I had to admit, there was something undeniably erotic about planning a cathedral heist while seated in a parlor full of sinners, saints, and one very eager ex-priestess-turned-femboy who insisted on sitting in my lap. Lysaria traced idle circles on my collarbone with a manicured finger while I spread the blueprints of the Vault of Illumination across the mahogany table. The lighting was soft, golden, and completely unsuited for criminal strategy, but I was never one to let atmosphere get in the way of aesthetic.
"We strike during the Procession of Holy Fire," I said, pointing to the rear entrance beneath the choir hall. "Most of the guards will be watching the parade. Or drunk. Or busy trying to shove holy oil up each other's robes."
Elian raised an eyebrow. "Is that... a real thing?"
"You clearly haven't been to the right temples," I replied. "Nor the wrong ones."
Lysaria giggled into my neck. His laughter was sinfully soft, like velvet over a dagger. Gods, I loved corruption. Especially when it came in high heels and kissed like an angel with a vendetta.
Roderick stood with arms crossed, his disapproval so loud it practically echoed. "You're going to desecrate one of the most sacred places in the empire."
"Desecrate is such a strong word," I mused. "I prefer 'creatively redecorate.' With explosives."
Ash snorted. "You actually have explosives?"
I gave him a look that screamed Of course I do. "A few. Nothing that'll collapse the vault. Just enough to make a bishop question his life choices."
The map was dotted with runes—my own designs. Marius leaned in to study them, lips pursed. He didn't speak much, but when he did, it usually meant something important was about to catch fire.
"We'll need a distraction," he said. "Something loud."
"That's what Lysaria's for," I grinned, patting the divine little disaster on my lap.
He perked up. "I can sing."
"And strip. Simultaneously. It's a gift."
Salem muttered something about blasphemy, but I couldn't hear it over the sound of my own brilliance. The plan was set. The stage was gilded. And I had every intention of bringing the cathedral to its knees.
We assembled our gear at dusk. Tight leather, enchanted daggers, a flask of liquefied lust that I had no real reason to bring other than it sounded useful, and a pocket-sized tome of vulgar limericks to keep morale high. Lysaria wore crimson lace under a sheer gold cloak and looked like a sin wrapped in divinity. I resisted the urge to take him against the supply crates.
Barely.
"You'll stay on the parade float," I said, adjusting his veil. "Distract them with divine whimpering. Keep them watching. Keep them desperate."
He smiled, coy and wicked. "And if they touch me?"
I grabbed his chin, tilting his face up to mine. "Moan louder."
Elian groaned. "You two need supervision."
"We need a private island," I replied.
The parade drums began to echo through the city—deep, reverent booms that masked the footfalls of our infiltration team. We split: Elian and Jules through the bell tower, Ash and Salem along the catacombs, Marius handling rune suppression. I took the west gate, armed with charm, wit, and at least three poisons named after obscure sexual positions.
It was a good night to sin.
I reached the inner sanctum just as the first fireworks erupted overhead. The stained glass windows glowed with celestial light—ironically timed, as I picked the lock to the reliquary with a stolen hairpin and a whispered curse. Inside, it smelled like incense, secrets, and the kind of money that bought forgiveness.
"You're early," purred a voice behind me.
I turned. Lysaria. Already here. Already half-naked.
"I thought you were—"
"Parade's in chaos. Your plan worked too well. And I got bored."
He slid the veil off his face and sauntered forward, hips swaying like a hymn gone obscene. My back hit the reliquary door as he pressed into me, silk against leather, mouth hot and hungry.
"This is sacrilege," I whispered.
"Then let's make it holy."
He dropped to his knees.
By the time I'd regained motor function and some semblance of faith in the gods (or at least in femboys), the reliquary had been looted and I had one less vial of holy water. Not that we used it for purification.
"We need to move," I gasped, adjusting my trousers and kissing the top of Lysaria's head. "Before someone gets curious."
"Too late," came a voice from the shadows.
Jules appeared, completely unbothered by our position or the fact that my belt was undone. "Found the Bishop's ledger. We're almost done."
Lysaria stood with an elegance that defied both gravity and the mess we'd made. He smiled. "I'll join the distraction again. I think they've started chanting my name."
He vanished into the hallway, hips swaying like a metronome of depravity.
"You're falling for him," Jules said, raising an eyebrow.
"Nonsense," I replied. "I fall for no one. I trip. Elegantly. Occasionally into bed."
But the words tasted like denial.
We regrouped at the rendezvous point beneath the old cloister. Roderick was pacing, Ash wiping blood off her blade, Salem re-tying his braid. Elian and Jules carried relic cases lined with silk. And me? I was dripping sweat, smugness, and divine residue.
"Any casualties?"
"One acolyte tripped over his own vow of chastity," Ash said.
"Tragic."
Roderick eyed me. "You were gone longer than planned."
I shrugged. "Faith takes time."
He looked like he wanted to throttle me.
Marius cracked a grin. "We did it."
We had.
But as I looked toward the horizon, where the cathedral bells rang in confused, off-rhythm tones, I knew this was only the beginning.
The Church would come. Retribution would follow.
And gods willing, I'd fuck my way through that, too.