[center][img]https://fontmeme.com/permalink/220311/27efd277073263c7d99ebe605d1cfab8.png[/img][/center]
[sub][color=ab274f][b]Time:[/b][/color] 8:00 AM --> 9:00 AM
[color=ab274f][b]Location:[/b][/color] His bedroom --> Hallway
[color=ab274f][b]Attire:[/b][/color] [url=https://imgur.com/IIomrbO]This[/url]
[color=ab274f][b]Mentions:[/b][/color] Callum [@Helo][/sub][hr][hr]
Wulfric awoke feeling [i]terrible[/i]. He’d slept a scant few hours, and even that fitfully. While his blinding wrath from the previous night had cooled, he was still furious. He grit his teeth as unbidden, memories resurfaced.

It had been very late when the missing nobles had been recovered. All of them were in an awful state, some delirious, some hysteric, some violently ill, others comatose. But by far the worst among them was Anastasia.

[i]His sister was carried in by someone, he didn’t know who – nothing and no one else in that moment mattered. Wulfric’s focus zeroed in on Anastasia. She was sprawled across a servant’s arms, slack and motionless. She was far too pale, her features wan, lips bluish. From afar, she looked like a fresh corpse. Wulfric marched up to her, and firmly pressed two fingers to her neck. Her skin was cool and damp with sweat. Her pulse was erratic; fast but weak at first, faltering as it skipped a beat here and there, then growing weaker till he hardly felt it. From up close, he could see her chest raise with breath – slowly, shallowly, barely visible. He snarled at nothing when he noticed she must have been crying, but stepped away from her.

Having confirmed Anastasia to be alive – for now – he urged for her swift transfer to the medical chamber. His searching gaze flicked from noble to noble, servant to servant, but he did not truly see anything until his eyes alighted on Callum. His youngest brother was slung over someone’s shoulder, limbs swinging around listlessly. Wulfric rose a palm to have them halt, and approached.

His fingers carded into Callum’s hair, and he craned his brother’s head up and back in what would be, if his sibling were awake to feel it, an uncomfortable maneuver. Wulfric peered into Callum’s face. There were not-quite-dried tear tracks upon his cheeks, and he’d obviously vomited at some point. He was completely out of it, in a deep state of unconsciousness. Wulfric’s grip tightened as he briefly considered the possibility that the younger man might not awaken. That perhaps neither he nor Anastasia would. 

He inhaled sharply, and abruptly released Callum, whose upper body fell back atop the person carrying him.

Wulfric didn’t know how long he remained nearby; he was vaguely aware of looming over the doctors who were attending to the prince and princess, barking orders, pacing between his siblings’ beds like a caged animal.

When Anastasia began coughing up blood, he had to storm out – he wasn’t sure if it was a decision he’d made on his own, or if his mother had sent him away. Either way, he might have strangled one of those [b]useless fools[/b] blathering on about the possibility of[/i] “poison,” [i]or how they[/i] “couldn’t be certain, Your Highness,” [i]if he’d stayed but a moment longer.

He had no good way to dispel this restless, angry energy; no target to hunt, because whoever had done this had somehow evaded all notice. He spent some time traversing the gardens, thinking of ways to kill or torture whichever damnable host was responsible for the state of[/i] his siblings.

[i]Eventually, though, he’d found himself in his room, lying in his bed, staring at the ceiling as he fumed. He went through a series of breathing exercises, tensing then relaxing his muscles in turn. That, combined with the exhaustion after a taxing day, was enough to lull him into a restless sleep.[/i]

Oh, yes, there was the fury. But rather than raging freely as it did the night before, the emotion was contained, crystalized into precise focus. Though still concerned for his siblings, his priority was the imminent political situation. Concerns would have to be allayed, retribution granted, accords made.

[color=ab274f][i]What price will be extracted? Whom to sacrifice?[/i][/color]

However, another way of thinking was that they all, the Caesonian and Alidasht royals both, had [i]one[/i] target – the person or people responsible for organizing such an event, and introducing what were certainly illegal substances to their nobles. If all went well, this was an angle that could work.

Wulfric stood up, cool determination settling upon and around him as if he were donning a heavy but comforting mantle.

Unfortunately, a glance as he passed by the vanity revealed it was quite obvious that he was poorly rested. [color=ab274f][i]Well, this will not do.[/i][/color]

He had some servants bring him water to wash his face with, a large cup of coffee, and one of his most formal outfits. He even tolerated having his face lightly adorned with some cosmetics. In consideration of what would follow, he was dressed to the nines. Dark blue trousers and tunic, both embellished with golden thread; a variant take on the Caesoninan royal colours of blue and yellow. To his left hip went his sabre, in its ornamental sheath given the occasion. It was truly artistic, as expected of a craft made by Lord Ravenwood. However, the beauty of the case and handle belied the deadly functionality of the blade within. Across his shoulders, a beautiful black cloak was set, golden epaulettes and a cloak pin engraved with his family’s crest finishing the look.

Pushing his shoulders back, and raising his chin, Wulfric exited the room – only to witness his youngest brother running at a full sprint past his room. [color=ab274f]“Callum?”[/color] he questioned rhetorically, utterly taken aback. The unexpectedness of the sight had him still for a brief moment within his doorway, but he soon stepped out, peering down the hallway in the other direction. Either there was something or someone there, or his sibling was still suffering the aftereffects of whatever drug he’d taken during the after-party.