"

The tall man whips his head from one to the other. "Uh, Alessa. I think—"

"You're on," Beka growls, leaping to her feet with her chest puffed up and her chin held high. She ain't scared. Besides, Richie should be here in no time, they'll save her. Not that she needs saving, but if she does...

Richie will save her. "What's the game?"

-

You enter the room and are met with a scene that has you stopping cold.

Beka stands atop a chair, which in turn is atop the table, and she balances a knife between short fingers. Her tongue peeks between her lips, and she has one eyed closed as if she measures distance.

"Here I..." Beka says, waving the knife left and right. "... go!"

She throws the knife – quite skillfully, a distant part of you acknowledges – and it goes flying through the air...

THUMB

To embed itself on the wall right next to a big, red apple.

"Shit!"

Alessa smirks. "'Tis closer than before," she says, not an ounce of sympathy in her tone. "But it is a miss, still. You have one more chance, otherwise, you shall deal with the penalty.”

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Beka spits, making a motion gesture with her hand. "Just give it ta me."

Alessa grabs the knife and walks towards Beka. She notices you, then, blue eyes glancing in your direction. "You have arrived," she notes as one might say that grass is green.

Beka looks over her shoulder to beam at you. "Richie! Watch this!"

Your mouth flaps up and down. "What... what in God’s nails is going on?!”

A big hand clamps on your shoulder, and you turn to see Hadrian shaking his head despondently. "Let it happen," he says in a defeated tone. "Just... just let it happen."

• If the ROs could go anywhere to spend time with a romanced Romanus, where would it be? What would they want to do while there?

For Hadrian... this is a tough one. I think Hadrian would like to take you to the quiet church tucked on the left wind of the monastery he grew up in. It's a small, barely used church, a far cry from the cathedral where they perform most of the sacred duties. Hadrian used to escape to the tucked-away, forgotten four walls of the church — where the air would always be a bit chilly and the stained glass windows were darkened with a layer of dust. But when the sun shone through in beams of red and blue and gold, Hadrian would see the dust specs gliding through the air, and in his young mind, he would feel close to God.

He went there when he needed to be alone. When life became too much. He would have loved to show it to you, sit on the low benches, take your hands in his, bend his head until his lips brushed your knuckles, and pray then. He would love to show you the spot behind the altar where he once hid a little wooden puzzle that the Head Nun had demanded he got rid of.

But Hadrian can't take you there, so instead, he would take your hand and walk across whatever city or town you were in. Footsteps without a destination, watching and seeing life unfold before you, taking it all in not as one but as two. He'd smile as you talked, trying hard to listen because you'd look so beautiful, then, that all sound would vanish from the world. He'd take your hand and go wherever you wanted, do what you wanted. As long, of course, as he was with you.

-

Alessa would like to take you to the shores of a private beach. Any beach, really, but preferably one where the sand is fine and shines in gold, and there are soft, gentle dunes where your feet can bury deep, and soak in the heat of the earth. Alessa would like for the shoreline to stretch in both directions until it lost sight, becoming a haze of blue where one couldn't tell if it was land or sea. And speaking of the sea... Alessa would want the beach to open to the bluest, wildest, most raw ocean that nature has to offer.

She'd want her nose to be assaulted and her tongue to sting with the crispiness of salt. She would want her skin whipped by tempestuous winds and her ears echoing with the defeating, primal, overwhelming roar of the sea. She'd want to see waves crash on the sand and feel their foam bathe her skin. She'd want you to take her cold hand, and walk side by side until your feet touched the chill-bone water and then your ankles, your legs, your waists, your bellies...

Alessa would stop by her chest, turn to you, and hug you close, hug you tight, hug you until she could think of nothing else but your lips crashing over hers as violently as the waves and your hands mingled with the sea and the salt and the wind and the fervent, unrestrained power of nature.

Alessa would like to lose herself, for just a moment, just a bit. In you. With you.

-

If Alain Theer could take you anywhere, he'd take you to the heavens. Again and again, and then, just for good measure, he'd take you there one more time. He'd want to make you forget your own name, where you came from, where you want to be. He'd like, if possible, you see, to have you fall on your pillow like potatoes rolling out of a bag that has been ripped a new hole, and then watch you with a smug grin and a proud chest as your eyes rolled back and you fell into a deep, dreamless, blissfully sleep.

Maybe while mumbling a tired sigh that would sound like his name. Yes, Alain would rather like that.

The good thing about this is that you don't even have to go further than the walls of his bedroom. And they're quite good walls if the nobleman has any say in it. The stones are sturdy, the hangings luxurious, the covers clean, the corners scrubbed, and there's even plush furniture spread around. Wine, if you'd like, servants to fetch fruit and nuts. Alain thinks you'd like it. There's no reason why you shouldn't.

But then... when the candlewax was all spent, and the fireplace was nothing but a sad little mound of forgotten ashes. When the first rays of sunlight would tentatively reach for the line of the horizon, then, if you were awake and willing, Alain wouldn't mind taking you to the gardens behind his castle. There are trees there with birdfeeders hanging from the branches, and... and Alain wouldn't mind sitting next to you on one of the wooden benches — maybe even, if he was feeling particularly sentimental, hold your fingers in his — and pay witness to the song of the morning birds. He wouldn't mind it. He wouldn't mind it at all.

-

Had Ysabella Theer the world at her fingertips she would rearrange so much that, for an outside observer, it would seem like a whole new world altogether. But, between all her busy mending and ripping, she would find the time to take you to the most splendorous, the most dazzling, most breathtaking party of the century. No, of the millennium. Ysabella isn't sure if the world is older than that but, just in case it is, then she'd make it the best party of Time itself — not time, with the little 't' but Time, as in reality, the universe, the very fabric of creation. Time bent over for you.

All the noble houses would attend, high and low, powerful and meek, wealthy or just hanging on by appearances. They would all come, and they would all be dressed to impress God on His golden throne. Food would be plenty, prepared by the best cooks of the land. Music afloat, carriages would be tall and bright, and the horses would be brushed and braided and given the very best of hay to rest afterward.

Ysabella would hang from your arm the entire night — that would stretch into day, and then night again, for a good party, a proper party would take days. She would giggle as you whispered beside her ear comments about the silliness of the court. She would dance with you, twirling until the world was nothing but gliding lights and blurry shapes with your face right in front of hers — the only thing in existence. She would take you up to the highest balcony, lace her arms around you, and tilt her chin so you can kiss her. She'd kiss you until she couldn't feel the night's breeze, not caring that you lack a last name or the proper blood, or the scar ripping your face apart.

Ysabella would close her eyes, take you in, and lose herself in this dream. This fantasy. What a nice dream it is.

If only she had the world at her fingertips.

-

It would start at the bow of his ship. The Pirate King would be close behind you, his hands on the sides of your waist, gripping the rail hard to keep you both upright. You'd have your back rested on his chest, and your hand shading the bright sunshine from your eyes, and he'd take in your scent mingling with the crisp air of the sea. The ocean would stretch in all directions, a blue desert that, even when motionless, never stops. A wild, living beast is as much a part of him as the hot blood coursing through his veins and the call to action that has him waking up cold in the middle of the night.

It would start on the bow of his ship because the Pirate thinks you never look better than you do right here. Swaying against him, with the thrum of the ocean on your feet, and the wind in your hair, and he has stolen so many things from this wretched world that he can only beg the spirits that they don't steal you from him.

He believes in karma, as it is. He also believes he can beat it to submission.

But as beautiful as the open sea may be, he would have a destination in mind. When he was younger, not much younger in years, mind you, but the burden of leadership ages you faster than fish on the sun. A couple of summers back, he was sailing on a smaller ship with a skeleton crew and the Pirate thought then, that he was bound for death because a storm had taken them off-course. Food had long ended, and freshwater was down to its last bottle, and he was contemplating just jumping overboard and be done with it when the call of "Land!" halted his hands on the rails.

A rocky, storm-weather outcrop jutted from the middle of the ocean, not much far, they later found, from the shore of Castilla. It had been their salvation, for inside, there was a still, silent pool with fresh water and moss growing on the sides.

It had crystals embedded on the walls and ceiling, and thin tunnels made the wind whisper words in his ear, and the Pirate had been sure he had stepped on a sacred piece of land.

He remembers exactly where it is. And it's there he would take you if he could. It's there he'd show you the crystals, shifting in the light like stardust, and the bright green moss and water so clear that you can see the colored fish swimming peacefully down below.

The Pirate would take you to the edge of that pool, kissing your neck as he disrobed you, kissing down your shoulders, your spine, the soft curve of your buttocks. He'd spread you beneath him as the translucent water lapped gently at your skin. And he'd make your soft gasps reverberate in the crystalline, hollow walls of a holy cave.

-

Neia... Neia the Dawnseeker has never had what most would call a date. She never had what she herself would call a date. Neia does not date. She sleeps with people whenever the occasion arises, and she's gone before the sun is even close to peeking out of its nightly den.

To be honest, Neia wouldn't know what to do with you. Much less where to take you if you were to go on a date. Should she... should she buy you a drink? Neia doesn't drink, but she can buy you one. She'll sit with you at a table if that's what you want. She'd rather be doing something else. She'd probably be snarling, unintentionally, and watching every patron with the eyes of a hawk, lurking in the corner like a great beast of—

You call her name.

When Neia looks at you, she sees the dissatisfaction you try so hard to hide. And she snarls again, but this time, at herself. Fuck it. Neia would grab your wrist and drag you behind her until you both stepped free into the night sky. She'd keep walking, strides large and heavy, so that you'd be forced to run to keep up, but there wouldn't be a destination in her mind. Neia would walk, and walk, and walk, until slowly, the path would turn to a road, and the city walls would fade, and the world would open, with hills and valleys and the distant sound of a gentle creek. Neia would stop then, hand still clad around your wrist, tilt her head back, and set her yellow eyes on the tiny stars.

She'd feel you coming closer and then feel your arms wrap around her middle, and Neia has never dated, but she supposes, as she watches the divine firmament, that this isn't so bad. You'd spend whatever time you desired, occasionally talking, but mostly, just being. Neia would show you the road, and you'd have to decide if you wanted to share it with her.

-

Lance would take you to a fair. A colorful, nosy, chaotic fair. He'd keep your hand in his the entire time, making sure you don't get lost in the sea of people and animals and carts and wheels and juggling children. He'd laugh at the music drifting through the air, and buy you caramelized apples so that he could steal the occasional bite and then taste the caramel on your lips. He'd smile, hands cupping your face, and pepper your cheeks and jaw with wet, caramel-filled kisses, swiftly dodging when you swatted him away.

Lance would show you all the stalls worth knowing. All the people worth meeting. He'd have stories and rumors for each of them, telling you two truths and one lie, and you'd have to guess which was what. Lance would make up little games like this the whole day, something to pass the time, and keep you occupied, keep you somehow focused on him, even in the midst of all the chaos. His hand, always there, would be in your palm right until the sun started to set, when Lance would tuck you under his arm and walk to a more reclusive spot. The bard would eye the fresh moon and fiddle a song on his lyre with Chouriça lounging by his feet and you seated across from him.

And for a moment, just a small speck in the grand current of time, all would be well in the world. Lance would like to take you on a date where you could both forget about everything else — but later, never forget the memory.

-

Rafael would take you to an underground gambling den. "Just trust me," he'd whisper in your ear, and squeeze your hip in reassurance when you'd emerge onto the smoke-filled, sweat-scented, alcohol-stained chamber. "Ya gonna have fun."

And, despite it all, fun you have. Rafael keeps you close, dragging you from table to table and game to game, claiming you as his lucky charm. And, perhaps, you are, or he's simply on a streak of luck, but most games seem to go in his favor. The bastard, in unusually high spirits, would kiss you whenever he could, more sloppily the longer the night dragged on and the more beer he's drunk. For all the gold and silver Rafael would win, it seemed he had no problem parting with it. He'd spent it bountifully, on you, on others, buying drinks to strangers and sore losers, and a pretty woman in the corner who tried so hard to sing a song that no one was listening to.

Your head would be heavy with all the tobacco smoke, and the noise and drinks, but mostly, of Rafael's hands brushing your behind, stealing the occasional sneaky pinch as he got more adventurous, and you're not sure how you ended up sprawled over his lap in a corner with his tongue halfway down your throat, but can't find it in yourself to complain.

The night would be of excesses and mindless fun, and you'd end up singing some terrible song in the dead of night with a group you met in the gambling den. Rafael would be slumped over your shoulders, and the moment you finally arrived at your room, he'd fall heavily down on the mattress. Smiling a silly, love-struck smile up at you. "Ya beautiful," he'd say, voice dragged and so drunk, you'd have to laugh. But while he'd fall asleep right away, he'd find the strength to cradle you in his arms and kiss your forehead and ask, in a voice so vulnerable, your heart would clench.

"Did you have fun?"

You'd say eyes. You did. You had the best of times.

• Between Hadrian and Alessa, who is going to give MC the most amount of shit for going for The Pirate or Neia?

Oh God 😄. This will be so FUN to write!!! One of the scenes I want to get to is when Alessa and Neia first meet 🤣. I have some dialogue jolted down somewhere that I love.

But, to answer your question, I think they'll both question your sanity if you go with the Pirate or Neia. I'm not sure about giving you direct reprimands. I suppose it really depends on your relationship with them. Honestly, with a Romanus they're close friends with, Hadrian and Alessa will mainly be... concerned.

Hadrian doesn't believe (at least in the beginning) that the Pirate is a good man. He doesn't believe he's worthy of you, and he fears that he'll put you in danger or hurt you — unintentionally and even, God-forbid because then Hadrian might turn physical, intentionally. Hadrian would just be extremely wary.

But he also trusts you, and he trusts you can make your own decisions. He's willing to admit you may see something in the man that he does not. And if you do, and you're happy, and you don't make terrible, morally awful choices, then... he'll accept it. He has to. You're his friend, and the Pirate is the man you choose, so Hadrian will have to accept it.

Will he ever be a friend of the Pirate? Hadrian doesn't believe so. But, again, who knows the future? If he doesn't hurt innocents, then... well, Hadrian is a mercenary. He doesn't have the moral high ground. They may come to accept each other.

With Neia... I can see Alessa deeply, and I mean, deeply, wary. Distrustful, cold, distant. Those two will clash 😄. They're the opposite in so many things, but also so alike in others. Their personalities were made to bump into each other, but Alessa is no fool, and she knows danger when she sees it. And Neia, the Dawnseeker, is a walking red flag. She's an enigma and a mystery, and Alessa would rather see you far away from her. She's a religious zealot, formerly a part of the most dangerous institution to roam the land, and an enemy of what Alessa wants to build. Neia represents control, and Alessa has a deep aversion to it. She has a deep aversion to Neia.

Honesty, in the beginning, Alessa will think you an idiot. A complete idiot who's entranced by cheap thrills and driven by lust, and Alessa will even tell you — if you're friends — to stay away from Neia.

But, alas, you do not. And with time... in time, Alessa may change her mind. I can't spoil it, but things will happen and perhaps the former Inquisitor and the mercenary won't butt heads as often anymore.

• Will we be able to learn more about or see the places where the characters are from? Like Hadrian‘s Order or Alessa‘s place of birth?

You'll definitely be able to learn more about the places of birth — and places where they grew up — of all the characters. You can already learn a little bit about where Hadrian is from in the alpha demo, but you'll have more in-depth talks about it. And your own.

Alessa, obviously, is still an enigma, but it's not as if it's a big secret. She will tell you when the occasion arrives without a lot of reservations. Alessa is a guarded person by nature, giving as little information as she can, but mostly, you don't know much about each other's past because... well, Romanus isn't open either xD. Very few mercenaries are. The past is your own and what matters is what you do with the present and the future.

As for seeing the places, most likely not. Maybe in the epilogues, I can describe you visiting certain places with the ROs and your friends. I want the epilogues to be deep, full of choices for each outcome and RO and Romanus. I'll probably spend months writing them, so I can try to add where you go for a while, and what places you see.

But in the main story, you will mainly stay in southern Europe and the Mediterranean Sea. Book Two will have you leaving Tarragona and finally tasting the road, but the world is so, so big, and you can't go everywhere. You definitely won't be going to Britain, where Hadrian grew and Alessa's islands... are beautiful and lovely, but the plot does not take you there either. You'll see other islands, but not the ones where Alessa was born in.

I think the only RO you might be near the place of birth is actually Rafael. And Neia! I almost forgot about Neia. The Pirate comes from a land so far away that it's not on any map of the known world. Lance is from the northwest part of the peninsula and... Oh my God, the twins! You're exactly where they grew up — Tarragona!

They were born on an estate not far from the city, but they spent most of their life in Tarragona.

• What do all the ROs sleep in? Like, attire-wise for bed?

I haven't given any thought to this before. 😋 Let us see...

Hadrian is a natural furnace, so even when the air is crispy, and the land is cold, Hadrian prefers to wear as little as possible to bed. He'll overheat otherwise. Most nights, he'll don some loose cotton pants, and that's about it. Just enough that if something happens during the night and he has to spring out of bed, he won't be completely naked 😄.

Alessa is the opposite of her mercenary companion. She is cold and gets cold very easily. She'll shiver when still for long, so she likes to have as many blankets and heavy covers as possible — and, of course, clothes too. Alessa keeps them light, however. She'll wear a long-sleeved tunic and pants or a dress that covers every inch of her skin from the neck down, but she won't admit them to be thick. If she needs to wake and sprint out of bed, reaching for the knives she always keeps at hand, Alessa needs to be able to move. So, she'll be covered, but she relies more on the bedding to keep warmth.

Alain depends on two things: One, the weather, and two, whether he has company. If the company is absent and the weather cold, he'll don a fine velvet suit, smooth and silken, and smelling of citruses. If the company is still absent and the weather is hot, he'll just wear some undergarments and throw off the covers.

If, however, he has company, Alain sleeps naked. That's it. Cold, hot, raining, snowing, heatwaves... he'll sleep naked.

Ysabella adores fashion and clothes. She loves it, and sleepwear is not to be overlooked. Ysabella has beautiful nightgowns of many colors: blue and pink, and green and violet, and white and black. They have frills and laces and see-thought material. She has tunics and shorts and heavy, warm dresses that she can snug to when the weather is biting cold. She loves stockings. Ysabella has two drawers full of them — and one of the things she adores is donning her beautiful stockings with her knickers and a gown that parts in the middle. Ysabella wears entirely matching outfits to sleep, even if no one is to see her. She does it for herself. She adores it.

The Pirate King sleeps in whatever is at hand. Some nights, he'll just toss off his boots, throw the vest over his head and fall into bed with his pants. Others, he'll wear some fancy, silken robe and nothing else underneath. Most times, however, he likes to sleep naked. It's freeing, and there's no friction, and when his cabin sways from side to side, the cloth won't tangle all around him. He even dismisses blankets and covers; he'll just sprawl like the day his mother birthed him.

What he always does, however, is tie his hair. He'll keep it up on a man-bun, so it doesn't get in the way.

Neia sleeps in what she wore in her days with the Church. A long, white gown that is sack-like and itchy, and stops at her shins because Neia is so much taller than most other people. It's shapeless and ugly, and Neia has torn the sleeves off it, but she... likes it. She's been wearing those tunics for so long, she doesn't even think about it when it's time to go to bed. Neia has a ritual: she carefully takes off each piece of her armor, checks it for damage, cleans her sword, and then, finally, strips naked and slips into the ugly, old, shapeless tunic of her girlhood days.

Lance sleeps in woolen bottoms and a shirt. Long-sleeved shirt and pants if the weather is cold, a sleeveless tunic, and shorts if not. He likes to wear socks to bed. He's one of those rare people who prefer to have their feet snug and pressed. His mismatched socks are the star of the otherwise plain outfit, and together with his blue hair, Lance achieves a unique look even in plain clothes. But he'll always wear a shirt. That's the one thing Lance won't abscond of. White or dyed, baggy or tight, old or new. Lance will wear a shirt.

Rafael... Rafael tosses in bed like a madman. He's as restless asleep as he is awake, and his clothes reflect that. He doesn't like to feel constricted, so Rafael wears comfortable clothes to bed. He also, however, doesn't like to sleep naked. Too exposed, and the feeling of the blanket on raw skin feels... wrong. Plus, in the places he's had to sleep in, Rafael would rather keep all his clothes on — at least he won't get an infection from the bedding. The bastard can sleep fully clothed or with a woolen tunic and pants. Simple, cheap, and practical.

• Does Hadrian still harbor romantic feelings for his first love?

Hadrian has never had a first love — if you're romancing him, Romanus will be the first person Hadrian falls in love with.

• How do the ROs feel about MC playing with their hair?

You can read more in-depth about it in the Deep Devotion scenarios:

Part One 

Part Two 

• Why did Alessa and Romanus leave Hadrian out of knowing about Rafael following them?

It's alluded to in the text that Alessa asked Romanus not to tell Hadrian. She noticed Rafael trailing after your group first, and then you did, and she wanted Rafael to think that none of you knew. She feared Hadrian wouldn't be able to feign it — or, most likely, that he'd rather confront Rafael then and there. Alessa didn't just want him gone; she wanted to catch him and bring him to Tarek, and she was hoping to do it inside the tomb.

It's easier to ambush him there.

Of course, none of you predicted that Rafael would outplay you all. So, she asked you not to tell Hadrian, and Romanus agreed. You can later tell her you regret the choice or stand by her decision.

• And how did Hadrian end up finding out?

Well... he saw the maps weren't there! 😄 That's a pretty good telling. Plus, he saw your and Alessa's reactions. He's not dumb, as you said, he knew immediately something was up. And, naturally, Hadrian asked to know what.

Between the scene where you find the maps are missing and Chapter Two, the game time jumps about a week — you told Hadrian about Rafael at that time. It's implied. I can't write all the conversations you have, especially about things you, the player, already know — there'll be more time skips in the game, and certain things are well... implied.

Characters talk and share information with each other. Of course, Hadrian would ask what the hell happened to the maps. He learns about Rafael and then goes visibly quiet and withdrawn until he confronts you and Alessa about it at the inn.