Assassin's Creed X Reader One-shots

Maid for Him (Arno x Reader)

“I must say, I am proud to hear of your engagement to Élise de la Serre.”

The port glass you were carrying escaped your fingertips. It shatters on the polished floorboards. Sharp fragments of glass cascade across the room, and you quickly fetch a dustpan and whisk broom to sweep them away.

“Steady on, (L/N),” Charles Dorian laughs heartily, leaning back in his armchair whilst dabbing at the moisture that had formulated upon his brow with an embroidered handkerchief. “We haven’t quite reached the point where we need to celebrate by flinging glasses into the hearth and all that.”

A sharp jostle from behind rips you from your reverie, the uneven and muddied cobblestones doing very little to cushion your fall. Both suitcases land a few metres away, a few items of clothing attempting to break free now that one of the lids had popped open.

“Beg your pardon, sir!” You shout at the ginger-bearded lout currently throwing about his elbows in order to clear a path through the tumultuous crowds - though the tone of your voice held little to no bite, much to your vexation.

The Port of Le Havre is bustling this morning, and the carriage that had brought you here was unaccountably slow. And so you are cutting this far closer than you would have preferred.

Working your way through a veritable obstacle course of humanity, you attempt to reach the ship before it departs. But the flood of people that you must plunge through is vast—small children who seem to have dropped a coin under a bench, tour guides pointing out towards ships making their way to the river Seine for an enthralled crowd, families having their picture drawn by a caricaturist, well-stocked crates and barrels being loaded for the many voyages that lie ahead – and the Captain of the SS Ambriz is looking ready to weigh anchor.

You simply must not miss this ship: who knows when the next one will arrive? No. You had to leave, and now. One more minute spent in this godforsaken city will indubitably wreak havoc upon your already fragile heart.

There is a moment of silence. You could hear your heart beat; once, twice.

The sofa screams suddenly, making you startle faintly. Arno has sat up straighter, the palms of his hands smoothing over the tops of his knees. “...I suppose, in some sense, I did become engaged. Didn’t I? It all happened so terribly fast the other day. Élise and I met up purely by chance at a bistro, and we got to talking, and she brought up the subject of love. I told her love seemed like a perfectly nice thing to have, which she then responded by saying that I was such a sweet-talker, to which I said that she was such a kidder, and then there was an extremely long silence which consisted of nothing but the two of us staring at one another.” He took a sip from his glass before continuing, clearing his throat. “She then informed me that she knew that I had been in love with her for years, and that finally she would relent and agree to give me her hand in marriage, as it were, and I didn’t quite know how to respond. So, naturally, I ordered a bottle of champagne instead, and she said that was an excellent idea for us to toast our mutual alliance, and then, er, then she kissed me and everyone applauded. But we have yet to make a formal announcement. So...I’m engaged now, am I?”

After hearing such news, it suddenly strikes you: you are in love with him. How is this possible? You were a mere maid, a lowly servant who grew up pinching valuables in order to scrape by, and he...he was your employer. Your boss. Arno Dorian was a young man of the leisure class, well known by those in service as a person of whom something might be made if the right servant took him in hand firmly. You couldn’t – no, shouldn’t – be in love with him. But you were. This is terrible news. You can hardly listen to Arno and Charles speak while you fight to maintain composure.