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He traced his finger along her cheek, tenderly brushing her lower lip, her jawline, the skin warm and delicate beneath his touch. He moved with the utmost care, not wanting to wake her - she had a busy day ahead, as always, and needed her rest. Yet he couldn’t help himself; he was etching every line, every curve of her face into his memory. Something to cling to, or perhaps torment himself with, when this fleeting bliss inevitably ended. It had already been three months since Commorragh. The Emperor, in His infinite grace, had granted him so much more than he had ever dared to pray for.
"Master van Calox," Abelard curtly nodded and took his usual position next to the holographic map.
With a start, Heinrix realised that he'd been daydreaming. He couldn't remember when was the last time when he did that. As a boy, lying in bed, imagining himself fighting off agents of Chaos on his mighty Knight? On the Black Ship, desperately trying to shield himself from the brutal reality? In the Administratum, his mind wandering while he filed one pointless report after another? Certainly not after he'd joined the Inquisition: he simply had no time for such indulgencies then.
Come to think of it, he’d begun doing many things lately that he’d been too busy for since joining the Inquisition. He caught himself smiling often. Or waking with a feeling that the day ahead might actually be good. Or anticipating the evening. He could now spend hours immersed in such feelings, allowing them to consume him.
He sometimes told her he'd never be able to think about anything else except for their next night together. She would lie in his arms, sleepy, smiling contentedly, her warmth banishing the chill that once followed him wherever he went. He knew she didn’t entirely believe him, suspecting he was exaggerating to please her. But it was true. Every word of it.
Heinrix noticed Abelard had been glancing his way for some time now, winding himself up for something. If Heinrix were to guess, it had to do with his relationship with the Lord Captain. Catching Heinrix’s gaze, Abelard finally approached.
"Master van Calox, let me begin by stating that I firmly believe, as far as the Lord Captain’s choice of a paramour is concerned, you are far from the worst candidate." Abelard cast a pointed glance in Yrliet’s direction. Heinrix felt the corner of his mouth involuntarily twitch.
"However," Abelard continued, "I must remind you that though you are no longer a member of a noble house, you were born into one. As a man of good breeding, it would behoove you to consider decorum more carefully. When a man is seen entering a lady’s chambers at the end of the cycle and emerging many hours later, one cannot help but think something… inappropriate is going on."
Abelard inhaled sharply and leaned closer. “And, Master van Calox, such rumours have a tendency to spread.”
The old seneschal’s sharp gaze was like a thrust of a rapier.
Heinrix could feel the animosity rising within him. The worst part was that Abelard was absolutely right. If Heinrix had acted rationally, it would never have come to this. The relationship was doomed from the start, the risks glaringly high. Yet, at some point, he’d realized rationality was no longer an option. His heart simply refused to obey.
He had promised himself he would protect her, ensure that her happiness matched his own. But the cold, hard truth was that he was selfishly indulging in his desires. And the more he indulged, the more he wanted.
Once, it had been enough just to sit across from her for an hour. Until it wasn’t.
After Commorragh they would try their best to steal away an hour or two to be together. He would always leave afterwards so that the crew wouldn't notice anything. And then one evening he stayed. He just couldn't tear himself away from her embrace and go back to his cold, empty room. It reminded him too much of what would await him for the rest of his lonely life.
Now, how could he possibly care about the decorum anymore? With so little time left - a few months, a year at most - he felt the weight of inevitability. Soon, Xavier Calcazar would give him an order, and obeying it would feel like being told to stop breathing. To wrap the noose of duty around his neck and leap into a void where he would exist once again as a cold, hollow corpse.
But this time, he would have so many memories, relentless and vivid. They would torture him with visions of what could have been if only he hadn’t been cursed from birth.
Heinrix drew to his full height. He couldn't justify himself to Abelard because Abelard was right. But neither could he force himself to do the right thing. The only path forward was to make the old man back down.
"First Officer Werserian. The very thought of ordering a man of your years and service to shut up is anathema to me. So let's not reach the point where I am forced to do so." The ice in his voice was almost pulpable.
Abelard pierced him with another sharp look, his moustache twitching as if Abelard was preparing to deliver a sharp retort. Whatever he had in mind, he chose not to say it. Turning on his heel, Abelard returned to the holographic map, studying it intently. Heinrix suspected it wouldn’t be long before Abelard had a word with the Lord Captain.