Paris, May 1799 - Persuading

------------------------------------- Paris, Île de la Cité, May 1799 -------

Towards the beginning of the afternoon, Adeláire arrived at Café Théâtre, as desired. As the sun still shone from a cloudless sky, the terrace in front of the café was well filled and she had to push past busy tables and chairs. The twilight inside did the eyes well and the Assassin looked around from the entrance. When her gaze fell on the staff in the look-out, he pointed silently towards the staircase in the back. Dorian seemed to expect her in private rooms on the first floor. Adeláire was not sure if she thought this was good or not. With tightened shoulders she stepped up the path and looked again searchingly.

Just to the right of the staircase she heard sounds that seemed familiar to her. Therefore, it was obvious to follow it. This led her steps into a spacious exercise room, which presented her a surprising and amusing picture.

Dorian had put down his usual coat and posed in combat in the middle of the room. Except for his shirt, trousers, boots, and bracer, he had apparently waived all the rest for these exercises. His weapon of wood crossed with that of his opponent, the boy whom he had approached with, Léon. And obviously they were not playing this "game" for the first time. Adeláire watched as Léon cleverly dodged an attack, and feinted Dorian's.

"Yes exactly. Very good Léon!" Dorian praised his little disciple.

"When I go so far, I will one day be as good as you!"

The boy's voice crowed with excitement. That seemed to tempt Dorian to a little nastiness. He cleared the boy's next attack skillfully, tripped him and gave the rest of his shaky balance a slight push of his wood floret. Léon, inexperienced, landed flat on his stomach and gave a surprised and slightly painful sound.

“That was unfair!” came at once the protest.

"Excuse, but your opponents mostly do not fight fair, mon ami. You better learn it from the beginning, rather than later, when the blades are sharp."  Dorian reached out a hand to the boy, helped him to his feet, and ruffled his short hair.

 

"Your master is right, Léon. Faithful fights are rare out there.” Adeláire gently smiled at Dorian before her look came to rest at the boy. His look appraised her with curiosity, and a little disparaging. Apparently, he was just at the age when boys were not particularly interested in girls.

"Is this the odd friend of yours, Arno? The one who wants something from you?"

Adeláire pursed her lips and leaned against the doorway with her arms folded. Her gaze fixed Dorian, and with a playful, sugar-sweet eyelash-flutter she raised an eyebrow questioningly. Was there actually such a thing as embarrassment ascending in this otherwise so self-secure assassin? If so, it gave her a soothing inner satisfaction.

"Eh, Léon, this is my guest, of whom I’ve told you. This means that our practice is finished for now. Maybe we'll go on later, oui?" Obviously, Dorian tried to cover up his embarrassment by pushing the boy gently but strongly out of the room and closing behind him the heavy wooden door, whose protests he completely ignored. Shortly after, he seemed to think, then even lock the door. He also did the same with the second one on the other side of the fireplace. This now caused Adeláire's other eyebrow to rise up inquiringly.

Full of energy, Dorian finally turned to her again and apparently did not know at first, what to do with his hands. So he decided to just lower them again and to play off the gentle embarrassment.

"Very nice, you accepted my invitation. Coffee? Or do you want to go straight to business?" During his question, he crossed the room to a steaming cauldron containing the well-brewed coffee. Adeláire could see in her observation that he was aware of her gaze and that his attitude was slowly changing, adapting to the new situation.

"A coffee would be really charming." She played with the sweetness of her voice. She was curious how much it would take in order to lure this boyish and extremely, appealingly attractive nature out of him again. Unfortunately, she had to recognize too quickly the stiffening in Dorian's shoulders. And so it didn’t surprise her, that he was just as closed again as he was when she had first met him, when he turned to her with two cups of coffee in his hand. Sighing softly, she went up to him and, thankfully, took one of the cups.

In a gallant gesture later on, he invited her to the roof garden next to the practice room. He moved directly to the stone wall of the balcony, leaning against it, with his back to the river, leaving her a place on the small stone bench in front of it. The two Assassins silently enjoyed a few sips of coffee while Adeláire tried to look around inconspicuously.

To the left of her, two glass wing doors stood open. She could see that Dorian's coat was thrown over an armchair, and some books and papers piled on the desk. Were these his private premises? She was interrupted when Dorian noticed her probing and prohibited it, demanding her attention.

"So, Mademoiselle Fontaine, as I have already emphasized, I thank you for following my invitation. Am I right in assuming that you now want to know what kind of agreement I’ve come up with?"

Adeláire raised her eyes and studied the smiling Arno. If he were not who he was, one would have thought that some beau was schmoozing his beloved one. But he was who he was. Therefore, his over-kind manner made her suspicious.

"Well, curiosity is the cat's death. But I would not be here if I were not interested in hearing what you're suggesting." That brought a new smile from him. Was it odd to say that it drove a horror down her spine?

"Oh, very simple. I thought, since we both are apparently excellently-trained in the arts of the Assassins, why don’t we just… fight for the decision?"

There he was again, that gloomy shadow which seemed to descend over Dorian whenever he pushed his enemies into the narrow. This seemed to be a characteristic of his own, which was probably hardly brought into the Brotherhood. His voice took on a hardness and intransigence, of which there was to be hardly any contradiction. Adeláire therefore tore herself together with all the hardship, and held his gaze. At last she rose and reduced the height from which he looked down at her.

"And how... exactly.. have you imagined that.. Monsieur?" it came quietly lingering, questioning, from her.

She saw the flashing in his eyes. Not amused, belligerent. He seemed to have very carefully considered this, and somehow Adeláire could not get rid of the feeling that he was happy about it.

"Very simple. Behind us lies the exercise room, ideally suited for a... Training. A fight without any tools. Only two Assassins and their hidden blades." His gaze slid down her and up again. He grinned at her charmingly. "Which would mean, you need to get rid of some of your things.”

Adeláire could not resist her next, mocking remark. Dorian's template was simply too well chosen.

"A truly inimitable, charming, and admittedly unique way to prompt a woman to defoliate herself." His grin intensified briefly, but his glance remained where it was. There was nothing gamy in it, that made the joke pure and pleasant.

"Oh, do not worry Mademoiselle. You will not have to… Defoliate yourself more than I, myself will. And if necessary, I will gladly make a promise to this assurance."

Was it just her or did Dorian just play with ambiguity? If she had only been able to get to know him more closely, a reading in him would have been much easier for her. So she had only to give him a suspicious look, which made him grin again, before he stepped back and once again gallantly invited her back to the practice room.

In the twilight of the room, Adeláire sought a place to stow away her belongings. She began to put her weapons down and loosened the belt around her waist. She was sure that Dorian suspected she was deliberately taking time to think. Her thoughts snapped behind her forehead as she clinged her bracer and finally put it down on one of the tables.

"What you have not explained yet." she threw into the room without turning to him, "Is whether it will be a fight to first blood or… Death?" She praised herself inwardly that her voice was not trembling.

"What would we gain from the death of each other?" The counterquestion came, even-tempered, calmly. "I'm sure we'll notice it in time if a winner is settled."

Adeláire pulled her cloak over her shoulders and laid it carefully over the back of a chair. This meant that now she would only have to reattach the bracer with the blade, so that the battle could begin. She was all too aware of the sharpness of the Assassin's weapons. Both her own and his. That made her flinch briefly as the characteristic snap of the out-and-in sounded behind her. She was still fiddling at her phantom blade when she finally turned to her opponent.

"Well, I hope you have thought of ordering a doctor in the house. Somehow I get the dull guess, we will need him.” That wrested a deep breath from her, and from her opposite, a smirking grin.

"Trust me Mademoiselle, none of us will find our death today. That would really be more than useless waste." Adeláire breathed deeply again before she went into a defensive position.

"Speak your mind to whoever might hear..." Again, this charming smile flashed at her opposite, before he also went into basic position. The dance could begin.

And as expected, they first began to tax and circle each other. Each of them knew that it was not the smartest strategy to start the first attack. Too much was given to the opponent. But forever, they could not just swarm around each other. Perhaps it was attributable to Adeláire's impatience and youth that she finally dared to make the first move.

With a low step in the direction of Dorian's ankle, she placed a first feint. It was countered with the expected response of an evasion backward. Adeláire elegantly used her swing to turn around her own axis, planning to change the rotation into an upward movement and land a kick to Dorian's head.

However, his counterattack had her attack bounced on his underarms. Still further, he seized her ankle and, on his part, began a kick. She had thought about this possibility, yet was half surprised. It was so, that she couldn’t manage her reaction to it perfectly and he succeeded to get her out of balance and force her into an escape roll.

Hardly back on her feet and he was now the one who took the offensive. Steel hard, his hand clasped her left wrist and pulled her intently toward him. His blade went out of the holster and pointed towards her heart. If Adeláire had not turned at the right moment, surely the first blood would have flowed. If not now, then when would she realize how serious Dorian meant it with this fight? Shortly, the two opponents withdrew and their gaze fixed on each other.

"I expect more commitment, Mademoiselle Fontaine. After all, you want something from me. So fight for it and don’t play around like a novice.” His tone was cold, judgmental. And something in Adeláire decided not to let this happen. With an aggressive snap she drove her blade out and went into the next attack.

Her blade hit with a metallic rub against his, as he dodged her attack to the side and diverted the energy. Still in the same movement, he rammed his shoulder into her side and brought her almost to a halt again. It forced her to another roll off before she slid smoothly back to her feet. A wild swap of blows followed this first, really serious attack, and they did not have much time to breathe. Adeláire was therefore greatly astonished when he found air to talk.

"Is that all you have to offer Mademoiselle? Are you really sure your education has already been completed?" Adeláire suspected what he was doing with these mocking remarks. And she decided to ignore the provocations emotionally.

"And what about you? No wonder the Council has thrown such a snooty and arrogant Crétin out of the Brotherhood. Nothing but snobbish swaggering!” She threw him her words as a provoking gauntlet. A thought flickered through her head.

Let's see who can be provoked to stupidities here first, you bastard. His grin, just before his next attack, showed her, that he too knew quite well what she intended with her reply. Slowly, Adeláire began to wonder how much time they would have to spend on this "game.”

He seemed to be about to make another provocation as he abruptly changed his plan. Instead of placing a frontal attack, he spun around with a twist and put a painful kick against her knee. Adeláire narrowed in grief and half-collapsed. With clenched teeth, she limped, paced one, two steps away from him, only to end with her throat in an unyielding grip.

In the normal case, this would be the moment when Dorian would break his opponent's neck with his final turn. But he stopped and shifted, wanting to move her to surrender, but Adeláire did not agree. Before she could begin to squeal in her head from air deficiency, she pulled out her blade and drew her hand over his unprotected thigh. He ate it with a growl and it caused him to loosen his grip briefly. This was enough for Adeláire to sink a little into a crouch and push him with a swing over her shoulder.

The desired effect, to be freed from him, only half-succeeded. His left hand, still at the back of her head, immured into Adeláire's hair and threw her down with him. It elicited an irritated hiss before she found herself lying with her back on the floor, his blade hovering over her heart. He had still positioned himself in the twist and the brawl over her and now pinned her body with one of his knees on the floor of the exercise hall. The free hand clutched her throat again, and breathing heavily he grinned down at her.

"I think that is probably a 'one-to-zero' for me."

That gave Adeláire a smug smile. Her left arm moved only a few millimeters, but unequally instantly Dorian realized the fatal error he had committed. How would a man feel when a hidden blade "tickled" his best parts?

      "Are you absolutely sure about that Monsieur?"

His eyes darkened briefly and a Merde slipped snarled out before this amused smile stole itself again back into his features.

"You fought clearly with quite unfair instruments Mademoiselle. I admit, I didn’t expect that, and I owe you my respect." He grinned again. "Let's take this round as a dead heat." With that, he rose and left her enough free space to elevate herself.

Indeed, she didn’t get any time to take a deeper breath. Adeláire had expected, and hoped a little too, that he would first look at his wound. But without a trace or tell, he went over to his next attack and seemed ready to give the scales of the fight a push in his favor.

Adeláire felt her sweat slowly begin to flow down her spine. And she had to admit that she hadn’t been able to enjoy such a fight for a long time. Because it really was a pleasure. Ever since her combat instructors had asserted that they could teach her nothing more, she felt she had only fights against defeated opponents. But this here, with Dorian, this was a challenge. Shortly, she felt a smile around her mouth as she again stepped out of one of his feats and tried to kick him out of balance.

"A smile Mademoiselle Fontaine? Still time to find this amusing? I'm impressed." She parried his blade and gave him a strong blow against the jaw with her hindquarters, which actually staggered him.

"Don’t try to understand a lady, Monsieur Dorian. Better men have already tried."

Both of their breaths panting, Adeláire could see that this "game" seemed to him as much fun as for herself.

"Oh, that I quite believe Mademoiselle. But regarding the lady, well, I dare seriously doubt now."

He parried her fist attacks with cover and started to break hers by trying to tear Adeláire from her feet. She jumped over his sweeping leg and attacked his shoulder, which was relieved by him. Smoothly, he came back to his feet. Wisps of dark hair now adhered to his forehead.

"Haven’t we already clarified the issue with the lady?" Adeláire clearly gasped a little breathless.

"Oh, I don't know. Let me test the subject again."

Adeláire was aware of her mistake only too late, when he had already wrapped her wrist and turned himself around the axis with immense impetus. It was just that swing that swept her from her feet and hurled her to the wall, which had been behind Dorian moments ago and against which her back now crashed, that pressed the air from her lungs. He had actually succeeded in getting her out of step with his words.

And this time Dorian did not make the mistake of disregarding her blade. Even before she could gather herself, he had fixed her wrists against the wall in a steel grip. He undermined her possible further counter-attack as his body pressed her own against the wall. The weapons and the shield, which hung representative at the wall, bore painfully in her back. With a soft growl, the Assassin tried to wrestle between him and her prison. But this time, the superiority of male strength was really her weakness.

"So, now ... how was that with the lady?"

Her green eyes glared at him with poison. Why didn’t it surprise her when he stole her last breath with a kiss? It flickered through her as if she had caught fire, before she realized what was going on. Oh, no, my friend, you can’t take victory so easily.

Adeláire made herself consciously soft in his arms, knowing that the man had never felt the difference. She put passion into the response of his kiss and twisted in his grip. Dorian, however, proved again that he was not stupid. He retained the steel-hard fixation and Adeláire felt as he started to retreat. Now it was necessary to react quickly. A last turn, a jerk and she put her right knee up.

A typical gesture for a woman? Yeah, sure. But it was and remained mostly effective. Unless you fight an Assassin brother. Adeláire's attack throbbed on his thigh, which had slipped into her knee just in time. Dorian gave a restrained sound of hurt as her strike hit his wound. Only slightly did he release himself from her and grinned charmingly in the blazing poison of green eyes.

"Yes, very clearly. No lady." He let go of her completely and stepped back into the middle of the exercise hall. "Now you must admit that we have achieved a two to one. I could declare myself a winner. But somehow I would find it unfair to you. What do you think?" This mocking in his tone slowly dragged on her nerves. Adeláire broke loose from the wall and tugged at her sweaty blouse, enjoying the gentle wind blowing in through the open doors.

"Well, it's your hall. So your rules apply. If a third round is to decide, who am I to refuse?" That brought her a new smile. And something she did not know how to interpret. Something new about him, for her.

The beginning of the third round was quieter, slower. Both of them were not yet at the end of their powers, but already far from being "fresh." Now it was necessary to plan every attack deliberately, since the opponent was given much more chances to bring his goal out of balance. But what made the scales worse for Adeláire was that his kiss still burned on her lips

She no longer registered the game of his muscles with a view to warding off his next attack, but simply took up his movements. She noted, that she moved more to evade, than really went over to find a weak spot. She scolded herself inwardly regarding so much unprofessionalism and forced herself to push these thoughts aside. More erratic than anything else, she rushed forward and tried to get Dorian out of step. His counterattack moved her further tripping, and she landed stumbling in one of the armchairs of the exercise room.

"Concentration Mademoiselle. You certainly don’t want to give me the victory so easily, do you?"

In short Adeláire resignedly lowered her shoulders before she got up and turned to her opponent again. She could feel an ice-crease enter her. She greeted them, because the Assassins only knew them yet when she focused on a particularly dangerous target. She could see that Dorian perceived the change in her. His facial expressions left in the frailty of a moment every waggishness. With the lowering of his arms, his hands clenched in fists, and he drove out the deadly blade.

Adeláire took a few steps into the room and did the same. She jumped at him, and she almost thought, she could feel a slight growl in her throat. With a loud, metallic snarl, the blades met and filled the room with the sound of their next repartee. Neither of them gave up ground. The struggle had gained a new intensity, which elicited their last reserves.

Adeláire gasped as his blade slashed her blouse and reached the soft skin below. She felt the blood swelling, but did not devote to this any distraction. She preferred to take the opportunity to pay him back. A gap in the cover and her own blade found his unprotected side. Only his last, desperate evasion prevented the steel from penetrating deep into the flesh and slashing only the skin.

Adeláire suspected that, if they went on, they would probably kill each other. That they were both stubborn, had already proved more than once. Which didn’t prevent her from throwing herself at Dorian with all her weight. He only remained to capture her wrists and to oppose her. She was so close to him that the Assassin could see that he too was slowly coming to the end of his strength. But just like her, by the devil, he wouldn't give this up for anything.

With a final effort, Adeláire turned her wrist in his grip. She snapped the blade back and twisted her body laterally to Dorian's. She used the now lightly changed position to abruptly lower to a knee and use Dorian's counterweight to let him roll over her. Before he could get up, she followed him with the remnants of her vigor and swung herself over him. Like himself at the beginning of the fight, she was now the one who fixed his body with her knee on the ground.

Blade, Adeláire, put your blade on his throat, it always sounded in her head. But she felt an immense heaviness and exhaustion that burned her muscles. She had nothing left to bring this to an end. And amazed, she noted that Dorian seemed to be doing the same. Breathing heavily, he lay with his arms spread out on the floor of the exercise hall, and simply muttered, replying to her gaze. Did he give up? Adeláire was stunned. No muscle excitement suggested that he seemed to be willing to try to raise his arm and pull the blade out. He just lay there, breathing and observing.

Adeláire sunk over him. This time she was the one who took the last bit of breath, gave him her own and burned both of them in the unknown fire of her kiss. His arms seemed to regain their strength, while his hands went to her neck and tied her to him more intensely. Blood and sweat were completely ignored. The slight pain in touching the wounds meant only that they were alive. Was this dizziness in her head due to these wounds, and if not where did it come from? Adelaire didn't care, and Arno seemed no different.

"That... We should let that... That is exactly what the Council wanted." she whispered softly, close to his ear as his hands searched their way under her sweaty blouse.

"Yeah, well... We should probably..." he muttered quietly only to use a last swing so that she found herself lying under him the next moment. He held a distance and looked down at her, a gentle smile around the corners of his mouth.

"Do you want us to stop?"

His voice was darker, rougher. Brown eyes were looking for hers and found an answer in their green, which he surely already knew. Gentle fingertips stroked her brown hair from her forehead and caressed her temple. In curiosity, his thumb lined her lips. Presumably as a physical answer to his question, her thighs fit around his hips as if by themselves, and her hands wandered into his sweaty neck hair.

"To hell with the Council."

Like a quietly blasphemy, the whisper seemed to her, but it hit exactly what she was thinking. She would later reproach herself. Now her world, her thinking and feeling, turned only around a much more obvious goal. And it didn’t matter to her that she'd played into the council's exact plans, the same ones that she'd spat on a few days ago with such anger. She'd think about all the complications, later.

Precious Chapter 

Next Chapter