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Darth Krovos wore that particular smug smile on her face that most of the Dark Council associated with her having found a weakness in her enemy. The expression which preceded the killing blow.
Or, on rare occasions, the smile which meant she had something intriguing to show Darth Nox, Krovos' particular favorite among the other members of the Dark Council.
Nox, for her part, had been in the middle of exercise, lightsaber held ready in one hand, and lightning crackling around the other. She brushed back several errant strands of dark hair as Krovos entered. The gesture left visible the black lines of tattoos and cybernetics alike, a contrast to the brilliant green of her skin.
“What is it?” Nox said.
Krovos took one step forward and then knelt. She took Nox's lightning-enclosed hand, kissed the first and second knuckle of the thumb, the same for three more fingers. Each kiss lingered as if memorizing every line and scar upon that skin, and the only noise was the faint hiss of electricity. Then, Krovos pulled back, though she left her head bowed as she motioned forward a box that had been floating beside her. It was perhaps as long as the length of her forearm, and as tall as her fist.
Nox opened it without touching, applied the Force with a gesture of her hand. Inside it held what almost could have been a gauntlet, save for how it ended in an assembly of golden chains and tubes, all intricately detailed and seemingly designed for a four-fingered hand.
It looked old, old enough that it might have been pulled from one of the red-dusted tombs on Korriban. Perhaps even the very one Krovos had brought the both of them to, once before. It had been all cracked stone and sand as crimson as Krovos’ skin. A place heavy with ghosts, and thus nowhere Nox would have gone save for that invitation. She’d had enough of the spirits of the dead already.
But the metal was all far too polished to show any hint of dust.
“This,” Nox said, showing sharpened teeth in her smile, “feels like a trap. Or one of Darth Vowrawn’s parties.”
“There’s a difference?”
“I know how to get out of a trap. And I’m starting to think you set this one up long ago. That there was more meaning to every gift you gave me already.” Nox reached to touch the jewelry which covered the back of her ear, a glint of gold almost as intricate as the gift before her.
“If it is a trap then it’s one I’ve caught myself in as well by passion. But such suspicion is one of your best traits.” Krovos smiled.
“Last time you said it was the way I slew my enemies.”
“One of. And it was an honor to see you sever the chains of Zakuul from us all.”
That made Nox look down to the jewelry again, and she held it forth to test the weight of it. Such things had become rarer with the taxes demanded, the sheer weight of gold that Zakuul drew forth from the Empire and Republic alike.
“You couldn’t fight while wearing this,” Nox said. “I barely could.” She summoned the lightning around her hand again as indication.
“That’s why this is the one for battle.” Krovos tapped the back of the box and it unfolded to reveal another section beneath the first. It held a gauntlet of blackened durasteel, decorated with the same structure as the jewelry: caps for the ends of nails, circles of metal to mark the joints of five fingers. A faint weave of Cortosis covered the vambrace portion as further defense.
“Better.” Nox dissipated the lightning. “Why am I the one to wear it? You’re the one with the claw-fingers and spiked brows.” Both were relics that reflected an ancient ancestry; softened versions of the features she’d seen amid the Massassi of Yavin IV.
“I’ve taken you to see the tombs of my family, and delivered your enemies to cower before you. I will bind my hands for your sake, but as for the rest...I want the rest of the council to see the way you walk after I’ve made you scream of me.” Krovos spoke slowly, letting each word bear the weight of old rituals. “And I want you to design mine.”
Nox had seen the tombs, true, though she’d not attached that particular sort of significance to them then. No, that was almost true. She’d tried not to attach too much significance to them. To the hope that such a Lord of the Sith would have little interest in a former slave, no matter her accomplishments.
She held her hand out again for Krovos to kiss, to savor that wet touch amid memories of sand and desert. Breathed slowly at the thought of all the planning that had gone into this, the traditions she was slowly starting to see the edges of.
“You’ll have to accompany me on that. To tell me the words to return your pledge,” she said.
“I plan to. You will need it.” Krovos stood and stepped closer, until barely the breadth of a hand separated her from Nox.
“And I think I’ll need to establish a few traditions as well.” Nox reached out her hand to pull Krovos down into a deep, lingering kiss. Enough that they both gasped for air when it ended.
Krovos regained her composure first, though barely so. “Yes.”