Time: Evening of the 28th Location: Banquet Hall Mentions: Thea @Tae, Gideon and Victoria @princess, Ariella, @Tpartywithzombi, and Leo @Helo
The following exchange of words between parties left Drake entirely speechless. He was normally one to socially navigate these sorts of social interactions but this was a first for him. The man was entirely lost - almost torn in half between supporting his sister and Thea yet still wanting to appease his parents at least somewhat. He agreed that Victoriaâs outbursts were childish - downright apprehensible in his honest opinion. However, to fight fire with fire only begets an inferno that would engulf anyone involved.
He knew this - and it would seem Leo did as well. There was a brief moment where Drake stared at his plate with empty eyes - barely thinking a thought as he seemed to get stuck on a mental loop of what he could say to keep both sides appeased. The moment Lord Smithwood spoke up, the relief on Drakeâs face was evident. A slightly tightened grip on Theaâs hand had loosened.
âYou know, Sir Smithwood. I actually did not get a chance to hear such events unravel at the-â But it was all too late. Only mere moments into his comfortable cadence Drake felt his blood freeze as the crimson liquid spilled over his mothers dress.
Gods help me. Give me one night of cordial family time. Just one.
Drake breathed in slowly. Almost too slowly. Painfully slowly. Like a dam of emotion threatening to crash out at any moment, kind of slow breathing. âFather. It might be best to find Mother a change of clothes so that you may both be back in posthaste. The sooner the better.â He quickly darted his eyes back and forth between his father and the rapidly approaching volcanic-magnitude eruption that was soon to be his wife.
Drake then turned to match his motherâs gaze. âDo. Not. I know what you are thinking. But do not. Not here.â His stern look channeled a mixture of authority as heir to the Edwards dukedom and the plea of a son who just wants his family to get along.
Drake then huffed as he reached both of his hands up to clasp together over his plate. In the most measured yet annunciated tone - he spoke to the arguing parties just loudly enough for them to hear but not so much as others could eavesdrop. âI am going to be stern this one time to all of you. Behave now. I do not want anymore bickering - anymore âaccidentsâ - anymore anything. I would much rather enjoy a lovely dinner with my lovely family and my lovely date and her lovely family.â Drake paused and subtly pointed his index finger at the currently erupting Damien debate happening just a table over. âAt this current moment - no one is even looking at us over the barbaric shouting match happening a few seats over. So please resolve this discretely and we can blow up about it at home. Do not make us look like a bunch of ragabonds who cannot settle their differences for one damned meal.â His gaze, while still caring, seemed more like a disappointed parent than anything else as he made sure to make eye contact with everyone.
âFurthermore...if I hear one more pointed jab, or fake attempt of jesting through thinly veiled metaphors - I am going to make that tableâs little blowout over there look like a godsdamn Christmas party. A sight that will surely stun the entire banquet hall as I donât think Iâve ever even raised my voice. Nonetheless, do I make myself clear?â He hated to be that guy, but someone had to literally pull the reins on this conversation before things went even more south than it already had. A brief show of intimidation may be the way - but it all depended on how his family took the news. His hand slid back down towards Theaâs hand for an apologetic caress over the back of her hand. Drake straightened himself and waited for those addressed to react.
Time: Evening Location: Castle Dining Hall Attire: Dress, Amulet Interaction: @Apex Sunburn Sjandehk @Oso Cassius @Samreaper Kazumin @JJ Doe Fritz @Helo Callum Charlotte shifted in her seat, just slightly, enough to adjust the fall of her gown and give her trembling fingers something to do beneath the tablecloth. But as she did, her eyes flicked sideways and paused. Sjan-dehk wasnât looking at her anymore.
His eyes were across the room. It wasnât hard to follow the line of his gaze. Even if she hadnât seen Kalliopeâs red hair, the way it glimmered beneath the chandelier light like a flame as she and Cassius approached, she would have known.
There was a softness in Sjandehk's face now...Conflicted, yes, but soft in a way that struck Charlotte unexpectedly. And even though he wasnât smiling, not really, there was a familiarity; the kind of familiarity one didnât usually have with mere acquaintances.
Her brows lowered ever so slightly.
âSo confusing,â And though his words were quiet, Charlotte heard them. She had been watching him still, even if he hadnât realized. The words werenât meant for her, but they struck her all the same. He then coughed, clearly trying to cover whatever had just broken loose inside him.
Rather than calling attention to his unease, Charlotte offered him a reassuring smile, choosing instead to listen attentively as he began to respond to her earlier questions. There was something comforting in the cadence of his voice that soothed her frayed nerves far more than anything else had that evening. Amidst the strange sights and whispers haunting her senses, his words felt like an anchor.
Meanwhile, his subtle fidgeting did not escape her notice, nor did the effort he made to compose himself, and in that, she found something endearing. Perhaps even familiar.
Perhaps, she thought, she had stumbled upon a kindred spirit.
âExploring somewhere new sounds like a dream to me,â she mused, tilting her head slightly in thought. After a pause, her voice grew more wistful, âDoes it feel like being the protagonist of an adventure novel? What a wonder it must be to step into a new country, not knowing what awaits. You're embarking on your very own adventure.â
Before she could respond further, their moment quietly unraveled as both of their attentions were pulled elsewhereâSjan-dehkâs gaze drawn toward Iyen, and Charlotteâs head turning at the unmistakable sound of Count Calbertâs voice cutting through the din of the banquet,âYou have just informed a room full of royals and dignitaries that my daughter, Lady Violet Damien, was struck by you... Andâhow did you phrase it? Ah, yesââgentle caress out of passion.ââ
Charlotteâs lips parted slightly in surprise as it became clear he was addressing Roman. RomanâRoman of all peopleâthe sweet bear of a man? He had struck her? She might have dismissed it as a misunderstanding, a twisted rumor, had Violet not gone on to confirm it herself. And not timidly, but with striking boldness.
There had to be a misunderstanding.
Her brows furrowed gently, and she was just beginning to lean in, ready to follow the conversation further, when Sjan-dehkâs voice gently redirected her focus.
âPut your glass down, please.â
Charlotte blinked and turned to meet his gaze, then glanced between him and the untouched wine. After a small pause, she nodded, sliding the glass away with a sheepish little smile.
âJust pretend it was never even invited to the table,â she teased lightly.
Then he touched her neck.
Her breath hitched, her lashes fluttered, and a blush bloomed across her cheeks like a sunrise creeping up her skin. âNo heat. No fever.â
âUhââ she breathed, her voice thinner than usual, her eyes wide as a deerâs.
And then, as if the gods hadnât teased her enough, he swept the back of his palm across her forehead, brushing a few loose strands of her hair aside with it. The light touch made her swallow hard. âNo fever,â he repeated with a smile. âSo you are not sick. Only drunk.â
Charlotte managed a small, flustered laugh, her hands fluttering awkwardly toward her lap. âO-Okay. I suppose I am... inebriated, then.â The warmth of his gesture lingered like a soft echo against her skin, and though it had undeniably left her flustered, she couldnât say the affection was unwelcome. In fact, she may have even needed it.
After the weight of overhearing Thea and Leo speak of her with such dispassion, whether those words had truly been meant or simply twistedâthis moment, this gentleness, had settled like a balm over a bruised wound, whether it had been real or imagined. To feel, even fleeting, like perhaps she had mattered was comforting.
âS-Sorry! I, ah, I do that for my sister, when she is not feeling well. To checkâŠBody heat. And you, ah, you remind me of her. A little.â He cleared his throat, then extended a glass of water to her. âA-Anyway, here. Water. You should drink more. Wash the wine away from you, yes? Then, you will be fine.â
She accepted the glass and took a long sip, more to soothe his nerves than her own. Then, as her eyes lifted to meet his, there was a gentleness in them that reached beyond the moment.âIt must be absolutely lovely to have a little sister,â she said softly, the corners of her lips curved into a wistful smile. âAnd she must be quite lucky⊠to have someone like you watching over her.â
Her fingers idly tapped against the glass, a soft rhythm betraying the heaviness behind her words. âI always dreamed of having a sibling growing upâŠâ There was a softness in her voice when she added, âAnd if I couldâve chosen a brother,â she continued, a tender smile forming, âI think⊠he wouldâve been just like you.â
Her fingers suddenly found his again in a quiet gesture of reassurance. âYouâre doing wonderfully, you know,â she said, her voice as gentle as the first breeze through spring leaves. âItâs not easy, being somewhere new... I remember the first time I traveled beyond Caesonia. I can scarcely remember, as I was just a little girl then, visiting my baaba in Kimoon. I was so frightened by how different everything felt. But in time, with gentle faces and open arms, even that strange new place began to feel like a second home..."
Her eyes lit up as his earlier words dawned on her, widening with an almost childlike wonder. âOh, and sailing?â she gasped, leaning in a little as her hands clasped together in front of her chest. âIâm turning positively green with envy. Iâve read so many swashbuckling pirate tales that itâs become a bit of a ridiculous fantasy of mine. Sailing across the open sea, wind in my hair, and, you know...â She lowered her voice dramatically, eyes sparkling,â...fighting off a kraken or two. Strictly for heroics, of course.â
She paused, then laughed at herself with a soft shake of her head. âThough in reality, Iâd probably trip over a rope and get eaten first. Very inspiring.â
â... Oh, and did I not just see your bastard assault one of my fatherâs esteemed guests?
It had as if fate had orchestrated the moment, as if the air had bent to guide the sound of Callum's voice to her. Her gaze snapped toward him as if pulled by an invisible cord.
There was no mistaking what she had heard.
And the reaction that bloomed in her chest was swift and visceral. It was an unfamiliar kind of anger rising like a tide she hadnât realized she could carry. Without meaning to, she fixed Callum with a stare so sharp it couldâve carved stone. Perhaps it had been even more cutting than even Calbertâs reaction in that moment. As he went on, she commented out loud softly to Sjan-dehk, her voice laced with disbelief, âWhat in heavens... "
Callum had never been someone she was close to, but she had grown up watching him from afar at royal affairs, year after year. She knew his mannerisms by now and this wasnât like him. Not in tone. Not in cruelty. He had never spoken with such calculated malice, and certainly never toward someone like Cassius another black sheep with the same sort of weight in his step.
Her brows drew together, a frown forming with the unease curling in her belly.
And yet, the possibility hoveredâWhat if I'm not even hearing right?
Roman and Violet had seemed out of character as well, after all. It was as if everyone had been cast into unfamiliar roles in a play she didnât recall agreeing to attend.
Even Charlotte herself.
For example, it made absolutely no sense to her that she had reacted so emotionally over Callum's words when Cassius had made his choice loud and clear.
And of course, Cassius had heard. And of course, he was going to say somethingâwithout restraint, without a filter, and without the faintest concern for the depleting decorum that the rest of the banquet clung to.
âWhat humors me, little prince, is thisâŠIâm a bastard. Unwelcome here by many. A stain on the family line. A walking reminder of everything most fathers would try to bury. And a real pain in the ass at that.â
Charlotte fixated her gaze on him, a cold knot of dread forming in her stomach.
âAnd even stillâŠMy father loves me more than our King has ever even pretended to love you.â
Oh dear⊠That was much too far.
âThatâs the difference between you and me, Callum. I was born a problem, and still, here I standâŠas his chosen son. And you? Youâre just acting like a mouthpiece for a crown thatâs too ashamed to be anywhere near your head. And speaking of shame...â His words were like daggers being thrown across the room, sharp and unyielding, but it was his eyesâthe way they blazedâthat startled her most. That fury⊠it wasnât the heat of a tantrum.
And for the briefest, fleeting moment, Charlotte wonderedâHow would it feel if that gaze was ever turned on her?
She had seen Cassius wear many masks, but this was not a mask. This was something darker. Something that would scorch anything that stood in its path. And though it frightened her, she couldnât deny it. Somewhere deep in her chest, she felt proud of him. Especially as he went on to defend Violet, despite all he had said about the Damien family to her just the other night.
Then came the line.
â...Because if you doâŠI swear to the cunts above you call gods, and to the very king sitting right here in front of us both, that you wonât even make it to your little trial.â
Charlotte blinked. The death threat was certainly overkill. There was no delicate way around it. And yet, it wasnât the violence of the words that unsettled her most.
It was the risk.
She shifted uncomfortably in her chair, and from her anxiety, the shadows returned.
Her gaze lifted slowly and uncertainly as shadows began to crawl like ink across the walls, stretching higher and thicker with every breath she took. The once-warm light of the chandelier above seemed to dim, flickering unnaturally as though the air itself had turned heavy with dread.
Charlotte stiffened.
The hairs on her neck rose, and a chill coiled at the base of her spine. She tried to tell herself it was nothing, but then she felt that dreadful feeling.
Hands.
Not seen, but felt. Cool and unseen fingers creeping up the length of her arms. They slithered like snakes over her skin, as if something was tracing the veins beneath it, trying to learn the map of her from the inside out.
The hall seemed further away now, voices muffled like she was underwater. Even Cassiusâs words, just moments ago as sharp as broken glass, now felt like a distant storm behind fogged glass.
This time, she stayed perfectly still. Though fear coiled tightly in her chest, clawing its way up her throat, she didn't feel the urge to budge. But it wasnât calm.
It was the stillness of someone who understood.
A dreadful awareness washed over her.
Her gaze shifted to the others, desperate for one of them to say something ridiculously dramatic and bring her back to reality. However, Alexander's voice was drowned out beyond comprehension, the words indistinct, swallowed by a creeping static.
I'm either poisoned or cursed.
Her brows knit together as they had earlier, and she had even wondered for a moment if perhaps she had simply gone mad. But either way, Charlotte felt a sense of resignation. If she had somehow been poisoned, then this could very well be her end.
She wondered for a moment if she should leave, or if what even she should do, but instead the thought that took over her mind-I don't think I even said hello to Kazumin and Fritz yet.
And somehow⊠that single, defiant thought was enough to get her on her feet.
Though her knees trembled and her heart thundered like distant hooves against the earth, Charlotte stood.
She moved first toward Count Fritz, and without a word, she slipped her arms around his shoulders from behind in a tender yet possibly unexpected hug. It lasted only a moment, but it was sincere, a silent thank-you written in touch instead of words. Then, before any reply could follow, she continued around the table with purposeful steps.
Kazumin was next.
Without hesitation, she wrapped her arms around him in a warm, heartfelt embrace, one that lingered a moment longer than politeness required. He had begun to feel like a younger brother lately, a constant in her chaos, and so she gave him a big squeeze, as if to silently protect him from all the shadows she couldnât name. What he had told her the other day was still fresh in her mind, after all.
"I'm always so happy to see you, Kazumin." She had wanted him to know, just in the off chance she hadn't gotten another chance to say it.
And before she could return to her seat, she saw Cassius stepping back toward his own. Her body moved before her mind could catch up, before reason could pull her back. And before her mind could tell her otherwise, her arms were around him too.
It wasnât grand or dramatic, but it was real.
She knew that everything he said the other night didn't matter anymore, that he was back with Kalliope now.
Maybe it hadn't been real then for him, but it had been real for her.
And for whatever reason, in that moment, she hadn't even noticed Lorenzo had called Alexander's name, and hadn't noticed as he stepped past her, as her arms had encased themselves around him.
Ever so briefly, she laid her head on his chest the way she had at the masquerade.
Then, as if nothing had happened, she pulled away and looked up at him with a soft smile. And then, she turned and made her way back to sit beside Sjan-dehk.
Time: Evening Location: Banquet Dining Hall Mention: @JJ Doe Hala, @Tpartywithzombi Ariella Attire: A Suit Fit For A True Artist
Milo's hand remained where Hala had placed it, the weight of their touch fitting so naturally into the crook of his arm it might have been stitched there. Their voice curled through the air like smoke from the finest of bespoke blends that Sorianâs Gentlemanâs Cigar Shop had to offer, thick with heat and indulgence, and Milo breathed it in with visible pleasure.
âYou make it terribly difficult to stay humble,â he said, the words soft and amused, delivered like a secret shared between them. âGood thing Iâve never been particularly fond of modesty to begin with.â
He let his gaze drift lazily across the room, a man surveying a canvas, not with detachment but with wonder. There was no rush to leave Halaâs side. They were a vision, one daring the world to prepare for their trouble, and he took his time admiring the boldness of the lines and the richness of their colors as though they were one of his masterpieces.
But then something caught his attention.
A sound, a hush, a note shifting in the harmony of the room. His head tilted, just slightly. His eyes moved, not searching but already knowing where to look⊠Because it wasnât the first time he had looked her way that evening.
He saw Ariella.
The wine tipped, a crimson stain blossoming across polished porcelain and delicate silk, and her gasp fluttered up like a lace curtain stirred by the wind. But beneath the performance, beneath the soft, sweet cooing and fluttering fingers, Milo saw something raw. Something sharp and silent and absolutely breathtaking.
The corner of his mouth lifted, though his smile had changed. It was still warm, still beautiful, still lit from within by whatever strange sun seemed to shine through him. But now there was weight behind it. The kind of weight found in oil paintings that stare back at you long after youâve turned away.
âForgive me,â he murmured to Hala, his voice still dressed in silk but touched now by something more akin to need. âSomething divine is happening just across the room. And I do so hate to miss the moment history begins.â
His hand slipped from theirs with a softness that bordered on reverent. His fingertips lingered as if reluctant, but he began to pull away from them before turning back to speak.
âDonât you dare believe this is goodbye,â he said, his smile returning in full as he looked back at them one last time. âI will see you again, lovely. Perhaps in a place and time that belongs only to us.â He raised Halaâs hand to his lips and pressed a decadent kiss to their flesh, one laced with the promise of more to come.
Then he moved back toward his seat, the crowd parting for him not just out of courtesy but as though they had no choice. Each step he took was pulling the thread and closing the distance between himself and the chaotic beauty of Ariella. As he walked, his mind drifted to enjoy how deliciously close they had gotten that morning at his art galleryâŠand how close he wish and planned to get to her tonight.
âââââFLASHBACK ALERTâââââ
Milo St. Claire moved through the gallery like a man perfectly at home within his own kingdom. He was neither hurried nor idle, his pace a languid stroll designed to be observed. Every now and then, he exchanged pleasantries with guests who called for his attention, offering indulgent smiles and cryptic witticisms that left them wondering if they had just been complimented or gently mocked. His presence was magnetic, drawing admirers into his orbit with little more than a glance, a smirk, a knowing tilt of his head.
He thrived in the admiration, of course. But admiration was predictable...tedious, even. What thrilled him was something rarer, something unexpected.
And then he saw her.
Ariella Edwards, standing alone before a painting, her posture poised yet subtly tense, as if caught in the midst of an unraveling thought. The dim candlelight played along the soft curls of her hair, casting fleeting glimmers upon the pale blue silk of her gown. She looked polished. Lovely, even. Not at all like the wild, sharp-edged girl he was used to seeing tracking dirt across marble floors with barely a care.
A slow, amused smile unfurled across his lips.
âCurious.â The word was barely spoken, more of an exhale to himself, yet he savored it like the first sip of fine wine.
He didnât move immediately. Instead, he observed.
Ariella shifted, glancing over her shoulder as if expecting someone to be there. But there was no one. Not yet. The subtle way her hands clasped together betrayed a flicker of unease. Had she heard something? Felt something? He wondered what had unsettled her. It pleased him, that faint tensionâan unsolved mystery wrapped up in silk and candlelight.
Milo could resist the pull no longer.
He crossed the room with the grace of a man that knew better than to let its presence be felt too soon. By the time Ariella might have noticed him, he was already beside her, his presence like a whisper against the skin...felt before heard.
âMy, my⊠I believe the world has shifted slightly on its axis.â His voice was a low purr, rich with amusement as his hazel eyes flicked toward her, Ari's gaze shifting towards the familiar voice. âLady Ariella Edwards, in soft curls and shimmering silk? Tell me, is there some divine intervention at play, or have I been granted the singular pleasure of witnessing a rare transformation?â
He turned his gaze to the painting before them, studying it with a slow, deliberate tilt of his head. âThough, if I had to guessâŠâ A smirk played at the corner of his mouth. âYou look like a woman whoâs already been confronted with something far more interesting than brushstrokes and oil.â Her eyes fell towards the floor as she glanced back up looking at him with an unimpressed expression.
He finally met her eyes, his expression unreadable yet entirely knowing. He hadnât forgotten the way she had glanced over her shoulder moments ago. He was giving her the chance to answer...or to deflect, which might be even more fun.
Either way, she had his attention. And Milo St. Claireâs attention was never given lightly.
Ariella exhaled sharply through her nose as he pulled her from her trance, shifting her weight from one foot to the other as if she could somehow shake off the discomfort clinging to her like the cursed fabric of her gown. She tugged at the silk near her ribs, scowling as it refused to give even an inch. âIf the world has shifted, itâs only because Iâm stuffed into this godforsaken dress, and the universe is laughing at me.â she huffed. âMy mother insisted.â she added.
She turned her sharp gaze on Milo, eyes flashing with irritation, though whether it was directed at him or the gown was debatable. âAnd donât you dare call it a transformation. That implies I had a choice.â She huffed, lifting the hem of her skirt just enough to peek down at her shoes with barely concealed disgust. âShe insisted I wear shoes.â Her toes clacked together before her hem fell.
Milo hummed low in his throat, a sound rich with amusement, indulgent as a man sipping aged wine. âShoes,â he echoed, tasting the word like it was something foreign, something distasteful. âMy condolences. I had no idea your suffering was so profound.â
Ari looked down at her feet nodding as she continued to pull at her dress.
He studied her, the way she tugged at her gown like it was strangling her, the sharp edge of irritation in her voice, the way she loathed the very fabric wrapped around her body. The sight of her in silk and candlelight was lovely, of course...he was an artist, he would know. But it wasnât her. No, Ariella was wild and sun-warmed and always on the verge of turning into something unpredictable. This? This was a charade.
Milo took a deliberate step closer, close enough that he could lower his voice to something only she would hear. Ariâs eyes flicked up as he caught her attention. âAnd tell me, wild thing...what does it feel like? To be caged like this?â
His eyes flickered downward, tracing the hem of her dress, the place where silk concealed the insult of her shoes. âIs it unbearable?â He exhaled through his nose, a slow, exaggerated thing, as if sharing in her distress. âWouldnât it be such a tragedy ifâŠoh, I donât know...your laces mysteriously came undone? If those dreadful, oppressive shoes were to slip right off your feet in the middle of this very fine, very public event?â Ariâs eyes fell back down to her feet as she looked at him slightly confused.
His lips curled, his voice a velvet promise. âYouâd be an absolute scandal. A barefoot menace, but we both know it wouldnât be for the first time.â A smile started to creep on her lips as a light seemed to perk from her eyes.
Milo pressed his fingers together, as if considering something very carefully, then nodded once, as if he had reached a decision. âYes. That settles it. I must steal them.â
His gaze found hers, gleaming with wicked delight. âNot for you, you understand. No, no. This is for art. For the integrity of the evening. The aesthetic of it all.â He sighed dramatically. âA lady, undone by the cruelty of social expectations...ravishing.â âScandalous..â she whispered softly as the smile still sat on her lips.
And then, as if to prove just how deadly serious he was, he moved. A shift, fluid and precise, the sort of grace that made him so magnetic. One moment he was beside her, the next...just behind, an artist circling his subject. His hand ghosted just above the delicate fabric at her back, never touching, never needing to, his voice a whisper at her ear.
âSay the word, Ariella.â her breath caught in her chest as his voice caressed her ear like an unspoken secret.
It was a dare. A temptation wrapped in silk and wicked amusement. âSay the word, and Iâll make them disappear. You wonât even feel it happen.â Her lips parted to speak but the words didnât seem to want to come out.
Then, as though this entire exchange had never occurred, as if he had not just offered to commit perfectly executed shoe theft for the sake of her comfort, Milo pivoted lazily to face the painting she had been studying before his arrival.
âThough I must ask, Ariella,â he mused, his tone softer now, more thoughtful. âWas it truly the art that held you captive just now? Or was it something else? Given that you already had the pleasure of witnessing most of these pieces the other night, I imagine its more the latter.â
His gaze slid to hers, searching, gleaming with something far more dangerous than charm. âYou looked as though you had seen a ghost.â Her eyes fell down to her feet for a moment before looking back up at him with a soft smile disappointed that her shoes were still present. âI thought I heard someone call my name but I think I misheard it.â she played off the strange events she had been experiencing.
âYour event appears to be doing very well, you must be proud.â she offered him an encouraging smile.
Miloâs eyes flicked toward the glittering crowd for the briefest moment before returning to her with a lopsided smile.
âPride?â he echoed, voice smooth as ever. âNo, my darling. Pride is for politicians and fathers.â
He leaned in just slightly, the scent of expensive cologne and something darker clinging to him.
âI am⊠entertained.â A pause. âWhich is far more difficult to achieve.â
His gaze drifted out over the crowd, eyes half-lidded as he watched them sip, laugh, admire...all so beautifully choreographed, as if someone had handed out a script at the door.
âThey flock in,â he murmured, more to himself than anyone else, âdraped in jewels, smelling of citrus and desperation⊠all hoping to feel something profound, if only for a moment.â Ariâs eyes watched as the onlookers of his work continued walking around more interested in their conversations than the art.
He tilted his head, watching a man tilt his wine glass just-so before gesturing at one of Miloâs more chaotic pieces with an expression that suggested heâd just solved a great philosophical riddle.
âMost of them donât understand the work...not truly. They parrot what critics say. They latch onto whatever phrase sounds clever enough to repeat at a dinner party.â He smiled, sharp and idle. âSheep in silk.â
Milo let out a soft hum, swirling the wine in his glass though he hadnât taken a sip in some time.
âBut every now and then⊠someone lingers. Someone looks, not at the paint, but through it. They tilt their head, narrow their eyes. You can see the moment the image begins to unravel them.â
His voice dropped, eyes catching the flicker of gold against candlelight.
âThose are the ones I watch. The ones I collect.â Her attention turned to Milo as she noted his collection with a curious expression.
He paused, a lazy flick of his gaze following a woman as she laughed too loudly beside a canvas she didnât even glance at.
âAs for the rest? Theyâll still spend more than the lifetime earnings of a common man just to hang one of my pieces above their fireplace. So they can say they own a Milo St. Claire. Thatâs all they want...proof they were here.â
She kept quiet for a moment, her eyes glancing back towards the painting she was admiring, her eyes fixated on its intricate details and brush strokes. âPeople often donât see the beauty in things they donât understand.â she said softly. The words seemed to resonate with her more than I think she wanted to admit.
âDo you not find that it destroys the artistic vision behind your works when people merely want to own something to status? To disregard the idea or thought behind your paintings and simply want to collect them like another piece of furniture?â she turned to look at him curiously.
âDoes it destroy the vision?â he repeated softly, his gaze returning to her with something just a touch more focused, more intimate, as though her question had stirred a note he hadnât expected to play tonight. âNo, my dear Ariella... it completes it.â
He took a step closer, not enough to crowd, but enough that the air between them began to shift, charged with something heavier than banter, heavier even than art. His voice, smooth as silk but low now, laced with intent.
âYou see, the tragedy of it all... the absolute poetry... is that they never understand it. Not truly. They fawn, they covet, they spend obscene amounts of money just to drape meaning on their walls like jewelry around the neck of a corpse. And yet... they still feel something. A stirring. A need. They canât explain it, and they donât try. But itâs there. And that... is where the art lives. Not in their understanding, but in their hunger.â Ariâs attention focused on Milo as he explained, his voice soft and smooth in its delivery that she felt herself relax in his presence. She nodded slowly in understanding of his views, her mind comparing it to peopleâs actions within the hierarchy of society and peopleâs reach for power.
His eyes never left hers now, the warmth in them beginning to burn slow and low, like an ember caught beneath fine ash. âThey want to possess it because it resists possession. Just like you.â Ari adjusted herself slightly as she allowed those words to sit with her.
A pause. A shift. His gaze flicked, barely, toward the nearby guestsâŠtwo women pretending to admire a sculpture while clearly eavesdropping, a gentleman whose interest in the painting seemed to pale in comparison to his sideways glances in their direction. Miloâs smirk returned, lazy and knowing.
âAnd of course,â he murmured, ânow weâve given them something new to speculate over. I imagine weâre the most compelling installation in the room.â Ari stopped to look around them, catching the sideways glances and the women who were too clearly interested in their conversations. âI donât believe âweâ is the correct usage here. I imagine it is you they are so interested in, and here I am monopolising all the time of the great artist.â she said with a soft laugh as her face lit up briefly.
He turned back to her fully, and this time when he stepped in, there was no mistaking the change. The temperature of the space between them grew warmer, more intimate, as though the walls of the gallery had receded entirely and left them in their own private exhibit. His voice dropped to a whisper, velvet and wicked.
âBut conversations like this?â he breathed, âThey deserve candlelight without an audience. Rooms where the walls donât echo with envy.â Ari regarded Milo nervously as the distance and tone of his voice didnât go unnoticed.
His fingers lifted, almost absentmindedly brushing the edge of her sleeve with the lightest graze, nothing more than a passing thought given form.
âCome with me.â The words werenât a question, not really, but neither were they a command. They were an invitation wrapped in the kind of charm that unraveled caution thread by thread. The charm appeared to work on Ari as she looked around for a moment, slightly shocked at the invitation. âThereâs a room upstairs, quiet and dim. No portraits. No pretense. Just you, and me, and all the truth youâre so eager to uncover.â
And then, with a look that could melt secrets and corset laces alike, he offered his hand⊠not outstretched like a prince, but slightly turned, waiting, as if she might meet him halfway. Her eyes dropped to his hand, glancing back up to his expression that created a nervous smile.
âUnless, of course...â A flick of his brow, a slow curve of his lips. âYouâve grown rather fond of your cage.â
Her eyes widened, just barelyâa subtle flicker of hesitation that rippled through her expression. Her hand lingered in the air, frozen between instinct and memory. Her cage⊠The thought echoed in her mind like a haunting memory. A flash of cold stone and iron bars surged forth: the cell where she'd spent the night, Cal's quiet presence a fragile comfort amidst the gloom. But deeper still was the other cageâthe invisible one her mother had spent years locking her inside. Expectations. Control. Silence.
She drew in a slow breath, steadying the tremble in her fingers. Milo noted the tremors with a curious glance. Then, deliberately, she reached out, her arm slipping through his with a quiet grace, every movement laden with intent.
âI despise cages,â she murmured, her voice a thread of silk wrapped in steel. For a heartbeat, her eyes darkenedâthen just as quickly, the shadow passed, leaving only the faintest trace behind. The onlookers shifting with envy as their whispers grew louder with small gasps escaping them.
âGood,â he murmured, his voice brushing the shell of her ear like a secret. âBecause I was beginning to worry this conversation might end with you still behaving.â
He led her through the crowd like a man strolling through a dream, perfectly unhurried yet utterly in command. Guests parted for them without realizing why, drawn aside by nothing more than his presence and the invisible shift in the atmosphere that trailed behind them. The whispers only grew louder, of course...but Milo wore them like cologne.
His fingers adjusted, brushing lightly along her forearm as he leaned in, just slightly.
âI wonât take you far,â he promised, though there was a glint in his eye that suggested otherwise. âJust beyond the frame... behind the canvas. Where the colors bleed a little brighter, and no oneâs watching to ruin it.â
As they neared the stairwell, he glanced down at her with a lazy smile that didn't reach his eyes.
âUnless youâre hoping to be caught.â
And just before they vanished from the gallery floor, he added...almost idly, as if it were a throwaway thought:
âYou say you despise cages, Ariella⊠but tell me.â He tilted his head, his voice low and molten. âHow do you feel about ropes or chains?â
âOh, I donât doubt it. Wherever that woman goes, drama inevitably followsâŠâ
âHmm, I can almost relate, Smithwood. Except in my case, itâs not drama that followsâitâs obsession.â Victoria gave a lazy toss of her hair, her grin curling on her face. âItâs exhausting being everyoneâs favorite fixation.â
She winked and added unprompted, âOh, donât look so surprised. I didnât ask to be adored, it just... happens.â She gave a theatrical sigh, fluttering her fan with mock exhaustion. âA burden, truly.â
âDuchess Victoria, I must say, itâs refreshing to hear your thoughts aloud. Most people wait until theyâre alone to sound so terribly insecure.â
Victoria glared at Thea venomously. âYou speak of dancers and desperation, yet I imagine it takes a truly gifted performer to balance so many masks at once. Jealousy disguised as concern, bitterness as etiquette, and of course, judgment wrapped in lace.â
âThough I do envy your confidence. It must take a certain kind of self-assurance to confuse a womanâs boldness with her worth, or a fall with a failure. But then, I suppose when one is so far removed from youth, passion begins to look like scandal.â
The duchess's eyebrow twitched, but she feigned a saccharine smile. âOh, darling.â She swirled her wine as she caught Thea's glance. âI donât need youth to turn heads. But I understand why you would confuse passion with scandal.â
She gave her a cutting grin. âI know youâre new here, Thea, and bless your silly little heart for tryingâbut please, try using your brain before your mouth.â She gave a little sigh, as though she were exhausted by the very idea of being misunderstood. âInsecurity implies there's someone to be intimidated by. And I promise you, no one here comes even close."
âThe line between passion and scandal is thin. It takes wisdom and experience to know where that line lies.â She turned to Leo, her eyes roving over his face until finally, âYes, precisely.â Victoria gave a dainty nod, eyes locked on Leo with patronizing sweetness. âWisdom like mine is tragically rare these days. I'm glad to see you still recognize it when it enters a room.â She took a slow sip of her wine, her smile never reaching her eyes.
âAnd when it comes to Kalliope, she is firmly rooted in scandal.â
âOh, Iâm listening,â Victoria leaned in slightly, her fan fluttering lazily by her chin as her eyes sparkled with anticipation. âWhat exactly did that tramp do?â She sipped her wine delicately, then added with a faux-innocent smile.
âis Victorria off on anothair tyrrade, Duke Gideon?â
Both Gideon and Victoria's gazes rapidly shifted to Captain Durmand.
âI sâppose tae ken âow ye should nae beâave is imporrtanâ, too. a shame yerr good self âas tae sufferr thrrough âer strrange methods.â
âCaptain,â Gideon said smoothly, his voice even, âwhile Iâve never doubted your skill, Iâd caution against charging headlong into domestic territory that isnât yours to navigate.â
He didnât raise his voice as he continued, âI appreciate frankness in the fieldâbut in the banquet hall, we value decorum. Letâs keep the swords metaphorical, shall we?âHe gave a slight, respectful nod: one that left no room for argument, yet didnât escalate tension.Then, turning his attention subtly to Victoria, he added with a composed breath: âLetâs both aim to set a finer example, shall we?â
Victoria rolled her eyes, not impressed with Gideon's defense. Her attention returned to Leo. âYou know, just the other day Lottie and I shared a table with Kalliope at The Royal Curd, a brunch to honor the generous and gracious King Edin.â
Victoriaâs wine glass paused midair, her expression tightening ever so slightly. The twitch at the corner of her mouth betrayed her distaste before she could mask it as her eyes dared to dart to Charlotte, who looked like a frightened mouse awkwardly lingering behind Leo and Thea. âA feud at that ridiculous brunch?â Victoriaâs eyes lit up as she leaned in, fan fluttering with renewed interest. âHow delightfully lowbrow.â
She followed Leoâs gaze to Sjan-dehk and Iyen with visible scrutiny, lips pursed in theatrical judgment. âMm. That oneâs far too handsome to be as oblivious as he looked while she straddled him in the entryway. And her?â Her fan snapped closed with a decisive flick as she eyed Iyen. âIf that woman is a bodyguard, Iâm the Queen of Caesonia.â
She suddenly giggled, "Oh wait, I am!"
âBut boy, did those three turn a whole brunch into an uncomfortable affair. It was downright embarrassing to witness such theatrics play out before a single plate of food was at the table. Then, I swear to the Gods, Kalli flipped her lid over every mention of cheese at a restaurant themed around the dish. Shouting and eventually brandishing a knife, the second someone mentioned a melty brie or sharp cheddar. Insanity. Clearly, the girl is not right in the head. Deranged even. Honestly, Iâve never seen such fear in Lady Morriganâs eyes as i did at that brunch. To think that someone would dare grip a weapon in the presence of the king's cousin.â
Victoria let out a soft, scandalized laugh. âA knife over cheese. What a fucking lunatic. What's her childhood trauma?â
She tilted her head thoughtfully, giggling, âDo you think she was dropped on her head as a child?â She gave a faux-pitying pout, then added with a conspiratorial whisper, âEither way, the damage is so loud. And all that over dairy. Imagine what she'd do at a wine tastingâbite someone?â
Victoria sipped her wine slowly, eyes twinkling with malice. âI swear, if she gets invited to another event, Iâll need a bodyguard and a waiver.â
âYou know what else Iâve noticed. Never before have I seen any of this nationâs fine and aloof Princes so taken with a lady as Prince Callum seems to be with your daughter. But of course, if any family is worth royal attention, it would be one as distinguished as yours. You must be very proud of Lady Ariella.â
Victoriaâs smile blossomed with perfect composure, like a flower that only blooms in the presence of flattery. âOh, Prince Callum?â she purred. âWell, of course heâs taken with her. Sheâs my daughter.â
She took a sip of wine, then continued as though stating a universal truth. âAriella was an absolute mess of lace and insecurity before I taught her how to hold a fan and shut down a room with a single glance. I said, âDarling, you're not here to be liked. Youâre here to be admired.â And clearly, it worked.â Her tone oozed sweet satisfaction. âI always said she had potentialâshe just needed the right molding. Like marble. Or wet clay.â
She glanced toward Ariella with a distant, almost generous nod. âItâs very rewarding to see oneâs efforts blossom into royalty-worthy appeal. Very.â
Victoriaâs hand flew to her mouth as Charlotte suddenly hurried away, though not quite fast enough to hide the glint of amusement in her eyes, and the laughter threatening to escape her lips.âOh dear,â she murmured, just loud enough for those nearby to hear, âDid anyone else see that little exit?â
She took a sip of wine, letting the silence sit a moment before twisting the knife with a smirk.âHonestly, someone ought to escort her back to the loony bin. "
Gideonâs jaw tensed, and he leaned in with a glare. âDonât ever bring that up again.â His voice was quiet, but deadly firm.âCharlotteâs been through enough without you turning her pain into dinner conversation.â
Victoria scowled and turned on him, âSeriously Gideon? You're-"
And then a sudden rush of cold hit her lap.
Victoria blinked.
The scent hit her next: deep, heady, red wine. The kind that lingered... That stained. Her eyes dropped instinctively, and what she saw nearly made her scream.
A river of crimson poured down her gown. It was soaking through silk.
Time slowed, and her plate clinked faintly as the spill reached its edge, as if the very table was mocking her. A nearby attendant rushed in with a cloth, flustered and apologetic, trying to stanch the crimson tide as it spread. Her hands itched. Her jaw locked. Her heart thundered with the kind of fury that could end bloodlines.
âMother!â Victoria whirled her eyes on Ariella with what could be mistaken as murderous intent, her eyes blazing. âOh gods, Iâm so terribly sorryâI wasnât thinking, I was just so rattled after that little scene earlierâŠMust have just been lost in my thoughts againâŠâ She stood swiftly, plucking a napkin to dab at the mess, though her hand lingered a little longer than needed. âHow foolish of meâŠâ
Her mouth parted, a retaliation ready to slice Ariella into ribbons, but thenâ
âFather. It might be best to find Mother a change of clothes so that you may both be back in posthaste. The sooner the better.â Gideon sighed, already waving over an attendant, his voice low as he whispered instructionsâtrying, somehow, to salvage dignity from the wreckage.
Meanwhile, Drake had the gall to boss around the infuriated Duchess. âDo. Not. I know what you are thinking. But do not. Not here.â
Then Drake went on a tirade of a speech. Victoria sat stiffly, jaw locked, barely blinking as Drakeâs words washed over the table like cold water.
The absolute gall of being spoken to like a misbehaving child at a public banquet. Her fingers twitched at her sides. Her ruined dress clung wetly, clumsily, to her thighs. She was soaked, stained, and nowâshe was being commanded by her own son, of all people, as if she were not the reigning Duchess of Soralia.
She didnât speak. She didnât need to. Her silence screamed. The attendant gently leaned in, murmuring about a change of clothes, and Victoria rose. Every step she took away from that table was a war march.
And just before she passed Ariella, without even glancing down, she murmured darkly,âEnjoy your little moment, Ariella. But trust me when I say, I'm the last person you want as your enemy". She hissed under her breath then vanished through the doors like a parting storm. Gideon let out a slow breath, his gaze shifting to Drake with a tired smile just beginning to formâ
âALEXANDER DEACON!â
The shout cut across the hall like a thrown plate. Gideon winced.
He rubbed his temples and muttered, âIt never stops.â
Theaâs smile had long since faded, her posture tense and still as the drama at the table unfolded like a nightmare dressed in silks and lace. She held her wine glass a little too tightly now, the stem pressed against her palm, trembling slightly.
She glanced at Leo.
âSometimes you act just like Mother,â she whispered, the words soft but heavy with hurt. Her voice didnât accuseâit simply ached. There was no venom in her tone. Just the quiet kind of disappointment that settled behind the ribs and stayed there.
Her gaze followed Charlotteâs retreating form, and a knot formed deep in her chest. Her lips parted as if to call out, to apologize, but no words came. Instead, all she could do was wonderâhad she driven Charlotte away too? Had her attempt to stand up to cruelty made her become cruel herself? Was she any better than the women she despised?
A crushing thought settled on her shoulders like a cloak soaked in ice water. Maybe Charlotte left because of me.
Her fingers curled tighter around the glass. Her stomach turned. Every small thing she had said, every teasing remark, every glance all replayed like echoes in a darkened hall. She thought she was being bold. Clever. But maybe she was just⊠exhausting. Maybe the people who claimed to care about her only tolerated her presence. Maybe they were just too polite to say it.
Her eyes flicked to Drake, only to find his expression unreadable, distant in the way that hurt the most. And when she felt his hand on top of hersâwarm, groundingâsomething inside her cracked. Because she didnât feel like she deserved it. Not anymore.
She slipped her fingers from his hand, not roughly, but with that unmistakable hesitation of someone who believed theyâd already ruined something that mattered.
Her ears rang with the echo of his speechâso calm, so commanding. It wasnât anger that hurt the most. It was that he was disappointed. And that disappointment felt like a punch to the ribs. She had made a fool of herself. Worse, she had made a fool of him. He probably regrets ever giving me his attention.
Then her motherâs voice cut through it all, sharp and cold like a shard of glass pressed to the skin. Duchess Alice Smithwood. She had been engaged in conversation with others a few seats down when she heard wind of what was occurring with her children.
âThea.â
Thea turned her head slowly, her wine glass half-lifted as if it might shield her. Her motherâs expression was calm in that bone-deep, icy way that hurt more than yelling ever could. âHow many times must I remind you that your name carries weight? Must you embarrass this family every time you enter a room? And now you embarrass the Edwards. This is why I thought I sent you home.â
There it was. The final blow.
A thousand things sparked behind Theaâs eyes. A thousand retorts, a thousand pleas for someone to say no, sheâs wrong, youâre not an embarrassmentâbut none came. Of course they didnât. Because maybe they all agreed. Maybe Leo was tired of defending her. Maybe Drake was rethinking everything. Maybe CharlotteâŠno⊠maybe everyone was better off without her.
She stood slowly, trying not to let her hands shake as she set the wine glass down. Her chin lifted, her eyes dry, her voice a thread pulled tight and barely above a whisper.
âExcuse me, I believe I need some air.â
She walked toward the exit with practiced elegance, though every step felt heavier than the last. The room blurred at the edgesâglittering gowns, flickering chandeliers, the soft murmurs of nobles pretending not to notice. Her mind screamed that they were all watching her. Judging her. Laughing behind their goblets. There goes Lady Thea, drunk and dramatic, just like always.
As she passed a startled server, she reached out and snatched a nearly full bottle of wine off his tray. No words, no glance back. Just a perfectly fluid, unbothered gesture.
But inside?
Inside, she was unraveling.
Because the truth was⊠she hated herself.
She hated that she couldnât hold her tongue. She hated that she felt too much, said too much, drank too much, cared too much. She hated that the moment anyone saw even a sliver of the real her, they looked away.
Time: Dinner Time Location: Banquette Mention: @Helo Callum, Interactions: @taeThea, @Lava Alckon Drake, @Oso Milo Appearance: Light blue gown with Silver accents
Ariella sat with her jaw gently clenched, watching the cracks splinter across Theaâs carefully built facade. She recognized the look in her eyesâthat hollowed ache of being torn open by the people who were supposed to protect you. The feeling of being too much and not enough, all at once.
As Duchess Alice's voice sliced through the air, Ari felt the same old cold fingers curl around her spine. Even when it wasnât her mother, the tone was always the same: scolding, controlling, designed to shrink you until you barely took up space at all. She shouldâve felt triumphant that her mother had finally stormed off earlier, but instead, all she felt was a gnawing irritation at how Drake had handled it.
Why was he always so compliant? Still so eager to smooth everything over instead of standing up and calling her out for being such a bitch. Ari had already become the villain in her mother's story. She was so quick to gloat about Ari and Cal, and yet little did she know that one of the reasons they bonded so well was due to her and the other people of society. So she supposed she could thank her for thatâbeing her nasty, vile self had certainly given them something to speak about.
Ariella's fingers tapped once, sharply, against the side of her glass. Her mother had stolen her memoriesâand yet Drake still played the dutiful son, still scolded her like a child for reacting. He played such a political role that it frustrated Ari.
Her gaze flicked toward Thea again, watching as she rose and drifted from the table, bottle in hand, wrapped in all the elegance expected of her rank. Ariâs heart pinched. That ache behind Theaâs eyesâit wasnât unfamiliar. No, it was far too recognizable.
She shifted slightly in her chair, letting her eyes scan the table. âIâll go check on herâŠâ she said softly, toward Drake in particular. Her eyes glanced toward the King's table as she caught a look at him.
Callum.
Her breath caught for a beat too long when she saw him. She looked at him for a moment, wishing he was present tonight. She felt a need for himâshe knew he would have laughed about the spilled wine, and maybe they would have snuck off to the pantry, raiding it for all the alcohol they had. A soft smile curved on her lips as she thought more of the idea. But tonight of all nights, she couldnât even reach for the one person who steadied her. Though she missed him, she was glad she had found her own strengthâand perhaps she could offer some of that to Thea too.
And just as she turnedâ
A chill. Prickling at the nape of her neck. Her eyes liftedâand there he was.
Milos's steps were calm and precise, but it was the way he watched her that made something in her ribs clench. His eyes didnât just look; they saw. Uncomfortably so. She didnât flinch. Didnât blink. She offered him a soft smile, attempting to avoid his eye contact as she moved from her seat, walking toward him.
As she walked past him, she offered him a friendly nod. âMr. St. Claireâ she spoke softly, the name tasting like a secret. As she passed him, the feeling of unease still sat unsteady within her. She glanced over her shoulder once as she walked toward the doors.
Ariella approached Thea slowly as her arm reached out. She wrapped it around Thea's arm with a gentle hold as she greeted her with a warm smile but no words. She too reached out to a passing server, grabbing a secondary bottle of wine off the tray so Thea didnât need to feel so alone.
Finally speaking, Ari attempted to lighten the mood as the two walked: âMothers?â she offered awkwardly, her voice light, but not teasing. âAm I right?â She smiled again as she led Thea past the doors, out of the prying eyes of the court. Tonight was a pure example of how fast and vicious rumors and accusations could spiralâeven from something as simple as a glance.
âYouâd think after mine left, Iâd feel relief. And I do, mostly. Itâs quieter without her hissing insults across the table. ButâŠâ she trailed off, eyes narrowing at the ceiling like it might offer answers. âShe threatened me again, on her way out. I didnât even bother responding this time. Karmaâs coming. Sooner or later.â
She lifted the bottle of wine to her mouth, her teeth digging into the cork as she pulled it out before spitting it off to the side. A lone attendant, attempting to ignore the spectacle, made a huffing sound as the two women walked slowly down the exit.
Another attendant opened the door, and a gust of fresh air hit the two women with a rush as they strolled out onto the front steps.
Ari didnât say much else as her arm released Theaâsâoffering enough to say *youâre not alone*, without having to speak the words. Because sometimes, when her own mother turned her to ash, all Ari ever wanted was someone who stayed.
She took another swig from her bottle, glancing at Thea from the corner of her eye. Now that they were alone, she figured it was a safe space to finally ask:
C A S T L E D I N N I N G H A L L | E V E N I N G I n t e r a c t i o n s : M e n t i o n s :
Mathias hovered near the entrance, hunching as much as his tall frame allowed. He had requested no announcement of his very late arrival. Drawing attention was the last thing he wanted. For a moment, he even considered slipping in through the servantsâ door at the side of the hall, but that might have been even more conspicuous. So, when a wave of commotion swelled near the pillars, some incident involving Cassius Damien and another of a toppled couple, Mathias let out a quiet breath and stepped forward, seizing the moment.
One might assume his tardiness was due to military matters, a carriage mishap, or perhaps a diplomatic delay. The truth was far simpler; Lukas was leaving soon, and Mathias wanted to spend every last second with his son. Lord Oliver Larsen intended to begin the boyâs formal education at the end of the summer, and Mathias wished for his son to relax at home a few more weeks before the lesson began. And so, it was decided Lukas and Mary would depart to give the boy more time to relax at home.
Mathias had been so enthralled in the tea party with Lukas, Mary, Mr. Wiggles and Mrs. Morris the Lion that he had entirely forgotten about the banquetâs mandatory attendance. That was, until Mary stumbled across the invitation on the coffee table.
Heâd barely had time to wash up before Mary and Lukas had laid out something for him to wear.
âSomething to impress that lady friend you talked to last time,â Mary had said with a wink.
A black tailcoat and crisp white waistcoat, matched with a starched dress shirt and a proper bowtie. His trousers, dark as the coat, drank in the golden light of the chandeliers above. The only detail approaching luxury was the tiny silver adornments on his collar and the matching cufflinks at his sleeves. If this was meant to dazzle, a quick glance at the peacocks in attendance, decked in velvet and silks and gilded embroidery, made it clear; this was not it.
Which, in truth, suited him just fine.
With a flute of something bubbly in hand, Mathias made a straight line to the dessert table, wholly ignoring the main feast. He found himself wondering again why Varianâs presence had been mandatory tonight. Aside from the secret party, the one where a gaggle of young nobles were found with no memory of the night, nothing else stood out.
Ah. Never mind.
His gaze landed on Roman. Of course.
Mathias had thankfully sidestepped that entire scene. Still, heâd vouch for the man. Roman was decent, perhaps a bit off when it came to certain high-society cues, but Mathis wouldnât judge him for that. Even after years steeped in high society, he himself still fumbled now and then. Little slips, easy enough to patch over with practiced charm.
He picked up a crĂšme brulee, tapped through its caramelized shell with one finger, and dipped in to taste the soft custard beneath. A quiet hum escaped him. All those years of relentless educationâ cramming etiquette, tactics, languages, history, and mathâ had led to this. Not for himself, no. But for Lukas. So that one day, his son could stand in a room like this, chip up, confident. So he could enjoy all of this.
Mathiasâs chest ached with quiet pride as he tilted his gaze toward the grand chandeliers above.
Karla wouldâve loved this. Sheâd be here beside him now, half-eaten chocolate cake in hand, arm looped through his. Whispering outrageous gossip, spinning absurd little stories about the nobles around them. Guessing who was sleeping with whom. Predicting which knight or royal, or noble would cause a scene after one too many drinks.
He let out a sigh, picked up his dessertâalong with another chocolate cakeâ and made his way toward his assigned seat. Lady Thea walked past him, and soon after Lady Ariella at her tail. He glanced over his shoulder to look at both women for a second before finally reaching his seat.
Mathias paused, briefly noting the adjustment. With a glance at the women seated around him, he smiled politely before taking his new seat without a word.
Mathias had a goal tonight: end the night with no drama. Something he had been rather lucky with. He only hoped tonight would be the same.
âGods, these desserts are delicious.â He muttered to himself, lost in the sugary sweetness as he licked his tiny spoon clean.
Hala blinked once, twice, their pearl-dusted eyelids catching the chandelier light as reality sank in: Milo had actually left them standing there, alone, in the middle of this sorry excuse for a banquet like last seasonâs shoes.
A slow burn crept up their spine, hot and electric. The nerve. The absolute nerve of Milo St. Claire to chase after someone else while they were in the middle ofâ
Something stirred against their ribsâa tiny tremor that snapped their focus away from the simmering indignation. Instinctively, Halaâs hand slipped beneath the folds of their outfit, fingers finding soft fur that quivered beneath their touch.
âShhh, habibti,â they whispered, âMamaâs just having a moment.â
Glancing up, Hala caught Little Miss Divine herself slipping through the double doors with another woman. Sharp as a catâs claws, their lips curled upward. Well then, if Milo wanted to waste the honor of their company...
They adjusted their garment before gliding toward the doors. But firstâ
âNadim,â they called to the massive black dog padding faithfully at their heels. They jerked their chin toward where the Shehzadi sat. âGo give Nana some love.â
Nadimâs eyes lit up like it was his birthday. He bounded across the polished floor, making a beeline for Nahir. They doubted she had time to register what was coming before ninety-nine pounds of pure enthusiasm planted both paws on her shoulders and began thoroughly redecorating her face with slobber.
When the Shehzadiâs gaze caught Hala through the messy kiss, they wiggled their fingers in a wave and sashayed out the doors. Their heels clicked softly against the marble as they passed beneath arched windows streaked with moonlight. A quick study of the buildingâs layout earlier had proven usefulâquite useful indeed. They emerged into a dimly lit side courtyard just as voices carried over from the front steps.
âAre you doing okay?â
Halaâs smile sharpened as they followed the sound.
Time: 6pm Location: The Castle Dining Hall Interaction/Mention: @Tpartywithzombi Violet @ReusableSword Roman @Silverpaw Wulfric @FunnyGuy Alexander/Lorenzo @Helo Callum @Oso Cassius @Tae Mina âGoodness, Your Majesty,â she said sweetly, lifting her goblet in a delicate toast. âI do hope that was a jest. I'd hate to think a man of your stature still believes a woman can be struck into sense.â
Edinâs face soured mid-sip, as though the wine had suddenly turned. His jaw ticked, and he set his goblet down a little harder than necessary.âOf course it was a jest,â he said tightly, eyes seemingly fixed on Mina now, though if one looked closely, they'd notice he was roving her up and down perhaps a bit unnecessarily. He paused to lick his lips.
â...Though if women listened the first time, there wouldnât be so much fuss over how sense is found.â He sighed, gesturing to his wife with meaty fingers, âYou may be used to a looser tongue where you come from, girl,â he said, voice rich with condescension, âbut this is Caesonia.â His goblet lifted slowly, fingers tapping along the rim. âHere, a woman honors her husband. She obeys her father. â
Alibeth bit her cheek, eyes averted, then only shifted her gaze once Mina addressed her. She assessed her with narrowed eyes, still perturbed by her earlier "flattery" of Callum. âHer Majesty the Queen must have the patience of a saint. Or the reflexes of a swordswoman.â
âHow gracious of you to consider the burden of royalty, Lady Blackwood.â
â...Their royal highnesses honor us with their words as their wisdom in these games far exceeds our own.â
King Edin let out a sharp bark of a laugh, shaking his head with a grin. âAt least heâs got some charm when he talks back. Iâll give him that. And I'll also give him his kudos for appreciating my excellent food.â
âAs for my freedom? I have faith in this great kingdoms' courts that they will be as just and fair as his majesty king Edin Danrose himself.â
King Edinâs smile stretched just a little too wide at Romanâs remark, the kind that never reached the eyes. âYes, Lord Ravenwood. I am very wise, and very just, as the Gods demand me to be.â
He leaned forward slightly, voice lowering in pitch, laced with something darker,âAnd we will indeed discover the truth together, won't we?â
He chuckled then raised his goblet in a mock toast, eyes glinting.âTo justice. May it fall where it must, no matter how... heavy the blade.â
From there, Roman went on to defend his slap as a moment in passion while the two had been drinking. Both Count Calbert and Violet reacted none-too-happily. Then Callum stirred the pot, attacking Count Damien of all people.
King Edin finally let out a low chuckle, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. âAh, young love and clumsy hands.â He lifted his goblet again. âA man gets drunk, a woman gets loudâitâs only natural things get... passionate during a lover's quarrel as Callum says. â He waved his hand dismissively. He glanced at Violet with a lazy grin, then he leaned in to whisper to Alexander, âWomen act like they hate it, but most come crawling back wanting more.â
Edinâs gaze drifted toward Count Calbert, and with a sigh that carried the weight of reluctant finality, he spoke: âCount Damien has served this kingdom with tireless devotion and unshakable loyaltyâmore than any man seated at this table. " His then looked at Callum, âYou will not disrespect him for his misfortunes again, Callum. He is a good man.â He lifted his goblet, as though to toast to Count Damien. âIf he wishes that Roman give his daughter space, then let it be known: his word shall stand as law in this court. Let no man, noble or not, test his patienceâor mineâon this matter again.â
Alibeth's gaze drifted to Violet with an unusual look in her eyes. There was the faintest softening in her expression, subtle enough to question whether it had ever been there at all. Yet the intent lingered behind her words. âOne hopes,â she said gently, with a quiet sip of wine, âthat Lady Damien will be met with the care her stationâand dignityâdemands, moving forward.â
However, Count Damien's son, Cassius, was speaking up as this occurred. The monarchs' attention turned to him as his words caught their attention. âAnd even stillâŠMy father loves me more than our King has ever even pretended to love you.â
Edinâs expression twisted. He was no longer amused, and no longer indulgent. The room had quieted again, not out of reverence, but sheer disbelief. âThe bastard dares,â he muttered, voice like gravel beneath a heel.
His goblet hit the table with a clangânot spilled, but loud enough to punctuate the tension.
And Alibeth? Her face had darkened more than it ever had in the public eye, her chin lifted, and her eyes set on Cassius with murderous intent.
âThatâs the difference between you and me, Callum. I was born a problem, and still, here I standâŠas his chosen son. And you? Youâre just acting like a mouthpiece for a crown thatâs too ashamed to be anywhere near your head....And speaking of shame,â
Cassiusâs gaze burned even brighter as it met Romanâs eyes. âYou hit my sister...Let me be clear, Ravenwood. Just in case my fatherâs words arenât enough. You donât touch Violet Damien in passion. You donât touch her in rage. You donât touch her when drunk, when sober, when dreaming, or when dying.â
âIn fact, you big son of a bitchâŠYou never touch her again.â
The noise of a laugh being stifled escaped Edin audibly. His hand clapped over his mouth, failing to mask the hoarse bark of amusement that escaped.
âBecause if you doâŠI swear to the cunts above you call gods, and to the very king sitting right here in front of us both, that you wonât even make it to your little trial.â
Silence.
...But if anyone had been listening closely nearby the queen, they might have heard the sharp, unmistakable sound of steel leaving its sheath. A chair screeched violently as the Queen rose to her full, imposing height.
She did not raise her voice. She didnât have to.
Her presence commanded the room like a stormcloud splitting the sky as her eyes locked onto Cassius, not with fear, but fury. Pure, maternal fury. âSpeak ill of my son again,â she said, her voice low and sharp. One hand rested lightly on the hilt of the dagger she had drawn beneath the table. âI dare you.â
Meanwhile, the King turned, half in disbelief, half entertained, eyes gleaming with dangerous glee. âOh⊠Youâre so lucky youâre funny.â Then, shaking his head, he warned, âYou forget yourself, Lord Damien.â His voice was cold, dangerous. âYou may be tolerated at my table for the sake of your father, but do not mistake tolerance for favor. You speak to a prince, and still you yap like a mongrel whoâs only just discovered his bark.â
âAlright!â Alexander cut in energetically as if the group had just finished a productive meeting. All eyes fell on the King's advisor. âI believe this has gotten way out of hand and now I feel guilty for even bringing something so sensitive up in the public light in such a way.â Alexander turned to the count's son, then he commanded him to sit, which impressed the King visibly. He listened as Alexander spoke, happy to hear that he was eager to be trained to do even better. After all, he was the King. He deserved all his staff constantly working harder to appease him.
âI won't apologize to you, as you seemed to have enjoyed every second of this. You should really-â
Edin's smirk barely had time to stretch before it was shattered by the booming bellow of a name that thundered across the banquet hall:âALEXANDER DEACON!â
"Oh, just what this situation needs!" It was impossible to tell if Edin was exasperated, or sort of excited.
"Back to your seat now, Duke Vikena!" Meanwhile, Alibeth's tone was certainly obvious.
"HEY!" Both monarchs froze and turned to their daughter, just in time to see Princess Anastasia Danrose rising to her feet like a war goddess armed not with a blade, but a half-eaten drumstick.
The poultry was held aloft like a royal scepter of judgment.
âCASSIUS!â she yelled with all the authority of a sister unhinged. âIf you bully my sweet little brother againâTHEN I WILL NOT BE YOUR FRIEND ANYMORE!â
The room held its breath.
A single roasted potato rolled off someoneâs plate.
Edin stared, dumbfounded. ââŠShe gets it from my side.â
Alibeth, pinching the bridge of her nose, exhaled deeply. âNo oneâs arguing that.â
The room hadnât quite settled from the outbursts when another hush crept in. It began when Charlotte Vikena crossed the floor. Not with her usual grace, nor with her half-curtsied apologies. She reached Cassius just as he turned back toward his seat, and before he could speak, before anyone could speak, her arms wrapped around him.
Even Anastasia, mid-bite into her drumstick, had glanced over.
Charlotte Vikena, standing in full view of the court, her head rested against Cassius Damienâs chest. And King Edin?
King Edin licked his lips. Again.
His eyes roved across Charlotte the way they always did over womenâuninvited, unapologetic. He leaned unnecessarily far over the table, goblet forgotten, to murmur toward Alexander with a grin that reeked of rot.âI bet I miss her mother more than she does.â
Then, she turned, skirt swaying, and returned to her seat as if nothing had happened.
Edin cleared his throat loudly. âWell.â He shifted in his seat. âThat was unexpected.â He glanced toward Alibeth, who said nothing. Nonetheless, his gaze wandered back to Duke Lorenzo Vikena, praying to the Gods he had something of importance to say... Or at the least, amusing.
Confusion flashed across Leoâs face, although he didnât take that comment as an insult; it was clear Thea intended it as one. Over what? Trying to make a good impression on the family of the guy she couldnât stop talking about over breakfast? Only trying to help, but he didnât say that. He only smiled like it was a sincere compliment.
âWe are both exceptional speakers with a talent for leadership.â His confidence didnât waver.
Then, as if the mere mentioning of her had summoned his mother, she spoke.
âHow many times must I remind you that your name carries weight? Must you embarrass this family every time you enter a room? And now you embarrass the Edwards. This is why I thought I sent you home.â
It saved him from having to say anything about the spilled wineâcertainly not an accidentâbut her words caused Thea to immediately leave the table. He looked at his mother, eyes holding only disappointment and masked with the most insincere smile. Really? Must you? On her birthday?
âI asked her to stay, and I have never been embarrassed by Thea.â Leoâs tone was light, cheerful even, as he dared his mother to press this issue. He would love nothing more than to discuss whose actions truly embarrassed this family, but that would not be a public discussion. Leo was not about to air dirty laundry in a public forum, the way so many Caesonia nobles were doing.
The Edwards were entirely too comfortable being messy in public. Gideon lacked any real backbone and allowed a knight to mock his wife right in front of him. Victoria was like a caricature of vanity, it rolled off her in such excess that it wasnât hard to see why she was universally disliked. Easy to win over, at least, the slightest bit of flattery and some gossip had her eating from his palm. Drake, however, left a strong impression. His ability to handle the situation impressed Leo, who shot him a quick nod of approval for how he handled the situation.
And Ariella reminded him so much of Thea that when she got up to go after his sister, he mouthed a sincere thank you to her. It was a good opportunity for the two to bond, and he had no doubt the pair would get along.
But the Edwards werenât even close to making the biggest scene in the room. The Damiens took that dishonor. From the bits and pieces he heard, it sounded like some tryst between Roman and Violet was becoming a heated topic. He glanced over as Roman handled the situation as cool and collected as any true Varian. Never sinking to the lowbrow tactics that Damiens clearly reveled in.
Cassius spoke out of turn, all the subtlety of a blunt instrument, but what more could one expect from a man who literally slithered out of the gutter? If anyone deserved to be on trial, it was the idiot who thought insulting royalty, and their religion, in the same breath was a wise move. Perhaps if Edin wasnât such an easily manipulated fool, the bastard would be rotting in a dungeon - where it belonged - instead of trying to dig his claws into poor Lottie. How can she be as smart as she is, and still not see what that bastardâs up to? He wondered as he watched her embrace the spawn of Calbert.
But even as Alibeth rose to her feet, fury in her eyes, no real consequences came for Cassius. Edinâs love for Calbert was dangerous, it was going to make it incredibly difficult for them to take that man down.
Lorenzoâs voice soon filled the room. Leo sighed. It seemed it was time for the Vikena House to join the drama.
âWell, Iâm sure no one is paying any attention to our corner of the table with that mess going on. Seems the Damiens have quite a bit of favor here, to be able to speak like that in front of royalty. Even Anaâs upset, but who can blame her? What an awful thing to say to Prince Callum.â Leo addressed Drake, his voice low. Did he care about Callum, not at all, but maybe he could get some information about the Damiens from Drake. Surely, there had to be a touch of rivalry there.
âTo let what Cassius said slide when they threw your sister into a jail cell over a painting.â He whispered so low only Drake could hear. âQuite frankly, itâs appalling. As appalling as Cassius himself is. But youâŠâ Leo paused and smiled at Drake.
âYou seem like an honorable man, Drake. I hope your intentions with Thea match my impression of you.â He added, entirely sincere. âI can see you know what it's like to worry about your sister. And what you'd do if anyone approached her with the wrong intentions."Leo continued, and it wasn't a threat, it didn't need to be, just an understanding. A viewpoint they shared.
Time: Evening Location: Castle Dining Room Interactions: @princess Charlotte â @samreaper Kazu Mentions: Aesthetic: â Dressâ Hair âShoes The drama that unfolded in the banquet stunned Olivia. The Kingâs grotesque words caused her to clench her fists. How the hell did Alibeth deal with him? Why hadnât anyone murdered this insane asshole? Liv glanced over at the animals present in the room and knew they would make a better king. Why anyone hadnât taken the pig out for slaughtering was beyond her. Thankfully, Charlotte distracted her murderous thoughts. She sat down rather hurriedly, with Sjan following behind her. Her gaze kept flickering to Kalliope and Cassius and her eyes narrowed.
Then, the banquet went ballistic. She watched as one person after another reacted to Victoria. Her cruel words resulted in her wine being spilled on her. Drake pleaded with his mother not to freak out. Sympathy grew inside of herâthat had to be rough living with. Then Thea went outside with a bottle of wine, and then Ariella ran after her. She wanted to check in on the Smithwoods and Edwards, but she hardly knew them and there was tension. Hopefully, later she could. Why had Roman admitted to doing this in front of everyone? What was he thinking? This wasnât the man sheâd spoken to earlier the other day, was it?
Oliviaâs attention shifted to Roman, as all the Damienâs, save for Lily, reacted. Violet handed herself (and Olivia wondered if she was okay) then Calbert and her stomach churned. The hatred and fury rose inside of her however she could not blame him for standing up for Violet. She watched the situation swiftly escalate, thanks to Callumâs words and then Cassiusâ bold response. Shortly after, King Edin and Queen Alibeth reacted and fear gripped her heart. Unexpectedly, Charlie stood up and moved over to hug Cassius in front of everyone. Panic rose inside of her and she quickly moved to stand up if anyone dared to move against her friend. Thankfully, nobody did, and she returned back to her seat next to Sjan-dehk.
Out of nowhere, Princess Anastasia yelled over at Cassius and then Lorenzo, for unknown reasons, yelled across the room.
She rubbed her temples and stared wide-eyed at the food in front of her. Voices, not belonging to those around her, whispered to her. They weren't the joyous thoughts sheâd hoped for, nor were they comforting. Her fatherâs words echoed in her mind as she stared at the Danrose royalty. The angrier she became, the worse the voices were, and the urge of using dark magic returned. Liv clutched the table tightly and her knuckles started to turn white. The noise level returned to a natural decibel, but it did not help her. All the yelling, fighting, and drama reminded her of her home after her father was fired from the royal palace. The downward spiral her parents experienced that subsequently sucked her into came racing back. One after the other, the memories replied in her mindâs eye.
"Imagine it." The voice, sweet like her mother's lullabies, pressed against her skull. "One word, and you could bring this kingdom to its knees. They would beg you for mercy they do not deserve."
Olivia felt as though she was watching the scenery from afar. Her body did not belong to her. The scenery became unintelligible and her body became numb. She tried to pick up her utensils and scrape over more food to fill her everlasting hunger. She picked up the food but she might as well have become a ghost. The room spun around her and her chest tightened, as though someone had reached in and grasped her heart as tight as they could. Her breathing hitched and she wasnât sure if anyone could hear it or not. It sounded as though it was coming from the other side of the castle. The air around her thickened, suffocating and warm. Hunger gnawed at her from the inside out, worse than any mortal hunger, a starvation of power denied.
âKaz.â Her words came out quiet and barely audible. âOutside. Now. Please.â
Without waiting for a response, Olivia stood up. As though she was a marionette, she moved to the balcony doors. The cool night air smacked her in the face. She instantly could feel her body relaxing. Olivia fumbled around, but found a chair and sank into it.
God, I could just use it now⊠.. I canât. Too many peopleâŠHeâs a disgusting pigâthey donât need him. Nobody does..... I promised them I wouldnât use itâŠ... You always were a coward, Persephone.⊠bled for you to have this power. And you waste it on... promises?Use magic, Persephone, you were born for itâŠ
The cowlicked candy-dressed man sought to resume enjoying the feast, pleased to have his idea of fireflies approved, and could hardly wait to tell Charlotte about the firefly catching plans.* Try staying sad and down with fireflies tickling ya all over.* Kazu beamed at the thought, picturing the group jumping and running about, laughing without a care; a night where the world's problems and strifes were forgotten and ignored. Where they could all let their childlike joy be free without fear and judgment, and simply have fun.
He inhaled sharply with a soft chuckle, swearing he could hear their smiling laughter and see them, his friends, surrounded by countless flameless stars, the countless dazzling glow promising comfort and a night of peaceful dreaming.
A fantasy savored only briefly before being shattered by the heavy tension that had built up in rapid crescendo; a moment ago, the banquet hall had simply been noisy and bustling with chatter, but after looking away for a second and in a blink, conflicts were erupting one after another throughout the hall.
Kazu found himself taken aback, his body freezing mid-way into biting into his whole block of honeyed ham. A look of stunned disbelief etched his face as he witnessed the madness unfolding around him, which left the air feeling uncomfortable and heavy, heated and thick like a pungent perfume that clung to the air and any unlucky enough to be pulled into its wicked clutches.
Unable to do little else but keep his mouth busy with idly eating at the ham that had been momentarily forgotten. The succulent honeyed meat practically melting in his mouth like creamy butter, causing him to gush with surprise, its honeyed sweet flavor comforting amid this dramatic tension-filled storm.
He began eating with slow and hesitant bites at first, the nauseating discomfort in his stomach refusing to relent, and would only worsen as his gaze roamed the hall, taking in the unpleasant spectacles playing out like the table across that had been boisterously loud due to the foul-mouthed duchessâs spouting cruel remarks. Now had quieted with an âaccidentalâ wine spillage, hardly surprising with how much she was asking for it. Though the way Drake tried to plead or comfort the woman, even after such detestable behavior, while the lady beside her, who did the spilling, held no hint of guilt towards the act, left his mind scrambling on what to think as his mind couldnât help but wonder and try to piece out the story behind their relationship and Drake, the poor guy who seemed simply trying to enjoy the feast with them caught in the middle and Lady Ariella who had been on the receiving end of such uncalled bullying, could hardly blame her for doing so, praised it in fact.
Then he saw the duchess burst to her feet and did everything she could to practically display her humiliatingly stained dress departure, unknowingly shaming herself all the more with a thunderous exit broadcasted to the whole damn bloody kingdom.* SheeshâŠbet the folks back home heard that exit.*
All the while, he continued his ham chewing, with a gradually increasing fervor, finding himself both overwhelmed and swept up by the intense going-ons, like the heated argument happening further down the table which prompted Kazu to lean forward over the table to peer along its length with a slight craned neck, the ham never leaving his lips.
There, he would spot Calbertâs smug prick face first, his eyes zeroed in without intending to; a strange thing for him to feel such magnetic hatred as kazu was hardly one to hold grudges or bother with hating..not even King Edin drew such ire from him, and that pig king was easily one of the most unpleasant to cross paths with, fucking killed his appetite of milk too. And yet, Calby made his blood boil in ways very few managed to do.
A bite, a gush of honeyed meat pulled Kazu from the rage threatening to engulf him and gave a quick, small head jerk with an agitated huff directed at himself.* Urgh..shit! NoâŠlike hell Iâll let that bastard get to me and ruin this night, much as I want to punch that prick face till it needs a face transplant butâŠ* Knew that would serve nothing but give the man the excuse to end him and with the king feasting only a short way; swift and never able to swing his fist even were he to try.
Shaking the bitter thoughts away while gripping the ham using his nibbling to rid him of the unwanted urge, refusing to let his emotions get the best of him in any way save for enjoying his food as he ate on with a more vicious vigor now to match the rising tense energy, refusing to relent.
Having collected himself once more, the ham-eating blonde turned his attention back to Calbertâs group as their section felt particularly heated and serious. As he caught snippets, he would be woefully shocked to learn that the bear-sized blacksmith, Roman, appeared to be the source with an imbribed admittance of slapping Lady Violet?
A mixture of confusion and sadness in his buzzing eyes, shooting between Roman and Violet multiple times in quick concession, at a loss.* Hang on..last I heard, werenât they sweet on each other or something?* Grasping at the few things he knew of the two, at least that's what it appeared, but hearing Roman openly mock and humiliate the woman he loved? In front of her insane father and the kingâs audience? Even if he was a lightweight, to be so loose-lipped and..did he truly strike Violet?
His eyes whirled wildly in the sockets, trying to rationalize it; that gentle giant of a man? At least from their brief exchange and word of mouth was to be believed and yetâŠ
Hands tightly gripped the hand in utter befuddlement and anger, unable to believe a man could let alone hit, but jest it to an audience as well? How could Kazu not be infuriated, the jeers and insults; he knew them all too well. The dismissive glances, their ever-ceasing judging eyes, and disgusted smiles hiding unearned superiority. Who was better at casually dismissing the life of others merely cause of their birth or achievements than the nobles, the royals; a special breed of their own best not dwelled on for sake of the mind as Kazu cursed and thanked that his people were left in ignorance of just how far their selfish entitlement and controlling greed proved to be.
From strangers and those who hated you, those were easily ignored, albeit still came with a twinge of a sting, but to be mocked and scorned by a person you believed loved and trusted you?
A sickeningly ill filled his stomach as his appetite was replaced with a disgusted urge to denounce this farce of a feast to the whole court with a toss of the ham, but his squeezing grip of the ham held him firmly in defiance; gloved fingers trembled within the mostly devoured soft meat and let out a small gasp with a shamed lowered turn of the head, nearly losing the one thing that kept his smile alive and eased his grip on the ham, hating how it reminded him of that day..again. Forcing his head to turn from his hands, fearing what he might see, and sought a distraction.
A grimaced gritting of teeth as his mind went back to Violet, how he had become an unintentional disruptive problem to her family, an invitation for a chance to make amends, only for it to be another deceptive trap. She and Crystal⊠how he wanted nothing more than to apologize for destroying their home; threatened or not, he was a guest, and he had wronged Crystal. Even now, the image of her crying face weighed heavily on his heart. A sad sigh, wishing she gave the story a chance, a chance at a new friend to bring a caged girl a helping hand.
Blinking the image away with a slow, airy exhale and the bitter thoughts with it. Were it not for Calbert paranoid overprotectiveness, this whole ordeal could have been settled without issue, but instead, he got a gun to the faceâŠa glint of understanding in his eyes as he recalled his drugged state at the time and how he must have appeared at the time though, a part of him felt the man had no intention of letting him leave that day. An icy chill crept up his spine, the gentle press of the barrel against his oblivious forehead, he struggled to breathe for a moment; suddenly feeling himself pulled back into that room, Calbert leering before him seconds from pulling the triggerâŠ
A pained wince as if he felt a burn at the center of his forehead, fearing it was the bullet, then he blinked, and what was thought to be a burn turned to a warm tingle, a gentle kiss, a reminder of who saved him that day, hell he only made it long as he had thanks to Percy always jumping in without knowing he needed her..it was like magic the way she seemed to find him when needed mostâŠ
But when she needed him most, he could do nothing. Always too late, he was.
A small head-shaking sigh as his gaze turned to peer at Violetâs face, taking his first proper look at her face since herâŠgruesome attack, and yet, there she sat as living proof (or undead proof in this sense). It was hard to believe, but magic didnât care what humans believed. Percy had shown plenty of examples, and now Violet.
As his gaze lifted to her forehead, where the killing blow was said to be delivered, and he shook his head in pity, not of her, but at the fact that no one came to save her. Now, somehow brought and made to endure such horrible humiliation in front of everyone? It was unfathomably cruel.
Then he gulped as he hesitated at looking at her eyes, uncertain of what he might see from those bright crimson eyes. He half expected to be scared, but only felt sadness seeing the coldness in them, but within them, a dwindling, tiny warmth like a dying ember fizzling out. His eyes misted up before he knew it; a quick glimpse of the heartbreaking sight had been too much as it was, and he pulled away, not wishing to probe such a painfully personal moment or risk dredging up some of his own.
One way or another, he was gonna make amends with the Damiens about the estate and with Crystal, the count, however, could get kicked into a pig pen for all he cared.
Though as he thought this to distract himself, seeing such a sad affair brought up some residual pains.
Already he could hear of crackling fire in his ears, feel the roaring heat licking his face; an ever-increasing suffocating squeeze gripping his chest-
âCASSIUS!â she yelled with all the authority of a sister unhinged. âIf you bully my sweet little brother againâTHEN I WILL NOT BE YOUR FRIEND ANYMORE!â
The princess's shouting words reverberated through the hall with an unexpected challenging wave of her mighty turkey scepter, and with it, silenced the room with a held abated breath.
An amused snicker huffed against the ham still gently held aloft between his hands as Kazu graciously took this brief respite Ani mercilessly gave this overboiling pot of a banquet.
Just as he could breathe, the cowlicked farmboy would bury his mouth against the ham, appear as if eating while inside was snickering at the princessâs unexpected decree towards Cassius, Calbyâs bastard son of all people. He had no way to know if the guy deserved it or not, or what Ani was even talking about, but how could one not find that outburst hilarious?
As he tried to get a hold of himself with the ham as his muffler, his lowered head caught sight of a roasted potato shifting andâŠrolled off the plate.* *gasp* The potato bowed?! Is she the queen of foods the cooks have prophesied?* The stupid thought popped up into his head, sending him into a barely contained giggling fit at the sheer ridiculousness of this whole thing.
But for now, the farmhand fought against his laughing fit, wrestling to get under control before he let it slip out loud. Lord knows the trouble surely to ensue were he to laugh out loud around this tense crowd of overly sensitive and paranoid folks.
After thirty seconds give or take of intense muffled giggling, did the fit finally subsist, allowing Kazu to slowly sit up, still gulping and gasping a bit with muffled snickers when he noticed the greasy mess of his fingers, his face likely sharing a similar mess.* UgghâŠdamn it! Hahaha..gonna stink of ham all night, got to wash up!* A snickered sniff as he grabbed the nearest glass of water and dipped a napkin in till adequately dampened; a quick squeeze of the excess water, then softly hummed a tune while wiping his mouth and fingers.
He had just finished and was inspecting his clean handiwork when he heard approaching footsteps and a rustling sound nearby, and turned to see that Charlotte had come over during the time he was distracted and was continuing her unexpected hugging of Fritz. That saved a trip, and with that, Kazu hoped Fritzy would join the feast and relax, the man seemed like he was always working.
â Ah, Char! There ya are! We were just tal-â
"I'm always so happy to see you, Kazumin."
Cut off from the sudden embrace that left him paused with flustered surprise, though only for a moment, as he soon returned the hug in full appreciative force. He may have to hold in his laugh, but like hell heâd deny a hug from Char, where he felt the protective warmth like a wrapped blanket shielding against the overwhelming stress that had nearly drowned the building. Within the comforting embrace, though there was a hint that something was off could which spurred him to pour as much of his thanks with a gentle comforting squeeze.
â Thank you, CharâŠalways a delight to see you too.â Flashing her the brightest smile he could muster, even if some of it was forced, all the dreariness and stress was exhausting.
Then the hug ended, wondrously brief as it was. He could only hope she felt how much she meant to him; who else from these parts would bother to hug this nobody farmboy? A hug he would forever cherish.
The girl was hardly done with surprises as he settled back in his seat to see her hug Cassius, who apparently had been seated next to him. A raised brow, seeing the way she rested her head on the guyâs chest.* Oh? Whatâs that about then?* He pondered with a curious grin, with a few light taps of his finger against the table.
Hardly a second that Cassius sat down, that the sound of chair scraping could be heard from Kazu shifting closer, where he then turned to face him to prop his head up against his left palm, casually propped by the elbow.â Howdy do there..Cassius is it?â His right gloved hand shot up in an offering a handshake.â Nameâs Kazumin. And that was quite the hug ya shared there. Charlotte gives the best hugs, doesnât she?â Said with a teasing grin, watching for his reaction with a curious smirk.
âKaz.â Her words came out quietly and were barely audible. âOutside. Now. Please.â
Whatever train of thought he had evaporated upon hearing her whisper his name with a hidden urgency in her hushed words warned of something dire if it was able to unsettle Olivia enough to need to talk privately. As he watched her depart without another word or confirmation, he could see her body trembling. He found himself wincing for letting himself get so wrapped up in the room's activities to miss Percy stressing out, she had never been good around crowds, and with having to see the kingâŠ
With an understanding small nod, Kazu turned back to Cassius, reaching and grabbing his hand in a vigorous handshake.âApologies, my good man, let us put a pause on this conversation, aye? Need to handle some business right quick.â Releasing the firm grip, his squeeze a tad tighter than needed to test the guy, then stood up with an apologetic lift of the hat.â If you lovely folks shall excuse me, I shant be long.â
bA swiping grab of the cane in the left hand as he started to spin on his heel, only to pause the brakes.â Ah, while Iâm gone, feel free to take as you like from the cart. No point letting the food go to waste.â A clattering soft thump of the cane landing on the cart landing next to the single bowl of pudding sitting snugly center.â Everything except this. If I return to find no chocolate treat waiting for me, then we are all going to have a very..very bad day.â Eyes expressing bloodshot warning with the ominous words.
â Welp, enjoy the feast, carry on, folks!â Lifting the cane up with a peppy tap of the hat back on his head, and spun around to start trotting off whistling, playing merrily as he went, but beneath he felt a pit of dread in his stomach as he worried and fretted over what might be bothering Percy.
Attire:Banquet fit, a simple princely crown Date and Time: Sola 28th, 6pm Location: Castle dining hall Mention(s): Kalliope, Anastasia, Calbert, Mina, "Callum", Charlotte Interaction(s): Alibeth, Edin, @Tpartywithzombi Violet, @Oso Cassius, @FunnyGuy Alexander, Lorenzo
Alibeth argued for Kalliopeâs suitability as a spy, speaking of her fall as if it had been part of a grand strategy. âThat is as ludicrous an argument as claiming Anastasia's flair for dramatics is a cunning tacticâ, Wulfric countered quietly. Why defend the servant for the very flaw she so often chastised her daughter for? Did she not see the lovesick glances Arden exchanged with that foreign captain? Having a spy fall in love was as disastrous as having one turn traitor. The queen had a bad habit of turning a blind eye to the faults of their women employees. He imagined she might have borrowed Arden for certain missions, but he had to wonder how fruitful those had been. He did not doubt she was useful, but dismissing her unpredictability was too dangerous for his liking.
To his fatherâs so-called joke, he offered only, âIt is a pity that inflicting violence on a person does not reliably instill them with sense.â If it did, they could have made a fun communal game of âslapping senseâ into Edin years ago, resolving oh so many issues.
Roman went on to laughingly boast about how he had, in fact, slapped Lady Violet. The princeâs brow crept up in disbelief. âHow unusual that you admit to misconduct so readily, and with so little care, Lord Ravenwood. If your demeanour persists to your trial, it may very well conclude with unprecedented swiftness,â he drawled. The Varian lord tried to redirect the negative attention to Deacon, but it was a feeble attempt.
Neither Count Damien nor his daughter took kindly to Romanâs words. The lord had been offered a chance to explain or better still, to apologize. Instead, he turned to humour, and offended the person he had wronged. It wasâŠa choice, to be sure.
Wulfric raised his wine glass to Violet. âIndeed, you are not obliged to choose either,â he agreed. He did not show it, but her words puzzled him. They were the cries of a child, demanding to know why she had been deceived, when it was her own folly that had blinded her to the manipulations of others. Moreover, she spoke of choosing between men when all she had been asked was to illuminate the truth. If the weight of expectation pressured her, she neednât yield to it.
In the end, Lady Damien firmly denounced Lord Ravenwhood, and confirmed that he had struck her. She said nothing of or against Deacon, however. The prince had a niggling suspicion she had warmed up to her employer. As Lady Blackwood had noted, a personâs silence could speak volumes.
He turned his attention to Callum when his brother decided to speak against Count Damien in defense of Lord Ravenwood. Wulfric studied him silently. It was no longer only a question of what kind of magical effect he was under, but why, and by whom. Delronzo? But then, here Callum was, going against two of Marekâs allies; Damien and Deacon. Perhaps, sowing chaos was the intentâŠ?
Yet it was strange, for his brother ought to know how much Edin favoured Calbert. It was as if certain key facts eluded him. Was the curse affecting not only his personality, but his memories as well?
Circumstances did not permit his thoughts to wander. He would have to conduct research at a later date, both on the nature of his brotherâs affliction as well as a way to cure it.
Cassius strolled in, freshly irate, spewing vitriol and tossing about threats as if he had every right to. He took his tongue far too much for granted. Even so, Wulfric recognized Damien Jr. was returning like with like. Callum had started the quarrel, but it remained to be seen whether he could finish it. âYet he is the one wearing a crown, so do mind your tongue.â His did not need to be a particularly sharp warning when the queen was already standing up in outrage. The faint sound of a dagger being unsheathed out of view did not escape his notice.
Since it was clear those gathered were forgetting a rather simple solution, Wulfric provided a reminder. âThere is no need for threats, Lord Damien. If you seek to defend your sisterâs honour, you are free to challenge Lord Ravenwood to a duel. Provided that both parties agree, you may go at each otherâs throats to your heart's content. With proper witnesses, seconds, and the like, of course. You may even request Their Majestiesâ blessing. A most exclusive opportunity, is it not?â He cocked his head to the side, wondering if either of the lords would issue a challenge and if the other party would accept.
âHowever, if you dispensed with law and honour alike, you would be liable to become intimately acquainted with a cell,â he locked gazes with Cassius, composed and cool. âFor your sake, I advise that you remember yourself.â
He did not bother to hide his distaste when Alexander cut in. âAh, yes, the instigator lying through his teeth, offering false apologies and feigning regret, even as you revel in the havoc you have wrought. Do you believe yourself subtle, Mr. Deacon?â He watched silently as Alexander touched Cassius to pacify him. Would the enraged lord really take that, just like that?
His sister shouted across the room, filling those arguing with so much confusion that tensions stilled, if only for a moment.
Then, out of the blue, Lady Charlotte wandered to their table, and hugged the younger Damien.
Wulfric blinked, perplexed. Is she drunk?
At around the same time, Lorenzo shouted from the other side of the table. âDuke Vikena, we have no need of your intervention. Please return to your seat,â Wulfric firmly echoed his motherâs command. The last thing they needed was further escalation.
Time: Evening Location: Banquet Hall Interactions: Charlotte @princess; Kalliope @Tae Mentions: Appearance:Sjan-dehk Attire: Sjan-dehk Equipment:
Sjan-dehk: Sword and pistol hanging down his right thigh
A familiar, soothing sense of comfort warmed Sjan-dehk as he listened to Charlotte. There was something about the girl, something about her gentle air, her kind words, that stilled all those confusing emotions that had been swirling in his mind; that eased all the heaviness that had been squeezing on his heart, and that pushed away all the melancholy that had been dampening his mood. It helped that they were talking about his darling youngest sister, Shi, he supposed. Thinking of her, so far away at home in Viserjanta, did plenty to lift his spirits, as it always did.
That Charlotte was remarkably similar to Shiâalmost uncannily soâalso helped, more likely than not.
Heâd noticed a resemblance before, of course, when heâd first seen her at the beach, and again when they met at that garishly yellow place. In her flowing black hair, dark as a starless, midnight sky, and in her pale complexion that spoke less of illness and more of daintiness, he had seen shades of Shi. And if he were to be perfectly honest, that went a long way in Charlotte leaving a fond first impression upon him.
But now that he had a chance to talk to her beyond a few, fleeting words, or a mere greeting, it dawned on him that her similarities with Shi, perhaps, went beyond just their appearances. For one, Charlotte seemed to be sweet in the same way his sister was. Not cloying like white sugar, but a more subtle sweetness, like that of a lychee. For two, the pleasant aura about Charlotte, and her gentleness, were reminiscent of Shiâs good nature. And while Charlotte was a lot more chattier than Shi, Sjan-dehk felt quite certain that he saw a hint of shyness. An endearing sort of shyness, he would add. The sort that tempted one to keep her safe from all the worldâs dangers.
Sjan-dehk couldnât help but smile. Amidst the chaos of the banquetâa chaos that was only getting worse, by the sound of thingsâCharlotte was an island of calm, repose, and familiarity. Just what he needed after the maelstrom heâd only just put his heart and mind through with thoughts of Kalliope.
âAnd if I couldâve chosen a brother, I thinkâŠHe wouldâve been just like you.â
A chuckle, mirthless and wistful, was Sjan-dehkâs first response. âThen I think you should think harder,â he said with a shake of his head. Leaning forward, he rested his arms on his knees, and tapped his fingertips against each other. âWhat I mean is, you should wish for a brother who is around you more often. Not only just around for some days every month. Or some weeks every year. My work, you see, it keeps me at sea for many, many weeks at a time. Sometimes months. And if it is long campaign, or we sail far, can be even longer than that.â
Sjan-dehkâs lips pressed into a thin line. His eyes gazed blankly at the floor. As much as he loved the sea, and as much as he loved sailing, he still couldnât help but feel a sting whenever he thought about just how little time he actually spent with his family. He was close with them, and heâd made a good number of fond memories with themâsuch as beating up Shiâs bullies alongside his brothers; getting into trouble with Idah and then getting scolded by their mother together, or taking Shi out on a late night cruiseâbut there were times when he wondered if they couldâve been closer, or if they couldâve made more memories together, if he wasnât the sailor that he was.
He shook his head slightly. No point thinking about that. Whatâs done is done. Such was the Way.
âYou are right, my sisters are, well, Shi is, as you say, lovely. Idah isâŠDifferent.â He raised his head to look at Charlotte with a wry smirk on his lips. âBut whether they are lucky or not, that is not for me to say. I think they can be luckier, sometimes. I mean, Shi can be. Idah, I think she makes her own luck. But even if they are unlucky, they have three other brothers to, as you say, watch out for them. Or for them to watch. Still, I think they deserve more.â
He sighed, then laughed softly. âOr maybe that is just how brothers are. Nothing ever good enough for our sisters, yes? Sometimes not even ourselves.â
Then, her fingers brushed against his, their touch feather-soft. Sjan-dehk bristled at the unexpected touch, but didnât pull away. Instead, he absent-mindedly turned his hand, unfurling his fingers to take hers into his palm. Slender and pale, they contrasted starkly with his heavily calloused and tanned ones.
âYouâre doing wonderfully, you know,â she said, her voice as gentle as a breeze over calm waters.
Sjan-dehk listened to Charlotte tell him about her visit to Kimoon. Once again, he found himself wondering about that place, a place that more than a few Caesonians had mistaken him as being a native of. Maybe, if the opportunity arose, he could ask Charlotte about it.
âThank you for your kind words,â he said after she finished. âBut I think you are too kind. You are right, this sort of thing, it is not easy. But it is also not something that isâŠVery new. I mean, yes, this is the first time I sail beyond Viserjanta, across the ocean, but it is not the first time I go somewhere I do not know well. For me to be, as you say, doing wonderfully, that should be normal, no?â He flashed her a mischievous grin, at the same time gently pulling his hands back and resting them on his knees. âI am only doing my job. What I am supposed to do.â
âBut you,â he continued. âLike you say, you were little girl when you went to Kimoon. And like you say, you were frightened. That means afraid, yes? But still you enjoy yourself.â That was what he thought she said, at least. Nevertheless, he gave her a quick pat on her shoulder. âYou still did, as you say, wonderfully. That makes you better than me, I think. I did not come to these new lands as a little boy, after all.â
Charlotteâs eyes then lit up, widening in childlike wonder. âOh, and sailing?â she gasped, leaning in slightly with hands clasped together in front of her chest. âIâm turning positively green with envy. Iâve read so many swashbuckling pirate tales that itâs become a bit of a ridiculous fantasy of mine. Sailing across the open sea, wind in my hair, and, you knowâŠâ She lowered her voice dramatically, eyes sparkling. â...fighting off a kraken or two. Strictly for heroics, of course.â
She paused, then laughed at herself with a soft shake of her head. âThough in reality, Iâd probably trip over a rope and get eaten first. Very inspiring.â
Sjan-dehkâs quiet laugh joined hers. Calling Charlotte endearing would be putting it lightly, he was starting to realise. The fascination in her voice, and her actions, were simply too heartwarming. âWell, if you want, I can take you next time Sada Kurau sets sail,â he offered with an inviting smile. âIt will be good. Let you feel wind and waves for yourself. But maybe not as pirates, yes?â He grinned playfully. âMight get in trouble, to do that. And fightingâŠWell, I do not know what is this kraken thing, butâŠâ For a moment, his face fell, and his face scrunched up in deep thought. He quickly caught and composed himself, however, and continued as if nothing had happened. âMaybe not the first time we sail, yes? But we will see. Sometimes, it is not up to us whether there will be a fight or not. But do not worry. Sada Kurau will take care of you.â
Then, he leaned in, and lowered his voice as she had, as if he were sharing a secret. âAnd also, it is not a shameful thing to trip over ropes. All of us, we do it. Even the best sailors, it happens to them.â He smirked and chuckled quietly. âAnd me also. It is normal. After all, ships have many ropes. Not possible to avoid all of them. Not all the time. Just be careful when the waves are rough, and you will be fine.â
Something from the other table, the one with all the royals, put an abrupt end to their conversation. What it was, Sjan-dehk didnât know, and hadnât caught, but Charlotte certainly did. Her gaze snapped towards that table with urgency, and he followed suit, albeit with nonchalance. âWhat in heavensâŠâ He heard her say in a voice laden with disbelief.
And he supposed he could see why.
For that table, despite hosting what seemed to be the entire royal familyâSjan-dehk could only recognise the King, and had only a vague recollection of the Queenâwas the very picture of chaos. There was a lot of shouting, a lot of aggression, and even from this far away, he could feel no small amount of tension taut in the air. Words were thrown around like knives, and while the actual knives were still being used to eat, it felt like a matter of time before they too would be thrown.
Well, it wasnât any of his concern, and he didnât want it to be. Matters involving royalty and the upper ranks of nobility were always trouble. Sjan-dehk avoided them like the plague in the Commonwealth, and he was going to do the same here. It wasnât as if he understood a lick of what was going on, anyway. Granted, he knew what they were saying, but devoid of context, they may as well be spouting gibberish.
He turned back around. And he saw it.
A shimmer of green fabric. A flash of red hair.
Kalliope.
His body acted before his mind, and he looked up at her. Their eyes met. Briefly, for maybe only a fraction of a second, at most, their gazes held.
And in that fleeting moment, he saw something in her eyes. He didnât know what it was, but it was there. A glimmer, a flicker ofâŠSomething. It seemed sad. It seemed confused. Shaken. But whatever it was, it was on her face as well, for she wasnât smiling, not anymore. Was she upset? Disappointed? Sjan-dehk wasnât sure, and he couldnât imagine why she would feel either of those things. But it didnât matter. Just to see her in such a state was enough to make his heart ache, and his throat feel tight. There were words forming on his tongue, but his mouth refused to let them leave.
For deep in his heart, he knew that there was nothing for him to say. He couldnât even put a name to what it was he felt for her. It was a form of affection, but what kind? With Charlotte, it was clear. The affection he held towards her was the same as what he held towards his sisters. But with Kalliope? He didnât know.
He wasnât even sure if it mattered, anymore. She was with Cassius. That much was abundantly clear. The answer to his question would be an answer that he didnât need.
And so, even though Sjan-dehk wasnât sure what expression he was wearing, he knew that his eyes were clouded with sadness. Not the sorrowful kind, the kind that invited tears. But rather, it was a resigned sort of sadness. The sort that came with a flicker of regret, a shimmer of discontent at how things were. Almost as if he were mourning something that had never been his to begin with.
Mourning. Had he the mood, he wouldâve laughed. He didnât even know what it was he mourned over.
Kalliope walked past wordlessly, and he let her go wordlessly.
This is for the best. He told himself.
But his heart knew better. Coward.
With a shake of his head, he returned his attention to Charlotte. An apology for his inattentiveness was on its way out of his mouth when he realised that she had wandered off to greet her friends. Without thinking, he followed her with his eyes, watching her hug them one-by-one. He arched a brow when he saw her hug Cassius, but otherwise did nothing. Something about how she was going about things, however, felt wrong to him. She wasnât saying muchâor at least, he didnât see her say muchâto the people she greeted, and it seemed as if she was just trying to hug them as quickly as possible.
As if there was a time limit, or something.
âCharlotte,â he greeted as she returned, and stood up.
And as she got closer, Sjan-dehk noticed something about her eyes, something about how they didnât look as focused as he remembered them. Almost as if she were in a daze. âCharlotte?â He asked, worry now in his voice, his arms outstretched, ready to catch her if she were to suddenly collapse. Thankfully, she took her seat without trouble. Sjan-dehk sat back down opposite her, and leaned forward. This time, there was no grin on his face, no mischievous smirk. There was only concern.
âCharlotte, I thinkâŠâ He began, and bit on his lip as he examined her face closely. There was only a slight tinge of redness to her cheeks. Not enough to suggest a case of drunkenness enough to put her in such a daze. His heart sank as he considered the other possibilities, and for a moment, his eyes flitted over to the glass of wine sheâd placed on the table. Surely, nobody would want to harm her? He couldnât imagine what motive anyone would have to do such a thing.
But better to be safe than sorry.
âCharlotte, you should go find doctor,â he said in a hushed voice, just loud enough for her to hear. âIt isâŠIt is possible that you are sick, or maybeâŠYou drink something you should not. But either way, I do not think you look well. You should get help.â
Kalliopeâs gaze dropped briefly to the salt bowl placed in front of her with an exaggerated flourish. A slow breath hissed through her teeth, the kind predators made before deciding whether a twitching thing was worth chasing.
âSalt and meat,â she mused aloud, voice low and velvety with razor-thin amusement. âHow generous. Almost makes me forget you came over here to piss on a wound you donât even understand.â
The bread barely moved as she reached for the salt, pinching a few crystals between her fingers with the same dispassionate grace she might have used to pluck the wings off a fly. But then the drumstick hit her plate with a soft thunk, and for one blistering second, her fingers flexed like she might throw it back at Iyenâs face.
She didnât. Yet.
Her eyes flicked up to meet Iyenâs againâsteady now, cold and unflinching.
âYouâre right about one thing.â The words slid out, sharp and soft as a daggerâs kiss. âYouâve been through darkness. I see it on you.â She leaned forward, just slightly, enough that her voice dipped lower, a thread of raw honesty pulling through the venom. âAnd you survived it. You should be proud of that.â
A pauseâbrief but weighted, as if she meant to let that tiny flicker of respect land before she burned the rest down.
âBut donât fool yourself into thinking weâre standing on the same ground.â
She straightened slowly, the intensity of her gaze never softening.
âYouâre haunted by memories.â Her voice softened, dangerously, almost a whisper. âIâm haunted by memories and the living breathing monsters who made them. Iâm not just bleeding from the past, sweetheart. Iâm watching the ghosts crawl back into the present.â
Her eyes glittered like broken glass catching candlelight, hard and bright.
âDangerous ghosts. Ones you wouldnât recognize if they slit your throat in the middle of this pretty little feast.â She lifted her glass, but didnât drink. She just held it there, fingers tight around the stem, knuckles pale.
âOne of themââ She cut herself off, jaw clenching, that old, terrible fear flashing behind her eyes. âOne of them I saw tonight. For the first time in years. And you know what my first instinct was?â
Her smile sharpened into something close to a snarl. âIt was to shield him. To get him the fuck away before they could see him. I ran because I would rather drown choking on regret than let those monsters see someone I care about and put a target on their back.â
Her hand twitched at the memory, a ghost of a move toward a blade she no longer wore openly.
âBut sure,â she said with a slow, cold laugh, âtell yourself it was just some stupid girl running back to another man. That itâs all a game. That itâs just some melodrama and I want to play with his heart.â
Her gaze sliced across the room, cutting briefly to where Charlotte stood. And then to Cassius.
And it was there, in the span of a heartbeat, she caught it.
Charlotteâs arms wrapped around him, her head resting briefly against his chest.
Kalliopeâs hand froze.
The look she gave Cassius wasnât anger. It wasnât jealousy. It was confusion. Mild alarm. Like someone watching a page of the story turn before they were ready for the next chapter. Something about Charlotteâs touch⊠it hadnât looked casual. It hadnât looked like a greeting. It had looked like a goodbye.
A farewell.
And Kalliope, who knew a thing or two about goodbyes, felt a strange, low ache spark in her chest.
Her brows furrowed, a thousand instincts firing at once, and if Cassius caught her look, heâd find no teasing there nowâonly hard, questioning intensity.
Without breaking her gaze from the room, Kalliope plucked the drumstick off her plate and tossed it back toward Iyen with casual, cutting precision.
âKeep your peace offering.â
Her fingers tightened around the base of her glass, but she didnât drink. Her gaze swept the hall, sharp and deliberate, noting everything.
And then Hala.
Slipping from the hall like a blade disappearing into the dark.
A chill slid down her spine. She forced herself to breathe. Forced her muscles to stay loose. But something felt off. Not just about Hala, but about everything.
Ms. Persephone had not uttered a word in some time, Ryn noticedâher eyes darted about the room like a trapped sparrow. At first, he had attributed her unease to the rather delicate matter of her current situation. Impersonating nobility while Count Damien sat mere tables away was hardly conducive to a relaxing evening, after all. The grandeur of the setting by itself could unsettle those unused to such displays of wealth and power, let alone those who regarded them with contempt.
Orâand this thought gave him pauseâpossibly he was the source of her discomfort. He struggled to pinpoint any particular offense; their interactions since the masquerade had been limited to passing pleasantries. Hardly the stuff of lasting grievance. Still, with these things, one never knew.
Watching her, however, he realized it was not any one thing causing her distressâit was everything. The sounds, the smells, even the very air seemed to press against her like a physical weight. As voices rose around them, the shadows beneath her eyes deepened, and something flickered behind her gazeâa darkness that made him think of storm clouds gathering before thunder.
He was about to suggest she might benefit from some fresh air when soft arms encircled him from behind.
Lady Charlotteâs embrace was tender, warm, yet it sent an inexplicable chill down his spine. Not a word passed her lips, but the gesture carried all the weight of a farewell. Then she was gone, offering Mr. Kazumin both an embrace and affectionate words.
âKaz.â The whisper was so faint, Ryn nearly missed it. âOutside. Now. Please.â
Words rose to his lips and died there. If his earlier assessment of her discomfort around him held any truth, his presence would only compound her distress. Best to leave this to someone she trusted. Ryn caught Mr. Kazuminâs eye and gave a slight nod, watching as he hurried after her.
With a quiet sigh, Ryn divided his attention between Duke Vikenaâjust in case the man decided to make this evening even more interestingâand the high table. Lady Morrigan, silent as she had been at the theatre, now leaned close to Prince Callumâs ear. Though her words were lost to distance, Ryn could read the shape of her question clearly enough: Who are you?
Or what? he added. The princeâs magicae had altered dramatically since Ryn's last assessment, and not in ways that suggested natural progression. The dark entityâs presence raised many troubling questions: Had it been invited inâthrough a spell of the prince's own castingâor had it found its way in through other means? A curse, perhaps, tied to one of those artifacts he and his maid had discovered? Or had something fundamental shifted within the prince himself these past few days?
Captain Wasunâs suggestionââCharlotte, you should go find doctorââcut through Rynâs musings. He took a moment to consider everything he had observed throughout the evening. While Duke Vikena might be correct about Lady Charlotte feeling the sting of rejection, Ryn was not entirely convinced it was by Mr. Deacon. There was also the Captain himself, whose gaze kept straying to a beautiful woman who was in the company of Lord Vael-Damien with an ache that mirrored Lady Charlotteâs own. Not quite the same story, nonetheless written in the same ink.
Perhaps he should check. âYou do look unwell, Lady Charlotte. Would it help if Lord Cassius Damien escorted you to the infirmary?â
Cassius stood there, fire in his veins, still tasting the bitterness in his mouth that both Roman and Callum had left there. And then Alexanderâs hand touched his arm.
It was the gaze that did it. Not the words. Not the false sweetness that poured out of the man's mouth like syrup over rot. It was that look. That heavy, suffocating look that pressed into his mind like a weight on a bruise. It was something he had seen beforeâŠfelt before. Not just once, but for what felt like a lifetime some years ago. He knew that feeling all too well.
For a heartbeat, Cassius fought it. He could feel the beast in him claw against invisible chains, but then it settledâŠslowly, inexorably, it settled, like mud dragged down into deep water.
The anger did not vanish, but it did dull. Quite a bit in fact. His shoulders eased, fists loosened at his sides. The frustration still smoldered in his chest, moreso now that he begun to realize what was happening to himâŠbut it no longer screamed for release. Because it couldnât, even if it wanted to. Alexanderâs tactic had worked.
It clicked in his mind, cold and sharp. He had been compelled.
The realization burned hotter than the fury had, but there was no space to react to it. No room to do anything at all, because that was the moment Charlotte moved.
He barely caught sight of her before she was there. No words, no hesitation, only arms wrapping around him. Soft and trembling.
Her head rested lightly against his chest, and the world around him seemed to blink out of existence. The gasps, the murmurs, even the sharpening gazes from nobles around them. None of it mattered. Only her.
The hug was brief but it hollowed him out, scraped something raw and aching to the surface that he had buried deep, and before he could even process it, before he could even really hug her back, she was gone again. Slipping away like smoke between his fingertips.
Cassius turned his head just in time to catch Kalliopeâs eyes, and the look she gave him was not teasing. It was not jealous. It was worry. Real, worry. The kind that said she had seen the same thing he had felt. That Charlotteâs touch had not been a whim. That something was wrong. His gut twisted sharply.
Before the thought could take root too deep, a voice broke into his periphery.
âHowdy do there...Cassius, is it?â
Cassius blinked, dragging his focus over to the bright-haired farmboy who had somehow ended up next to him. Kazumin was smiling, cheerful as ever, offering a handshake like nothing had just happened. Like Cassius hadnât just thrown his future into the jaws of royal ire.
Still, Cassius reached out and took the hand, feeling the firm grip, the grounding reality of it. He let the boy ramble, let him tease about Charlotteâs hugs. It was a lifeline, in a way. A brief, normal thing in a night that had turned inside out. He didnât speak really, but he wish he could have. He would have to make it up to the man another time.
And then Kazumin was called away, leaving only the fading warmth of his handshake and the heavy weight of the hall pressing back in around him.
He was just sinking back into his seat when the kingâs voice cut through the air.
âYou forget yourself, Lord Damien. â
Cassius barely lifted his eyes. He heard the mockery beneath the cold. The threat wrapped in the words was perhaps subtle to some, but this was not his first incident with royalty. He caught the queenâs glare too, it may have been the deadliest amongst them all.
They wanted him to flinch, but he didnât. He never did.
He stood tall, a slow breath leaking from his nose, the calm still unnaturally wrapped around his bones from that fuckerâs undead powers, a problem for another day. Let them rage, let them posture. His heart, his focus, and his worry was somewhere else entirely now.
Prince Wulfricâs voice followed soon after, cool and deliberate.
âThere is no need for threats, Lord Damien. If you seek to defend your sisterâs honor, you are free to challenge Lord Ravenwood to a duel... â
Cassius flicked his gaze to him at last, not with anger, but with something almost pitying.
A duel. He could have accepted it. Hell, he could have stood up and made it official in front of the whole damn court. But what would it prove? His fight was not at this table. His fight was the girl who had just hugged him like she was drowning.
Perhaps it was his concern for Charlotte, perhaps it was the compelâŠmost likely though it was some combination of the two, but he words Wulfric offered slid off him like rain off oiled cloth. He turned his head away without even answering the spoiled, royal prick.
And that was when Fritzâs voice cut through, calm and measured.
âYou do look unwell, Lady Charlotte. Would it help if Lord Cassius Damien escorted you to the infirmary? â
The Count was right, Cassius had seen it now.
The paleness beneath her blush. The way her hands trembled when she thought no one was watching. The slight unsteadiness of her steps. The way her gaze had started to glass over, distant and dazed.
Charlotte was not alright. Something was wrong, very wrong.
He could feel the court watching him, feel the weight of their stares, their judgment, their thinly veiled delight at the show he had made of himself.
Let them all watch. Let them whisper because they have nothing better to do with their privileged existence.
Cassius Damien had bigger things to worry about tonight than politics. He made his way toward her without hesitation, every instinct in him coiling tighter with each step. When he reached her, Cassius took her hands in his and leaned down to meet her eyes.
âLottieâŠâ His words so gentle compared to the way he spoke to the black sheep prince Callum and whatever the hell Lord Ravenwood was supposed to be. âI believe it would best if both of us stepped out for some fresh air. Itâs beginning to get a little stuffy in here, it seems.â Somehow, despite it all, he managed a kind smile. One like she had seen from him the night before. Leaning in, his voice lowered to a volume that was only loud enough for her ears alone. âLet me help you, please.â
Kira quietly ate her food. She chose food from a variety of different dishes and busied herself with eating. The dialogue between the Alidasht and Princess Anastasia were enthralling. The diversity of the nobles around here was nearly blinding. How arrogant, naive and wildly hopeful theyâd make a difference with their king still standing. Since everyone replied to Hafiz, Kira chose to remain silent. There was nothing more to be said that had already not been. Her gaze flicked to the dog and hawk. She wondered idly how much the Danroses had to ignore them in their fancy castle.
Her gaze shifted now to the clusterfuck on the other side of the banquet. A growing feud between Lord Roman, the Damienâs, and then the Danroseâs broke out. Kira watched with a stoic expression. They were being treated to a show with free dinner. How lucky was she? She watched with idle curiosity until Cassius entered the fray. Her gaze became sharper as she slowed eating momentarily. His words drew vitriol from the queen and she heard the unmistakable drawing of a blade. Then, Lady Charlotte came up and hugged him..? Kiraâs eyes narrowed as she studied the exchange between them. Heat, unrelated to the banquet room temperature, crawled up her skin.
She was hugging the bastard in front of the entire banquet. Kira continued eating calmly, but tension filled her as she looked away. Finally, the situation had relaxed, it seemed, and the tension in the room dropped. She continued eating quietly and looked back over. Now he was at her side and he seemed concerned. What was going on between them? Kira ensured her gaze was always measured, and did not give away anything. Deep inside, a storm brewed inside, and Kira couldnât help but stab her steak.
Nothing more than just a memory. Isnât that right Cassius?
Maybe heâs rightâno, he definitely isâŠ
I should have died that night; I would feel better than I do now.
Kira turned her attention back to her Alidasht and Danrose company. With a smile on her face, she turned to face Nahir briefly. Her expression was calm and sweet, nothing mirroring the storm brewing inside of her. âShehzadi Nahir,â she spoke quietly with sincerity. âYou look absolutely stunning tonight. I do appreciate your generous invite here. Thank you.â With that, Kira turned back to her food and the group with a shy smile on her face.
His smile never faltered through it all, the threats, the phrasing, the looks of disgust and anger, he smiled through it all. A shit eating grin meant to infuriate and challenge. This was what he wanted. To antagonize Count Damien, annoy the king, and show Alexander a taste of what he is up against. Offering up the relationship he had built between Violet and Himself on something akin to a funeral pyre. It was all going to plan, and the consequences would be far reaching indeed, but it wasnât his plan.
No, he hated himself for this.
Hated those above himself, hated that he had to smile at someone he cared for as they were breaking apart at his words, hated he had to put an even bigger target on his back. A target that would continue to grow. Thatâs why precautions were being taken, items moved, stories changed, personnel shifted, items enchanted, and spells weaved and cast.
His own self-loathing and pain didnât show through his smile, he wouldnât allow it. Instead, it was shifted to malice. He had to do this before; he couldnât slip there were too many lives in the balance. His path was set, and he could not change its direction. Only march down the path one step at a time.
Erik's parting words lingered in his mind; He tried to convince the man again not to have him do this before he left for the banquet, but he knew it was a lost cause. âLook now, Iâll only be tellinâ ya this the once. Chariot appreciates the information youâve gathered from the former king of sapphires, now the ten of spades. And yet, theyâre concerned about her, ye see, and the possibility she might be able to influence or corrupt ya.â
âYou will do this. Burn her and your relationship with her right there in front of everyone. Make dead sure thereâs no mistake, no misunderstanding at all, that the two of ya arenât friends or lovers. Fail to make that point, or try to rebuild this relationship even a little, and the very next orders youâre given will be to put her down for good and make certain thereâs no chance in hell she can be brought back again. Weâll be watchinâ.â Erik's retort was sharp, like a slap, and left no room for argument.
With those words fresh in his mind his eyes flickered to Violetâs, a look in his eyes just for a moment of something akin to resignation or fear. It was quick, then his gaze shifted to the others as they spoke. Violets words struck deep and almost sounded as if they did not belong to her. Striking, direct, efficient⊠pained. His heart ached, not just for her but for a long distant memory, one that was very similar. A slight tremor in his hand threatened to betray his inner turmoil yet he tried to hide this by taking another drink from his wine.
Still, her words did show him that he didnât have to push any further down that road. The damage was done, the reputation and favor he had gained destroyed. No point in adding a few more sticks onto a wildfire. He had nothing to say to her, therefore he decided to say nothing. Only the flexing of a clenched jaw under his smile
His eyes locked onto Alexanders, Roman could tell there was nothing more to be gained from goading this man, but the others were still raw and open. For just a moment the look in his eye showed just a hint of that of a predator, then shifting again back to the smug smile of a man who seemed to be blundering through life ignorant of the damage he was doing but enjoying it all the same. The harsh words from Calbert elicited a slight chuckle but nothing more, his words were expected and if he had to be honest warranted. But another poke wouldnât hurt.
The kingâs response, however, prompted him to take a moment before continuing his tirade of sparking blood feuds between himself and others. It did not, however, stop him from taking a few more bites of a very well-presented dessert. With a slight nod of his head Roman spoke, âAs the king decrees I acquiesce. I shall not pursue courtship with Lady Violet Damien until it is otherwise allowed by the powers that be. Am I of the understanding that these wishes apply to Lady Crystal Damien as well?â a question meant to clarify but could easily be taken as something more nefarious. More importantly, an answer without an apology.
Roman knew a few things, rumors mostly about the new Lord Cassius, the Iron wolves were rather well known but some of their rumors were not. Those men did have more than a few stories about their young officer, holding a mountain pass with a dozen half dead men for a week, sieging a fortress and destroying it from within, the stories went on. Some even saying he is seven feet tall, launches fireballs from his eyes, and lightning out his arse.
Still some rumors are more distasteful than others, rumor he could use. Seeing Alexander try to calm Cassius rage with a simple gesture like that was laughable. Roman may be daft in many things but rage was all too common with him and yet it seemed to work. More than a little strange. Keeping Cassius in this fight would only help his cause so Roman attempted to Prod the man again.
âCareful young wolf, you wouldnât want the fine folk of this table to hear aboâŠ.â His words died in his throat. The first time tonight heâs seemingly been caught off guard, not by Alexander, or Calbert, or the King. The sight of Charlotte wrapping her arms around Cassius made him hesitate and ultimately choose not to speak ill of the boy further. His war after all was not with Charlotte or her father, and like Violet the boy was simply a means to get to their father and mother.
Wulfricâs words cut in to his thoughts, it was a fine idea indeed, a formal duel. Something he could use whether it happened or not. The way Cassius deflated and turned his attention to charlotte made his decision for him, âA duel is a fine idea, yet it may be wasted on me. I find my skill with a sword to be lacking as I am but a blacksmith at heart.â
The outburst from the princess brought his attention back to the matter at hand. It was funny how she used that turkey leg and used a threat that seemed childish but still heartwarming for reasons he couldnât really put together right now. Adorable was the first thought that came to mind. It reminded him of when they were children, before they knew how dark this world could be.
Only once so far did his smile falter, his presence remained cheerful and smug, either from arrogance or ignorance of how the coming trial was to be played out. Acting as a fool for all to see except for those few who could see through his act as something far more calculated. He could only keep telling himself this is what he wanted. So, with a glistening smile he continued to do as the king said, eat, drink, and be merry. Especially if Lorenzo was going to get in on the action too.
Time: Nighttime Sola 28th Location: Dinner event Interaction: Roman @ReusableSword Alexander @FunnyGuy Mentions:
The evening dragged like a blade across Violetâs skinâevery tick of the clock a cruel reminder of how exposed she was, how hollow the walls she had built truly were. Alexanderâs voice cut through the tension with sudden urgency, snapping her attention toward him. Her body sank back in her chair, arms folded loosely across her lap, brows drawn not just in anger but in something far deeperâsomething broken. Violet was unraveling. Scarlet clawed at the edges of her soul, trying to hold the seams together, but pain bloomed like rot in her chest. All Violet wanted was to screamâto release the poison coiled in her throat, choking her silent. Alexanderâs apology landed like cold ash on her skin. âEspecially you, Violet. I apologize for betraying the trust we have built so farâŠâ
The nerve.
She recoiled, shrugging his hand from her shoulder like it burned her. She turned away, refusing him the satisfaction. But then her eyes caught Romanâsâand she couldnât look away.
He was the crash she saw coming and still couldnât avoidâthe slow, inevitable destruction she had braced for and still couldnât survive. Her walls cracked. Shattered. And for the briefest, most fragile moment, she saw him hesitate.
Her breath caught.
She knew that lookâhad memorized it so many times but never dare speak aloud. And then it was gone.
He looked away.
Her eyes dropped to her plate. The food sat cold and untouched, but her chest heaved like she was drowning on dry land. Her fists clenched tightly in her lap, the only thing anchoring her to the moment.
âAs the king decrees I acquiesce. I shall not pursue courtship with Lady Violet Damien until it is otherwise allowed by the powers that be.â
The tiny, trembling hope she had clung toâso desperately, so foolishlyâcrushed to ash in her hands.
âAm I of the understanding that these wishes apply to Lady Crystal Damien as well?â
The sound that escaped her throat was barely human.
Suddenly, Violet shot to her feet, the chair scraping sharply against the floor. The table clattered from the force, silverware jumping, her wine glass nearly tipping over. Her napkin floated to the ground.
Her hands slammed down onto the table, her body rigid with rage and devastation. Her scarlet eyes locked onto Romanâpiercing, burning, accusing.
And thenâ
Her hand shot up.
It hung thereâhalf-raised, trembling violently in the air.
Her fingers twitched, her entire arm quivering from the desperate, visceral urge to strike him across the face.
The weight of betrayal, humiliation, and heartbreak screamed through her bloodstream, begging for release.
But she couldnât.
Her hand shook harder, suspended in air like a sword caught between fate and choice. Her fingers curled inwardâslowly, painfullyâas if each joint fought her. Bit by bit, she closed her hand into a trembling fist, nails digging into her palm.
Her chest rose and fell in frantic rhythm, her eyes wide and glassy but unblinking.
She wouldnât hit him.
Noâshe would make him look.
She would make him see the ruin he madeâand know it was his.
Tears welled up, hot and helpless, blurring her vision.The heartbreak spilled over as her fists quivered against the table.
Her body, exhausted from the restraint, sagged slightly. Her hand fell slowly to her side, curling against the fabric of her dress as if holding herself together by force of will alone.Still she stared at him. Still she burned.
Violet reached for her glass with a trembling hand, lifted it to her lips, and drained the wine with a slow, deliberate motion. The tears fell freely now, each droplet striking the table like tiny daggers.
Setting the empty glass down with a soft clink, Violet found her voiceâshattered, raw, but hers.
âExcuse me...â
It cracked in the middle, barely a whisper, but it carried every ounce of her devastation. She turned on her heel with a grace too furious to be called delicate, her black hair whipping behind her like a final blow.
âYou don't scare me, you're still just as beautiful as the moon, my Raven.â
Tears blurred her vision as she stumbled toward the exit, desperate for air, for distance, for somethingâanythingâthat didnât feel like bleeding out while still breathing.
Lilianne stood, pressing a hand gently to her husband's shoulderâa silent promiseâand followed. She found Violet slumped on a stone bench in the gardens, hands covering her face, body racked with sobs so raw they sounded like dying.
Lilianne sat beside her daughter without a word, simply there.
Violet raised her face, flushed and broken, her soul laid bare.
Lilianne brushed away the tears with a hand as gentle as a whispered prayer. âWe don't need to talk,âshe said softly. âI just donât want you to be alone.â
And Violet, for the first time that night, allowed herself to fall apart completely.
