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"Oh, and dearest?" Gortash motioned in your direction with the back of his hand while keeping his eyes on the papers in front of him. You'd come to know this as the maximum amount of attention he'd give you during the daylight, oftentimes even after. Once upon a time, you'd tried to show interest in what he was working on, but he'd shut that down rather quickly, not intending to involve you in whatever kept him so busy all the time. Perhaps it was for the best. "I arranged a fitting for you at Figaro tomorrow at two. Do try to be on time."
"Fitting?" You looked away from the painting behind Gortash that you'd dutifully stared at to pass the time, the book on the small table next to you having lost your interest a while back. The brushstrokes were no longer interesting you now that you reckoned you'd actually get a reply if you spoke to the man the painting portrayed. "What's the occassion?"
The reason for your confinement to his office, as you called it internally, was a failed murder attempt that happened a few weeks ago. You'd been walking home, arms locked in your fiancée's while you were discussing some horrid play he'd dragged you to, and a man had jumped from the top of a nearby house, dagger drawn. You could still clearly recall the sharpness of the blade, the threatening way it was thrust close to your face, even though you could barely remember the face of the cutthroat.
Gortash had saved you, pinning down the man and disarming him, before allowing the guards that had arrived in the meantime to drag the assassin away. At the time, you'd thought it to have been an attempt on Gortash' life, him being much more controversial compared to you if you believed the lies your family were telling you, but later questioning had apparently made it clear you had been the target.
This made no sense, but he'd promised that's what the flaming fist had said. You'd asked to meet with the cutthroat, to ask them yourself, but you'd been silenced with a kiss and a breathy 'do you think I'll ever allow you within five feet of him ever again?' and that marked the end of that investigation. Statements like that, even if a bit corny, made you feel quite wanted, even if the smug look Gortash held after convincing you of anything made you feel anything but.
You did end up seeing the cutthroat again, in less fortunate circumstances. In the midst of the street, whilst you had been planning to post some letters, you'd seen his corpse hang off the rafters. The missing fingers and shallow cuts across the body made you believe he'd either been maimed post-humously, or he'd been tortured heavily beforehand.
The fist that you desperately approached for answers just shrugged, stating that real criminals were hung up to deter others, especially liars. You'd prodded a bit more, but she had just sent you off, ending the conversation with a nonchalant 'Eh? I don't know? He apparently kept claiming some fancy noble had paid him to kill some girl.'
You'd apologized to Gortash after this of course, feeling guilty since you'd objected so loudly to the idea of you being the target.
Ever since, your fiancée kept a close watch, and you allowed his protectiveness, even if at times it felt overbearing. It was a sign that he loved you and the fact that he'd saved you meant that you couldn't really object. Someone wanted you dead, and a man had already died to make it happen. Sitting in front of a painting for a while to calm both your nerves was a small sacrifice to make.
A fitting, though. That would take up all day, especially with Figaro involved. Gortash spent quite a sum on his wardrobe, and ever since you'd gotten involved, that fund had stretched to include you. Your entire house was already full of unecessary gowns, was there really a reason to get another?
"A birthday party, if you can believe it." He sighed and looked up for a mere second, dark eyes fixing you in the moment. "There will be some people there that I need to speak to, and parties in the name of Lord Herdwack, frugality himself, tend to be dreadfully boring, so don't look forward to too many festivities."
You didn't want to incite the disapproving gaze you could already feel on your skin were you to ask if you really had to attend. No matter how neutral you'd bring the words, you knew a whining tint would hang on your tone. Instead, you decided to broach an entirely different subject, one that you found much more important than some boring party where you'd wander along with a drink in hand while Gortash spent his time in back rooms, doing whatever he'd need to do to secure whatever he wanted.
"I guess I'll clear the agenda." You joked, knowing that if you weren't being sent away to some fitting, you'd sit here in the exact same place tomorrow. Gortash scoffed but seemed amused. You sat up straighter, emboldened by the tiniest smile you saw on his face. "By the way, I've been intending to ask you something."
He penned something and replaced the papers in front of him, done with the current batch. "You have my attention."
Not as undivided as you'd want it, but on second thought, that wouldn't do either. Enver's full attention on you was quite intense, the man dominating in a way that wasn't outright aggressive. He had a penchant for making you barely able to follow your own line of thought, instead more often than not, ending up agreeing with whatever he proposed instead. If he was fully committing to your conversation, you were sure he'd get your mind twisted to other matters within mere sentences. Mere words if he stepped closer.
"I was thinking, tomorrow after the fitting, to perhaps visit some old friends down in Rivington."
He picked up a page to hold it closer to his face, the fine print living up to their name. "The circus is hardly worth visiting, dear."
"No, just some old friends." You repeated, knowing he'd heard you full well the first time. "It's been a while since I went down there."
"I don't see how that's a problem, but why are you asking me? You are a free woman, able to go wherever she wants. I appreciate you telling me beforehand, but there's no need to depend on my approval." The sincerity of his words made you hesitate, not wanting to upset him with the matter at hand.
You swallowed some nerves, sat up straigher and forced the words out. "So that's the thing. The last time I went down to Wyrm's crossing, I wasn't let through. According to the guard, there were orders not to let me through."
He blinked, put down his pen and sat up straight. "That's ridiculous. Who would issue an order like that?"
You blinked. Someone else? Didn't it seem pretty obvious that he'd be the only one with even the slightest interest in that? "Well, I assumed it to be you, so I just wanted to ask if you knew anything about that."
"I did no such thing." He said, placing down his pen intently, just a tinge outraged. "Why would I ever order such a thing?"
"I don't know? Just seemed obvi-" A disappointed look on his face made you swallow your words. "No, sorry, of course not. I didn't mean to accuse you of anything, I just wanted to make sure. Do you think I can go down to Rivington tomorrow then, or do I need to talk to someone else first to clear things up?"
"Don't you worry your head about that. I'll get to the bottom of this." He stood up, and placed his fingers on the table, leaning over it for just a moment before walking around the furniture, reaching you in a few determined steps. "And for the vermin that thought fit to turn you away, I'll make sure they receive ample punishment."
"There's really no need for that." You said softly as he stood next to you, not bothering to bend down to meet you at eye level. Looking down at people suited him much better, even you had to admit it. "Either it was a mistake or they were just following orders. No need to make a big deal out of it."
"I will decide that, dear." His thumb traced your jaw, and after a soft pat to your cheek he bent down to grab your hand, encouraging you to stand up and follow him. "If you really were confined to the lower city, that would be a grave violation of your rights. I will make sure that if there is a perpetrator, they'll be flayed by the gates, that sort of thing. I cannot just let a slight like this pass by. Now, let's get some dinner. i'm sure you're starving."
"Enver." You called out as he basically dragged you along, repeating yourself more loudly when he didn't pay you any mind again. "Enver!"
He turned around partiallyin the hallway, a teasing smile on his face. Seeing him so relaxed made you feel a bit silly being so nervous. He didn't let go of your hand, instead pulling you closer. "Yes? There's no need to shout."
"I'm only shouting because you're not listening to me." You tried. "I don't want anyone to get hurt. It really isn't that important."
Last time had been bad enough.
He nodded seriously.
"If you say so." The fact that he agreed filled you with relief, thanking whatever god was listening that you didn't have to force the issue any longer. "Still, I will have to research it somewhat, but how about I promise you that if I find a perpetrator, I'll make sure that after justified punishment, they'll know they owe you their life."
You'd spoken a bit too soon, it seemed.
"Ah- I- that's still-"
"Shh, dear, I know you mean well, but trust me, this is the best I'll be able to offer you. Any less and I wouldn't be protecting you, and you cannot convince me to jeopordize your safety by staying inactive." He trailed an arm around your waist, and pulled you close to him. "Don't ask something so cruel of me."
"I didn't mean to."
"I know, dear." His eyes, always dark with ambition and amusement, lit up. He pressed a kiss on the edge of your lips. " I know you wouldn't."