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[color=808080][color=42557d][b]#42557d[/b][/color] [color=2e2c2c]....[/color]|[color=2e2c2c].....[/color] [url=https://imgur.com/sf68EUt][color=808080][b]outfit[/b][/color][/url] [color=2e2c2c]...............[/color] [color=b5c7eb][b]#b5c7eb[/b][/color] [color=2e2c2c]....[/color]|[color=2e2c2c].....[/color] [url=https://imgur.com/Y1m8Bpm][color=808080][b]outfit[/b][/color][/url] [color=2e2c2c]...............[/color] [b]the black rose[/b][/color]
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[indent][indent][indent][indent][justify][color=808080]The streets through the valley were narrow, bustling, and full of life. Merchants called out to passersby enticing them to buy their wares. Small canopy covered stalls overflowed with jewels, finery, florals, fruits, and anything else a person could think to purchase. The heat and the Summer Solstice pulled every soul from their homes. One could hardly pass through the crowd without brushing shoulders with another.

Declan led them down the crowded streets with a learned ease, weaving through the citizens of the valley with the finesse of a skilled swordsman sidestepping an opponent in a duel. They passed a bakery that filled the air around it with the rich scents of fresh baked bread and sweet cakes. Across the street fine fabrics of satin and silk fluttered in the breeze, catching the warm light of the sun in their soft sheen. Then beyond that they could hear the rhythmic [i]ting ting[/i] of a smith’s hammer on an anvil followed by the heavy breath of a bellows as they passed one of the lesser, more boisterous armories. 

The clamor of the market washed around her in a warm, living tide, voices rising, hands bartering, sunlight running molten down banners of silk and over the sweating bodies pressed shoulder to shoulder. Lei let the rhythm of it buoy her, the crowd’s motion carrying her forward behind Declan’s steady, deliberate stride. His path cut cleanly through the chaos, the people parting before him like water around a riverstone. She followed in the calm of his wake, letting the scents of fresh bread and sweet pastries curl under her nose, letting the dizzy shimmer of colors and textures distract her from the lingering chill of the river still clinging to her warm skin.

They passed a smithy next, louder than the rest, boisterous, brash, its energy spilling into the street. The hammer’s [i]ting—ting—ting[/i] struck the air like sparks made sound. Lei’s gaze strayed without thought, slipping toward the open window where the heat billowed out in waves and—

Her heart stopped. There, in the lamplit haze of the armory, stood her brother.

Elrik.

His profile cut through the steam and smoke, broad shoulders she had followed as a child through Ironcrag’s corridors, hair ash-dark like their fathers, jaw tight with familiar impatience as he frowned down at the sword in his hand. Even from the street, even through the glass and the crowded din, she knew the blade was wrong. A false cragore. A poor imitation of the ancestral sword he had carried since their father first laid it in his palms at thirteen. He turned it over, the metal throwing back a fractured glint of light.

Lei froze mid-step.

Numbness flooded her, cold and creeping, as if every vein had suddenly been filled with riverwater. Her fingers tingled. Her lungs refused to listen. The world narrowed until she could see nothing, nothing, but the shape of him, the rise and fall of his chest, the way his mouth tightened in that stubborn, familiar line. Elrik, who had shielded her from their father’s wrath with his own body. Elrik, who had carried her bruised and shivering to their mother’s room when she could no longer stand. Elrik, who had promised, voice raw, that he would always find her, even if she ran, because he’d believed his duty was to protect her.

And she had run.

Left him behind. Left his protection, his love, his trust. Left the only person who had ever looked at her and seen Soleil, not a disappointment, not a duty. Her breath shuddered—barely a sound. Elrik shifted, setting down the blade, saying something sharp to the man standing with him. Turning toward the door.

[i]He’s coming out—he’s coming out—if he sees me—[/i]

Her hand shot out before thought could intervene. She seized Declan’s arm, grip tight, desperate, and dragged him with a strength she didn’t feel, pulling them both off the main street and down between two tightly packed stalls. The shadows swallowed them, the crowd shielding them from view as Elrik stepped out of the armory, scanning the street with the same sharp eyes she had inherited. Lei pressed herself back against the stall wall. She didn’t dare breathe.

Her grip remained on Declan’s arm without realizing, fingers clamped around the damp linen of his sleeve, knuckles pale against the sun-browned fabric. Her pulse hammered against her palm where their skin met beneath the cloth. She clung to him there not because he was Captain, not because he was strong or steady or anything a guardsman ought to be, but because he was here, and she needed something rooted to keep from pitching forward into the storm of memory and guilt crashing through her chest. She watched Elrik move through the crowd, taller than most, unmistakable, until the tide of people finally carried him out of sight.

Only then did the air return to her lungs in a sharp, trembling inhale. Her face felt bloodless, hands shaky, lips parted in silence. Still she said nothing. Could say nothing. The tightness in her throat was too raw, too full. Her hand remained on Declan’s arm, gripping it as if she feared her brother might reappear at any moment, and as if this single point of contact was the only thing anchoring her to the present, to her disguise, to the life she had carved for herself far from Ironcrag’s shadow.


They may have passed through the city looking little more than civilians, but Declan was on duty. Even in the leisure steadiness of his gait, he was always attentive, always alert. So when a strong hand took hold of his arm, he did not ask, only reacted, like a guardian laying in wait he was prepared at a moment's notice. His body heeded the forceful redirection willfully, light footed, eyes scanning the crowd while his right hand fell to his hilt. His grip tightened, knuckles turned white, sword slowly slipping inch by inch out of its sheath, polished steel glinting in an errant ray of light… To then be pulled beneath a shadow, shoved into a space far too narrow.

Declan’s chest pressed into Lei’s with each labored breath. He watched every person that passed the stalls as if one of them would turn to face them, as if one of them was the culprit for the sudden panic. After a handful of moments that passed slower than watching sand fall in an hour glass, his gaze fell to the vise-like grip on his bicep. He tried to take a step back but was met with the side of a stall pressed into his back. His hold on his sword loosened, blade slipping back into its home as his hand moved from the hilt to press against the wall behind Lei in an endeavor to push himself backwards and wedge a sliver of space between them. 

[color=42557d]"What happened?"[/color] he asked with a steady voice, but it did not mask his confusion nor his concern. Declan continued to spare a sidelong glance toward the congested market street like he was waiting for the truth to reveal itself, but he was only met with more questions. His hazel eyes focused once more on Lei seeking answers or some sort of clarity in the man’s face, noting the stark paleness that was out of place given the sweltering heat. [color=42557d]"Are you faint?"[/color] he posed a second question, patient and slow to try and pull the man’s attention and ground him.

Her throat worked once, twice, a small convulsive movement that hurt more than any wound she’d ever taken in service to the Crown. When she finally found her voice, it was thin—too thin for Lei, too soft, too real. A sound that belonged to Soleil alone.

[color=b5c7eb]“I… I just saw my brother.”[/color]

The words trembled out of her as if torn from the deepest part of her. Only then did she become aware of everything—the narrow shadowed space, the heat trapped between their bodies, and the scent of him surrounding her. Riverwater still clung faintly to her own skin, cool and mineral-bright, but his scent pressed closer, warm musk, metal, and the lingering spice of sun-worn leather. It filled the tight pocket of air between them, made her pulse stutter, made the world feel too small to hold both memory and breath.

And her hand, gods, her hand was still locked around his arm.

She dropped it like a live coal, drawing back so quickly her shoulders hit the stall wall behind her with a soft jolt. Trinkets rattled faintly above her head. She braced against the boards, trying to steady her breath, to shrink herself, to find Lei again beneath the quaking edges. Her gaze lifted to him for a heartbeat, his closeness, his concern, the quiet strength in the lines of his face, and then she tore it away before it could unravel her any further. A long silence stretched, filled with the smell of river and steel and him, until she forced her voice back, shaped something steady from the fragments.

[color=b5c7eb]“I didn’t know the Járnbjørns would accept the request in full,”[/color] she murmured, speaking to the packed earth between their boots. [color=b5c7eb]“Not during thaw. It’s when the crops are busiest. When they’re… most needed.”[/color] A truth with its teeth filed down. A truth safe enough to offer. Another breath, another hesitation that felt like standing at the lip of a cliff. [color=b5c7eb]“I didn’t only leave Ironcrag.”[/color] The words fell from her lips slow, weighted. [color=b5c7eb]“I left my family, too. Because of our father.”[/color]

Her hands curled into fists at her sides, nails biting into skin to keep her voice from slipping off its tether. She risked one more glance at him, searching his face, silently begging that he didn’t know the exact number of Járnbjørn sons. That he wouldn’t count them. That he wouldn’t count her. [color=b5c7eb]“They don’t know I’m here,”[/color] she whispered. [color=b5c7eb]“And I wasn’t prepared to see him. Not… like this.”[/color]

The last words lingered, fragile as breath on winter glass, suspended in the warm, river-scented space between them, where truth and danger and something far more treacherous tangled quietly in the dark. Soleil bowed her head in deference, aware that she’d revealed far too much of herself than she’d have liked, especially to the Captain. [color=b5c7eb]“I am sorry.”[/color]

Declan remained silent, unwavering, and attentive. The man’s answers softened the tension that knotted along his shoulderblades and eased the breaths that were tight in his chest. There was a moment where his gaze drifted toward the crowd beyond the stalls, but he hadn’t a clue what the Járnbjørns looked like to be able to place one of the sons. He cleared his throat as if the confession or perhaps the dense heat stifled the air between them. [color=42557d]"I appreciate your candor,"[/color] he finally spoke, filling the silence with a calm understanding. His stance shifted to be a little less guarded as his pulse slowed and he no longer felt as though they were a moment from being attacked. 

[color=42557d]"I respect privacy, but when that privacy impedes my duties or the duties of my men then they must be spoken."[/color] Some of the light that had been a permanent fixture upon his face since stepping outside the Citadel had dimmed, replaced with an unspoken weight of command that created an intangible space between them that couldn’t be mended with closeness or words. 


[color=42557d]"Come. I know another route."[/color] Rather than slipping back out onto the market street, Declan pushed off the stall and snaked his way deeper through the maze of barrels, crates and other goods until they emerged in a narrow alley nestled between two wattle and daub buildings. As he walked, his pace lost a fraction of its ease, each step a bit heavier and resolute while he rolled his shoulders and rubbed his neck as if searching to find his composure he lost but a moment earlier. When he stepped out onto the adjacent street, Declan turned to the right under the assumption Lei followed rather than glancing over his shoulder to be certain.

The remaining moments of their journey were carried in a heavy silence weighed down by boots upon the cobblestone road in a contrasting cadence, muffled beneath the light laughter and revelry that filled the city. Declan’s gaze was downcast, following a path that had become second nature over the past handful of years. While he knew Lei was a Járnbjørn, he never thought to broach the subject of the House’s arrival to the valley. If all of the nobles had been sent a summons, then why would Lei assume the Lords of Ironcrag would not answer? It never crossed his mind to consider the man was hiding from his family, but now it was another complication he was unprepared to handle. He could not tailor an entire guard schedule to one man’s problems. That was an unfair bias and disregard for his other men… But deeper still, there was an unfamiliar discomfort that tightened beneath his ribs, finding fault in himself for not being approachable enough for his men to trust him.

The Black Rose was peaceful in its isolation, resting on the outskirts of the city, not a stone’s throw from the Raven’s nest. Nobles and knights alike crowded the street while women wrapped in silks whispered honeyed words and cooled themselves with feathered fans. The moment Declan came into view before the brothel every guardsmen tensed, growing silent and avoiding eye contact. Meanwhile the women’s eyes drifted and lingered on the one man who was untouched and refused to partake like he was a challenge, and she was the solitary person who could make him break. He weaved through the crowd giving his men sidelong glances as he passed, contrasted by the polite smiles and nods he offered the women. 

Lei followed him—because what else was there to do? What else [i]could[/i] she do, when the world had narrowed into a single corridor of motion, of footsteps, of breath forced in and out like something learned rather than lived? The moment Declan turned away, something inside her folded in on itself, quiet as fog disappearing in the morning light.

The cacophony of the market had dulled into a distant roar, as if she’d slipped beneath the surface of the sea once more. Sound warped. Light bent. The heat of the solstice afternoon washed over her skin but never reached her bones. She felt cold, bone-deep, marrow-deep, the kind of cold no sunlight could thaw. Every breath tasted thin and metallic, like the memory of blood in the back of her throat, like iron and fear and the echo of a childhood she had sworn she’d buried beneath her new life. The crowd pressed in around her, bright and loud and oblivious, yet she felt utterly apart from it all, drifting through the world like a ghost sewn poorly into a human’s shape. 

Her posture straightened of its own accord, sliding back into the disciplined lines of a King’s Guard. Chin lifted. Shoulders squared. Steps measured. She wore Lei again, not as a man she inhabited but as armor, welded tight around the soft, thrumming creature inside. Her face smoothed into calm neutrality, cool and distant, empty in the way a still lake is empty before winter steals over it entirely. 

A disguise, yes. But also a refuge.

She walked a half-step behind Declan, eyes forward, ears tuned to every shift in the alleyways and courtyards they passed, body alert and ready despite the storm breaking and reforming inside her. The memory of her brother’s face ghosted her vision, sharp jaw, stern mouth, those fierce eyes that had always softened when they turned to her. Elrik. Alive. Here. Close enough to touch. Close enough to ruin her. The ache of it hollowed her out. She felt impossibly young again, impossibly small, standing at the threshold of her father’s study, breath held tight like a bird in her throat. The old fear wrapped cold fingers up her spine, whispering of obligations and cages and futures carved for her by someone else’s hand.

And over it all came that quiet, relentless voice she thought she’d long since drowned. [i]You cannot escape this. Not really. Not ever. If your lies unravel, if your mask falls… you will be dragged back. You will kneel again. You will break again.[/i]

Her jaw clenched.

No.

[i]No,[/i] she would not return. Not to Ironcrag. Not to him.

If the truth cornered her, if her disguise shattered open in the light, she would choose the ocean before she ever chose her father. She would walk willingly into the deep, let the cold water claim her, let the tide carry her far from every voice that had tried to shape her into something she wasn’t allowed to be. But not yet. Not today. Today she followed Declan, her body the perfect reflection of duty, her face a mask of disciplined calm, her silence a blade sharpened against the scream that wanted to claw up her throat.

She was Lei. King’s Guard. And Soleil, frightened, trembling, longing, was pressed down beneath the weight of that truth, held tight where no one would ever see her. 


Declan reached the entrance of the brothel and hadn’t managed to raise his hand to knock when the door swung open with a soft creak of its heat swollen wood. Before him stood a buxom woman with a crimson satin shawl wrapped around her shoulders, preserving the bit of her modesty that had to be purchased with coin. Her long brunette hair was kissed by silver and pinned to her head to stave off the heat. Sweat beaded upon her neck, trailing down her skin until it disappeared beneath the red fabric. But even in her discomfort, her smile was bright and inviting like welcoming an old friend. [color=d6d6d6]"Ser Declan, what a wonderful sight."[/color]

The Captain’s effortless smile returned like it had never left, not letting his own thoughts pour into how he treated others. He reached out, taking the woman’s hand gently in his before bowing his head and placing a kiss upon her knuckles as if she were the most noble of women, not the madame of a brothel. [color=42557d]"Madame Lyssa, a pleasure as always."[/color] 

[color=d6d6d6]"The pleasure is always mine, my dear,"[/color] she replied with velvet words and a tap of her closed fan against his shoulder. 

A deep genuine chuckle rumbled in his chest as he took a slight step back and rested his palm atop the pommel of his sword. He nodded his head over his shoulder toward Lei, tousling sweat-dampened curls with the small movement. [color=42557d]"This is a friend of mine, Ser Lei."[/color] Declan pivoted slightly to meet the man’s gaze for the first time since they had left the alley, his gaze was pensive and heavy but masked by the ease of his stance and warmth of his demeanor like he was able to shelve his own concerns for a later time. [color=42557d]"Lei, this is Madame Lyssa, proprietor of The Black Rose and the loveliest lily in the valley."[/color] His smile widened, just a fraction, growing a soft charming air that he would deny if anyone dared ask.

[color=d6d6d6]"Flatterer,"[/color] she mused with another lighthearted pat of her fan against his chest. The Madame then turned her attention toward Lei, not losing an ounce of her natural charm as she looked him up and down with a newfound interest. [color=d6d6d6]"A pleasure to meet [i]you[/i], Ser Lei. Any friend of Ser Declan’s is always welcome in The Rose."[/color] She bowed slightly in polite greeting while her gaze never left his.

Lei stepped forward when Declan angled his body toward her, but only by the smallest measure, enough to be seen, enough to be acknowledged, nothing more. The mask she wore had settled into place with an eerie completeness, skin pulled smooth over the tumult that still churned beneath her ribs. Her expression was neither warm nor frosted with offense, instead, it held the immaculate neutrality of a man carved from still water. Not empty—only deep in ways no one was invited to wade into.

The Black Rose smelled of perfume and sun-warmed silk, of open windows and murmured laughter, of secrets purchased and tended like prized orchids. But beneath it all, Lei could still smell the phantom scent of riverwater clinging to her skin, threading and twisting with the heat of the crowd and the lingering musk of Declan’s nearness in the alley. The contrast only tightened something in her chest. She bowed her head in a courteous incline—precise, respectful, distant.

[color=b5c7eb]“Madame Lyssa,”[/color] she said softly, the words shaped with perfect decorum, though they lacked the lively cadence of Declan’s easy charm. [color=b5c7eb]“An honor. Thank you for your welcome.”[/color]

Her voice held nothing sharp, yet it carried none of the gentle warmth it sometimes did when she let her guard slip. This voice was practiced, measured, the tone of a soldier greeting a noble he’d never hope to know better. Her posture remained impeccable, shoulders squared, back straight, palms loose at her sides as though she had never known how it felt for her hand to tremble. She offered no smile, nor an ounce of discomfort, only the serene stoicism expected of a King’s Guard. Where Declan’s presence radiated warmth and sunlight, hers was moonlight reflected off steel—cool, controlled, and quietly unreachable.

The man before the Madame was whole again, unlike she had been after she’d seen her brother, but in the way a locked door is whole. Beneath the calm exterior her pulse remained taut, thrumming like a thread pulled too tight. She stood half a step behind Declan, perfectly positioned as a guard, perfectly arranged as a shadow. Lei held her ground with the quiet certainty of someone who had been forced all her life to survive by being unreadable. She bowed her head once more, politely, respectfully, distantly.

Declan’s right hand raised to scratch his chin beneath his short coarse beard while he scanned the surrounding area for lingering gazes or curious patrons wandering a little too close. While his brother’s… [i]appetites[/i] were fairly common knowledge, he still endeavored to keep moments like those silent. The valley did not need to know their heir was busy whoring and drinking rather than preparing to receive the Lords of the realm and choose a future bride. The people wanted security and assurances from their future King, not a man who falters under the weight of responsibility and lacks propriety. The people wanted [i]him[/i], not Dorian, but he turned away from that path a long time ago… His brother needed… Well, he needed a great many things, but most importantly time they could not spare. 

His gaze found the Madame’s as he took a small step toward her. [color=42557d]"Where is he?"[/color] His voice was a hushed whisper like a man embarrassed to confess his desire to purchase a woman rather than the heavier unspoken meaning. 

The woman turned to stand beside him, shoulder to shoulder as she slipped her hand beneath his arm and rested her palm softly against his forearm. [color=d6d6d6]"Right this way, Love."[/color] The Madame bowed her head toward him with the same charming smile before guiding him inside like a paying customer rather than a brother seeking a brother. While some might care about the whispers of others, Declan couldn’t be bothered when it came to what the townsfolk said when his back was turned. The King’s Guard were supposed to be chaste, but it was a rare occurrence where the men upheld [i]all[/i] of their vows. He had long since accepted the rumors in exchange for sparing his brother one less burden. So, he played along with a warm smile and a nod of his head beckoning for Lei to follow. 

Even in the heat of summer, The Rose never wanted for patrons. Deep whispers and soft giggles met Declan’s ears before his eyes had a moment to adjust from the bright sunlight to the near darkness of the room. The inside of the brothel smelled like sweat, sex, and alcohol masked by the heavy aromas of expensive perfumes and incense. The large central room was bathed in a rosy hue from the sheer curtains of crimson and blush that hung over the windows to preserve privacy but still let the faintest traces of sunlight slip through. Countless candles and oil lamps that hung from the ceiling contributed to the intimate ambiance without adding much in the realm of useful lighting. The way large pillow beds and various tables were scattered about the room spoke to the desire for privacy and anonymity, to be a forgotten shadow, faceless, nameless. Half naked women carrying fans nearly half their size walked around the room creating their own gentle breeze that didn’t quite cool, but kept the air from remaining still. 

Every seat was filled with a man eager to be sated and a woman in his lap happy to oblige. Several of those men, even masked in the darkness, had a familiar intonation to their voices or recognizable mannerisms that caught Declan’s attention. [i]Guardsmen.[/i] A tense silence befell the room as the men, one by one, began to notice their captain. Laughs died in the middle of a breath and coughing filled the stillness from drinks of ale that were interrupted mid-gulp. They did nothing, [i]said[/i] nothing… Just watched, knowing where he was heading and waiting for their moment to escape. 

Madame Lyssa led him through a winding labyrinth of tables toward the back of the building where several private quarters lived beyond closed doors… For an additional cost. At least Dorian had the sensibilities to keep his lecherous activities behind closed doors. But as they grew closer, Declan quickly realized that was the only secrecy his brother could be bothered with. His all too familiar roar of laughter could be heard several feet from the door, followed by a fit of giggles. No one lingered nearby, but the sidelong glances from his men said they knew. Hell, they were likely there on the Prince’s coin if he had to guess. 

[color=d6d6d6]"Prince Dorian,"[/color] one voice purred, lighter than air from beyond the door.

[color=d6d6d6]"[i]Oh[/i]... Your Majesty,"[/color] another followed, deeper, with a gruff lilt. 

Declan cleared his throat, head downcast as he steeled himself. He could run into a fight without a moment’s hesitation, but this was a battleground he had entered time and time again, yet never found his footing. He gave the Madame’s hand still hooked around his arm a gentle tap before freeing himself from her grasp. [color=42557d]"I appreciate your assistance as always, Madame."[/color]

She did not need to be told to leave, nor did she linger. Madame Lyssa simply bowed her head with her same warm smile and gentle words. [color=d6d6d6]"You know where to find me should you need me."[/color] Her hand slipped into the pocket of her skirt, pulling out a small bit of iron with a crimson tassel dangling from the round ornate bow of the key. Then she fluttered off, silent and weightless, like a guardian butterfly watching over her garden. 

His calloused thumb ran along the gentle ridges of the key before slotting it into the door. But before he threw the lock and pushed into the room, his gaze drifted over his shoulder to where his men still remained, frozen like animals playing dead, frightened that one move might reveal the truth. Declan cleared his throat, then spoke in a calm, yet commanding voice. [color=42557d]"If you are not in the Citadel upon my return, you will run drills in your plate armor."[/color] As he turned his attention back toward the door, mumbling and hurried shuffles ensued behind him. Women gasped as they were pushed from their perches and the occasional clatter of a chair toppling over broke the quiet calm of the room. In a matter of seconds half of the men were out the door, pulling their tunics on hastily and scooping up their boots without a care for putting them back on. 

Lei lingered several steps behind Declan as he moved deeper into The Rose, its perfumed shadows swallowing them whole. Her senses sharpened, if only because her mind demanded something, [i]anything,[/i] to anchor itself to besides the storm churning beneath her ribs. Incense. Cheap cologne. Velvet cushions warmed by bodies. Laughter pitched too high to be sober. The sultry murmur of women who knew how to wield a smile like a blade. All of it filtered past the veneer of her expression, which remained cool, composed, and utterly unreadable.

But what she did notice, what she couldn’t ignore, were the voices. Familiar ones. Scraps of laughter and poorly muffled curses. Heavy boots kicked beneath tables. A few men straightened so rigidly she wondered if their spines might snap. Guardsmen. The same men whose schedules she trained beside, whose jokes she endured, whose blows she traded at dawn. The embarrassment prickled beneath her skin like heat rash. Not hers, but [i]theirs.[/i] She could practically smell their panic: ale, sweat, and the sharp metallic scent of dread when a Captain’s shadow fell where it shouldn’t.

A handful pretended not to see her. One unfortunate soul choked on his drink so violently she feared he might die purely from mortification. But then, there he was. Torsten. One of the few with a sense of humor dry enough to match her own. A man who never pried, never needled, only offered a quiet word or sly quip in passing. He looked at her as he hurried by, boots in hand, tunic askew, hair disheveled, and gave her a crooked, rueful smile that said [i]we shall never speak of this again.[/i]

Lei allowed the barest twitch at the corner of her mouth, nothing more, a ghost of acknowledgment, and stepped out of his path. That was when the girl fell. One of the courtesans, dislodged in a patron’s blind scramble for escape, hit the floor with a soft gasp, skirts spilling around her like a burst rose. Lei moved without thinking, posture arrow-straight, slipping through the path of fleeing men to crouch at her side.

[color=b5c7eb]“Easy,”[/color] she murmured, voice still quiet, still distant, but softened by the discipline of duty. She offered her hands and helped the woman up with a firm, steady grip, making sure she found her footing. Dust clung to the girl’s bare knee, and her perfume, amber and something sweet, brushed against Lei’s senses like a warm sigh.

The woman blinked up at her, surprised… then delighted. Her lips curved slowly into a honeyed smile, one hand smoothing down her loosened hair. [color=d6d6d6]“Well now,”[/color] she purred, lashes fluttering. [color=d6d6d6]“I’ve never seen such a pretty man before.”[/color] Her gaze dragged down Lei’s form leisurely. [color=d6d6d6]“Perhaps I ought to give you a kiss in thanks for the rescue.”[/color]

For a heartbeat, Lei forgot the noise—the scrambling boots, the muffled curses, the embarrassed retreat of men who had never expected to see a Captain stride into their den of comfort and liquor. All of it dimmed, blurred, as the courtesan’s fingers brushed her arm in that teasing, feather-soft way meant to curl a man inward on himself.

It worked. But not for the reasons the girl imagined.

Heat flared across Lei’s neck so fast it felt like it burned through her collar, blooming under her skin with humiliating urgency. She had held a blade steady through snowstorms, had lied to everyone's face for a year to escape the beatings her father gave like candy, yet somehow one soft hand on her arm nearly undid her more efficiently than any enemy ever had. Her pulse leapt, traitorous thing, hammering against her ribs as if it desperately sought escape.

Declan glanced back over his shoulder with raised brows, catching a glimpse of the interaction as it unfurled. Most men would melt to words like those, weak-kneed and obedient to whatever that woman desired, but Lei looked more stunned than anything. The man’s face had turned as red as his hair from neck to forehead while he struggled to find a response. They were in a whore house after all, he wasn’t sure what the guard had expected, but perhaps it was Lei’s first time in an establishment like The Rose. Declan could still remember his first time fetching Dorian, all knock-kneed, stuttering and incapable of holding eye contact. It reminded him of his younger, more naive, self. 

[color=42557d]"Careful of distractions, lad,"[/color] he called out calmly with a faint hint of his lighter tone that had gotten lost somewhere in the market. 

Her composure wavered as her face flushed darker at Declan’s comment, the facade cracking for a moment, and she forced it back into place with the rigidity of a woman tightening a too-small cuirass. [color=b5c7eb]“I—that will not be necessary,”[/color] Lei managed, the words smooth in shape but strained in tone, pushing past a throat that felt suddenly tight. She steadied the courtesan with a careful, almost delicate touch; precise and brief, and then withdrew her hand as if the woman could burn her.

The girl’s perfume rose again, amber-rich, warm as a hand pressed against the hollow of Lei’s spine. It made the air around her feel too dense. Too intimate. She drew in a breath that wasn’t quite steady, realizing too late that it only pulled more sweetness into her lungs. She stood, posture ramrod-straight, as if discipline alone could save her from the warmth threatening to spill across her composure. She bowed her head just slightly, a gesture both polite and a subtle retreat. [color=b5c7eb]“I am simply glad you were not harmed.”[/color]

The courtesan’s smile deepened, slow and syrup-thick. [color=d6d6d6]“Such a gentleman,”[/color] she crooned.

Lei’s breath caught on the edge of her ribs. Gentleman. Gods. She cleared her throat, forcing her gaze away before she drowned in another second of that attention. [color=b5c7eb]“Yes, well…I…uh,”[/color] very eloquently she said, trying for distance this time, something cool, soldierly, and failing misterably. Her voice betrayed her with a faint quiver, and she felt it, felt the flush resting high on her cheeks like a brand.

Lei stepped away hastily, hands clasped behind her with rigid formality as she turned back toward Declan, toward the moans coming through the door, locking every inch of herself into order. But the girl’s laughter, a delighted, tinkling sound, followed her like heat, and Lei felt it bloom beneath her skin long after she’d pulled away.

Declan drew in a deep breath before turning the key in the lock and pushing open the door. The saltiness of sweat and sex collided with his senses first, before it mingled with the heavy lingering scents of expensive oils and perfumes that clung to the heat in the air like dampness to fog. The room was glowing compared to the dark shadows that hung over the common area. Bright sunlight flooded the private quarters with golden yellows and oranges from the lavish fabrics that draped along the windows, fell from the ceiling, and covered the various chairs and benches. Clothes discarded without a care were scattered about, hanging over armrests or strewn about the floor. Four courtesans surrounded the gathering of bodies, slowly waving large feathered fans to stir the air and giggling at the sight that befell before them. 

At the heart of the room was a large bed, framed in colorful sheer curtains and covered in a mound of pillows and flesh. There were at least half a dozen men and women tangled in a naked weave of limbs and at the center lay Dorian, a mess of brown curls and an arrogant smile, oblivious to anything happening beyond that bed. He was splayed along the pillows, a mix of chuckles and moans, deep and content, poured from him. A man curled into his right side, finger toying with his chest hair as he kissed Dorian’s neck. On his left a woman lay half on top of him, bent knee resting along his abdomen, breasts nearly smothering him as he seized one of her nipples between his lips with a devious chuckle. Then knelt between the Prince’s legs, a bare bottom pointed directly at the door, hands tightly gripped his thighs while a head bobbed in and out of view. 

Declan cleared his throat as he averted his gaze toward a lone boot that rested upon the tiled floor, discarded in the throes of passion. Startled gasps cut through the revelry and the subtle breeze from the fans ceased as the entire room drew still aside from the now deafening sounds of sucking and moaning that he dared not look at. He impatiently rapped his thumb against the door handle, waiting for his brother to notice but as the uncomfortable sounds continued, he could no longer remain silent. [color=42557d]"Dorian…"[/color]

There was another gasp as the woman between the Prince’s legs pried herself from him, scurried off the bed, and attempted to make herself invisible behind one of the fan bearers. The Captain grabbed the first piece of clothing within reach and tossed it at his brother, where it luckily landed in the vacant place between his legs, covering the part of him that neither Declan, nor Lei wanted to see.

Lei had known, [i]known,[/i] that entering a brothel with Captain Declan would be uncomfortable. She had not, in all her years of disciplined imagining, prepared for this. The moment the door swung fully open, the scene struck her like a blow to the chest, knocking the breath from her lungs and sending heat rushing up her throat so violently she nearly swayed. Her hand moved of its own accord, rising halfway before she could stop it—a soldier’s reflex repurposed into something far more fragile, the instinctual urge to shield her eyes like a startled maiden. She caught herself just before her palm met her face, fingers trembling midair, and curled it slowly, rigidly, back toward her side.

Duty did not allow her to look away. Decency begged her to.

Her compromise, desperate, pitiful, and utterly insufficient, was to anchor her gaze downward to the floor. She fixed her eyes on the mosaic tiles, on scuffed boots abandoned in the heat of revelry, on the delicate feet of courtesans shifting uncertainly, on the splay of toes and ankles that were far safer to examine than the tangle of limbs above. But even that was not entirely safe; a careless movement on the bed cast shadows across the floor that suggested far more than Lei wanted to know. 


[color=846d49]"Brother!"[/color] Dorian called out with an enthusiastic wave after freeing himself from the courtesan’s bosom. [color=846d49]"Care to join? There is plenty to go around."[/color] He motioned his hand toward the plethora of naked, willing, and able people that filled the room, more than a fair handful sparing Declan a suggestive smirk as their eyes trailed his body from head to toe. [color=846d49]"Women, [i]men[/i]—"[/color] the Prince lightly smacked the backside of the man that still remained close at his side. [color=846d49]"Whatever you desire."[/color]

Declan sighed, leaning some of his weight against the hand that held the doorknob while his other hand shifted to rest upon his hip. [color=42557d]"You know I am chaste."[/color]

Dorian scoffed as he shifted to prop himself up. His right foot slipped along the silk sheets until his knee was bent and he laid his arm atop it. The precarious bit of clothing slid down his thigh, just barely covering what lay beneath. [color=846d49]"None of your men are. Why keep up the pretense?"[/color]

Her cheeks burned. No—[i]blazed.[/i] The heat seared all the way to the curve of her ears, tightening her throat with humiliation on behalf of herself, her Captain, the courtesans, the Gods, the universe—anyone affected by the catastrophe of walking in on the living embodiment of debauchery. Declan’s brother writhed upon the mound of pillows like a man born from silk and arrogance, utterly unbothered by the intrusion. The courtesans had at least had the decency to still or scramble for cover. Dorian did nothing of the sort. When he addressed them—addressed Declan, but Lei felt the words against her own skin, it took every shred of her training not to choke on her own breath.

Lei made a sound she had never heard herself produce before. A sharp, indignant little noise, halfway between a gasp and a cough, the sound of dignity dying in real time. It escaped her before she could swallow it, a small betrayal of composure that she hoped the pounding of her pulse masked. She did not look up, could not look up, but she could feel the Prince’s gaze like a smirk pressed along her spine. His next words, lazy and dripping with amused accusation, fell over the room:

[i][color=846d49]“None of your men are. Why keep up the pretense?”[/color][/i]

Lei stiffened so hard her knees locked. Another choked sound threatened to claw its way out, mortification twisting her insides into knots. Because… Gods help her… he wasn’t wrong. She had seen enough fleeing forms to know precisely what their evening habits were. It was hardly her place to judge, she had no interest in their private pleasures, but to have it thrown so casually into the air, here, in this room where she wanted to dissolve into vapor and escape… she swallowed hard.

Her gaze, still on the floor, shifted to the discarded tunic at her feet, to a ribbon tangled around the leg of a chair, to the slow drip of spilled wine sliding down a tile. Anything. [i]Anything[/i] but the bed. Anything but the knowledge that she stood in the doorway of the Crown Prince’s debauchery while her Captain tried to wrangle dignity from a scene that had none to offer. Still, she forced her voice into silence. Forced her breaths to steady. Forced her stance into something resembling readiness, though her insides felt like hummingbird wings.

It was the same conversation, a different day. Dorian had been trying to convince him to forsake his dignity before he had vows to break. In the same way Declan tried to find some decorum in his brother and in turn his brother tried to loosen his tight grip on duty. It was a game of give and take where neither were willing to budge. It was maddening. There was a glimmer of a thought that with the added burden of the throne resting on Dorian’s shoulders that he might have put his people first, but the only time someone’s needs came before his were in the bedroom… And even that rested on the flip of a coin. Declan’s selfless sacrifice for the betterment of his brother mocked him day in and day out, knowing that the Ninefold was likely to fall into ruin at the hands of his brother. But as he did everyday before, he would fight relentlessly for the change… Fruitful or not.

The Captain sighed as he stepped further into the room and out of the doorway. [color=42557d]"Everyone out,"[/color] he commanded with a gentle but assertive tone. While the courtesans started gathering up their clothing and filing out, he wandered over to a small table where he saw some of his brother’s belongings and more specifically his navy velvet coin purse. He scooped it up. The sizable bag was hefty and jingled with a fair bit of gold. Just as the last woman went to leave the room, Declan stepped in front of her and held out the pouch. [color=42557d]"Take it. Split it amongst yourselves."[/color]

The girl’s eyes went wide as she hesitated for a moment. When he did not back down, she took the purse, clutching the navy fabric and silver cords in her petite palm and pressed it against her bare chest to support its surprising weight. [color=d6d6d6]"Thank you, Ser."[/color] She bowed her head deeply before disappearing into the common room of the brothel. 

[color=846d49]"[i]Woah,[/i] hey!"[/color] Dorian leapt up from the bed, disregarding the small bit of covering that fell from his lap to the floor.

Declan quickly grabbed the door, closing it enough to shield Lei and whomever else could be lingering about from seeing his brother completely nude. While Dorian was doing a spectacular job at ruining his own reputation, they did not need whispers of the Storvane brothers arguing in a brothel—one in the nude—while Lords and Ladies were waiting to receive them. Even their father couldn’t shield them from their mother’s wrath with a scandal like that. He turned around, peeking out at the guardsman from beyond the small opening. [color=42557d]"Give me a moment."[/color] 

He removed the key, shut the door, and locked it from the inside so they could not be disturbed. 

[color=846d49]"There was enough gold in that purse for a week,"[/color] Dorian argued, taking a step forward while pointing toward the door where the woman disappeared with all of his coin. 

[color=42557d]"Are you [i]aware[/i] of the time? Or the day for that matter?"[/color] Declan asked, disregarding his comment with furrowed brows. He crossed his arms loosely over his chest, standing between his brother and the door like a human barricade keeping the Prince trapped in his debauchery and locked away from future ruin.

Dorian blew out a breath, puffing up his lips with a flippant disregard for the severity of the situation, or perhaps ignorance. He sat down on the edge of the bed with a weak laugh as he lightly slapped his hands against his bare knees. [color=846d49]"Uncle Dunstan is the time keeper. Princes do not worry themselves over something so trivial."[/color] He shrugged his shoulders. [color=846d49]"I will know the time when I am summoned. Until then—"[/color] He raised a hand, motioning his index and middle fingers, beckoning for his brother to step aside, open the door, and send back in the whores. 

[color=42557d]"This [i]is[/i] your summons, idiot!"[/color] Declan snatched up a pillow that rested upon a nearby chair. Then, without warning, he threw it across the room, pelting his brother in the chest. The shock or force caught the Prince off guard and knocked him backwards against the bed with a grunt. [color=42557d]"Or more accurately, your summons was over two hours ago, when you were supposed to meet with our mother before the arrival of every Lord and Lady from across the Ninefold. But [i]surprise[/i], you were nowhere to be found, because you are more concerned about your cock than your duties."[/color] 

[color=846d49]"[i]Lords and Ladies,[/i]"[/color] Dorian repeated the words as his mind struggled to catch up to the meaning. He then sat bolt upright, wide eyed, and bewildered. [color=846d49]"The summer solstice?... [i]It’s the summer solstice.[/i]"[/color] There was a moment or two of panic before he deciphered the rest of Declan’s words. He had a brief thought to drown himself in the Weave to spare himself their mother’s anger, but it was quickly washed away by his brother’s final comment. [color=846d49]"[i]Duties?[/i]"[/color] The Prince spat the words back as he picked up the pillow that was lobbed at him and threw it back with twice as much force. It slammed into his Declan’s chest with a loud [i]thud[/i] and a guttural [i]oof.[/i] [color=846d49]"These were [i]your[/i] duties until [i]you[/i] stepped down!"[/color]

Lei had stepped back instinctively when the Captain eased the door halfway shut, shielding her from the worst of what his brother seemed intent on displaying to the world. She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, her lungs trembling with the remnants of shock, embarrassment, and the iron discipline she forced over all of it like a cooling sheet. The door clicked softly into place, leaving only the muted glow of the private chamber spilling into the hall, warm and indecent. Lei straightened, spine tall, shoulders locked into a perfect line. Her pulse still thrummed hot beneath her skin, but she fixed her gaze on the corridor ahead, guarding the threshold like it was the gate to the throne room rather than the entrance to chaos incarnate.

Behind her, through the muffled wood, came the low, rough cadence of raised voices—Declan’s steady, controlled timbre against Dorian’s sharper, more volatile bark. The words were indistinct, blurred by distance and the thickness of silk curtains beyond, but the sentiment was unmistakable: reprimand, deflection, pride, and frustration tangling like duelists in the dark. Lei kept her expression neutral even as the back of her neck prickled with tension. It felt improper to listen, yet impossible not to.

In the space outside the room, the atmosphere had shifted entirely. Where earlier there had been languid heat and hedonistic ease, now there was purposeful movement, courtesans gathering scattered garments, smoothing hair, adjusting shawls and skirts. Excited whispers ribboned through the air, light and bright as birdsong.

[i][color=d6d6d6]“That much gold?”[/color][/i]

[i][color=d6d6d6]“Did you see the weight of it?”[/color][/i]

[i][color=d6d6d6]“It was Ser Declan and one of the ravens of the citadel?”[/color][/i]

[i][color=d6d6d6]“Saints above, I’ve never—”[/color][/i]

The navy velvet pouch traveled from hand to hand with reverence, its silver cords gleaming like treasure in the dim light. Each woman took her share with laughter stifled behind palms, not out of shame but disbelief. Gratitude shimmered between them, a gift unexpected, undeserved by some of their own reckoning, and all the more precious for it. Lei allowed her focus to drift only slightly, watching from the corner of her eye as the brothel began its quiet transformation. Curtains drawn back. Floors swept with quick, efficient strokes. Perfume bottles recorked. A world winding down after being so wildly alive just moments before.

She nearly missed the soft footsteps approaching her. A petite blonde courtesan came to a stop just a few feet away, clutching the now-empty navy pouch in both hands. Her hazel eyes shimmered warm as honey, bright with lingering joy. But her posture was hesitant, shoulders tucked, chin ducked just enough to signal deference.

[color=d6d6d6]“Ser?”[/color] she ventured, voice sweet as spun sugar. 

Lei blinked, the address pulling her from her thoughts. [color=b5c7eb]“Yes.”[/color] Her voice was steadier than she felt. Controlled. Professional. A relief, so long as this one did not begin flirting with her.

The young woman held out the pouch, its weight now nothing but velvet, silk and air. [color=d6d6d6]“I believe this is yours to return,”[/color] she said softly, lashes fluttering as she peaked up at Lei. [color=d6d6d6]“Madame Lyssa said the Prince would want it back.”[/color] Lei accepted it carefully, her calloused fingertips brushing briefly against the courtesan’s smooth hands. She dipped her chin in a respectful nod.

[color=b5c7eb]“Thank you.”[/color] The words came quiet, gentler than she expected. The girl seemed much too delicate for this sort of work. 

The girl’s smile bloomed, shy and warm. [color=d6d6d6]“It’s we who should thank you,”[/color] she murmured. [color=d6d6d6]“For… everything today.”[/color]

Lei opened her mouth, whether to deny any role or simply to nod again, she couldn’t quite say, but the words tangled somewhere in her throat, turning to a faint, breathless hum instead. She hadn’t done much of everything, it had all been Declan after all. Being praised for it felt [i]wrong[/i] as it had been his good deeds, not her own. The girl giggled, a soft, tinkling sound, and floated away to join the others before she could say anything else, leaving Lei standing alone at her post, pouch in hand, heart still embarrassingly unsteady. She exhaled long and slow, grounding herself once more.

Captain behind the doors. Voices raised. Duty before all. She straightened her stance again, let her gaze fix once more on the hall, and waited, flustered, yes, but immovable, until Declan would open the door once more.

Several minutes passed of muffled shouts and the occasional clatter of thrown objects or perhaps thrown brothers. But eventually the sound of the lock’s tumbler shifting cut through the silence of the corridor outside, followed by the door opening with a soft creak of its hinges. The first to emerge was the Prince, donned in a commoner’s cloak that obscured most of his face, and clothing of… moderate means. Dorian could only keep up the ruse to some extent. He was, after all, a spoiled cunt of a Prince and was used to a certain degree of finery. His pace was slow like a scolded dog, head down, pouting. With each dejected trudge, a soft jingle of iron filled the brothel.

Following him was the Captain, one hand clapped on his brother’s shoulder, the other holding the bit of chain that hung between Dorian’s wrists, restrained behind his back. A victorious and devious grin curled at the corner of Declan’s lips and glinted in his eyes. They walked in silence, no words exchanged, until they came to a halt before the Madame. [color=42557d]"Apologies for the commotion."[/color] He returned the key gently into the woman’s outstretched palm. [color=42557d]"You all should take the night off, enjoy the solstice, and get out of this furnace. Courtesy of the Prince."[/color]

Dorian struggled against his brother’s grasp and rolled his eyes. [color=846d49]"[i]I[/i] should be enjoying the fruits of [i]my[/i] coin,"[/color] he whined like a chastised child. 

[color=42557d]"[i]You[/i] should be in the Citadel, bathing off the stench of sex, and preparing to meet prospective brides… Not wasting our father’s gold on whores."[/color] Declan started to herd his brother toward the exit when the weight of his words caught up to him. He sighed, lips tugging into a sympathetic smile as he turned toward the Madame. [color=42557d]"Apologies."[/color] His hand fell from Dorian’s shoulder to press against his chest while he bowed his head. [color=42557d]"I was careless with my words. I meant no offense."[/color]

Madame Lyssa placed her fingers delicately upon his shoulder, giving him a gentle squeeze with a kind smile. [color=d6d6d6]"None taken, love. We know what we are. But your generosity and respect is greatly appreciated. If but a fraction of the men that graced my establishment shared your compassion."[/color] Her cat-like gaze shifted to Dorian, even dipping her head a fraction so she could look into his sad eyes. [color=d6d6d6]"Always a pleasure, Your Grace. I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other soon."[/color] She gave him a small wave before wandering deeper into the brothel. 

As Declan stepped out from the aromatic shadows into the oppressive brightness of the setting sun, he could hear the Madame call out to her workers, [color=d6d6d6]"You heard the Captain, take the rest of the night off. Just be sure you return rested and ready to work by sunrise."[/color] Which was then quickly followed by elated cheers, laughter, and the scampering of bare feet throughout the building in a rush to gather their things and disappear into the crowd of the city.

Dorian groaned, dramatically, the second the sun barreled down on him and rays of heat seeped through the thick wool of his cloak. [color=846d49]"[i]Ira’s balls,[/i] the heat has only gotten worse."[/color] He flicked his head back to try and knock the hood off, but before it could slip halfway off his head, Declan was shoving it back up. [color=846d49]"Is this really necessary?"[/color] he groaned.

The Captain tugged him down an alley before Dorian made a scene that drew attention when they were barely two feet outside the brothel. Declan backed him up against a wall of one of the buildings, holding him in place with his forearm pressed against his brother’s chest. [color=42557d]"You’ve exposed yourself enough for one day, wouldn’t you agree? It would be best if we got you to the Citadel [i]unnoticed[/i] and without drawing any unneeded attention."[/color] 

[color=846d49]"Did your father not teach you how to speak to a [i]Prince?[/i]"[/color] Dorian asked with a quirk of a brow. While there was a heavy sarcasm that laced his words, hidden beneath it was a challenge, one only a brother could decipher. 

Declan shoved his arm harder against his brother’s chest, pinning him in place as he took a step closer, holding his gaze intently. [color=42557d]"For the sake of The Nine, shut your damn mouth before I shut it permanently."[/color]

[color=846d49]"Is that a threat?"[/color] The Prince’s smile grew devious. [color=846d49]"I could have your head for that, [i]Captain[/i]."[/color]

[color=42557d]"You said you were hot, [i]right?[/i] I’d be happy to throw you in the Weave if you wish to cool off."[/color] Declan asked as he pried his brother from the wall and shoved him forward hard enough that the Prince tripped, stumbled and nearly fell on his face. Thankfully he didn’t, because the last thing he needed to do was explain to his mother how he brought back his brother with a bruised face simply because he thought putting him in irons would be humorous. 

Dorian shot him an incredulous look after he found his balance. [color=846d49]"That is principicide."[/color]

[color=42557d]"[i]Four syllables.[/i] I’m impressed."[/color] Declan mocked as he grabbed ahold of the iron chain between his brother’s hands and continued to guide him further down the alley in the direction of the Citadel. [color=42557d]"Alas, you are but a common thief. I would be within my right to drown you in the river."[/color]

[color=846d49]"Fratricide then,"[/color] Dorian grumbled out his response as he took an unsteady step forward.

Declan looked over at him with a mischievous grin. [color=42557d]"... Only if I get caught."[/color]

Lei could only stand there, still as carved stone, yet inwardly reeling, as the two brothers left the room with the air of a pair of feuding alley cats. Bewilderment flickered across her face in a rare, unguarded tremor before she mastered it, blinking once… twice… as if her lashes could clear away the sheer absurdity of the image before her; the Prince, sulking beneath a borrowed cloak, hands bound like a common brigand, and Declan, Captain of the King’s Guard, guiding him with all the patience of a weary parent dragging an unruly child to bed.

When Dorian trudged past her, the jingle of his irons brushing the air like an accusation, Lei’s spine snapped straight. She followed at once, steps measured, her boots whispering against the warm cobblestones as they left the shadowed doorway behind. Their voices rose again, this time sharp enough to bite. [color=846d49]"I could have your head for that, [i]Captain[/i]."[/color]

Lei’s breath caught, just for a heartbeat. Her shoulders locked, jaw tightening, as instinct coiled in her muscles. She did not move, did not speak, but her posture sharpened like a blade being drawn. A Prince’s threat, even draped in sarcasm, was no small thing. Her gaze flicked briefly to Declan, swift, assessing, protective in a way she wasn’t sure she understood. He only pushed harder, leaning in with that dangerous, reckless calmness she had seen him wield during training. She swallowed. Steadied. Took her place at his back as he shoved Dorian forward into a stumble.

The brothers bickered in a way that was petty, biting, familiar. Lei followed in their wake like a shadow that had nowhere else to live, her silence deepening with every exchanged insult. When their argument reached a lull, Declan smirking, Dorian pouting darkly, she stepped forward and extended the empty velvet pouch toward the Captain. Her hand was steady. Her voice was not needed. She did not look at the Prince, she’d seen enough of him to last a lifetime, thanks.

Declan’s attention drifted sideways as something slipped into view out of the corner of his eye. He reached out and took the purse before looking up to meet Lei’s gaze for a fraction of a second. [color=42557d]"Thank you,"[/color] he spoke quietly as he tucked the velvet pouch into his brother’s pocket. Dorian probably had a handful of them, likely lost a dozen more, but the gesture was appreciated nonetheless.

She offered a grunt in response, keeping her eyes set ahead of them. This had been a mistake, one she realized much too late. The Captain was too close now, saw too much of [i]her[/i] and she’d have to do…something, to remedy that. Likely fold in on herself more than usual. The sun leaned heavy against the city, drenching the stone alleys in amber heat as they walked. The Prince grumbled under his breath, weaving insults and complaints into the air like he hoped one might sting enough to earn release. Declan ignored him with the casual expertise of someone long inured to the antics of his younger kin.

Lei remained a pace behind, dutiful, watchful, and painfully thoughtful. This was the future King. The truth settled on her tongue, metallic and unwelcome. She’d known it, of course, everyone did, but hearing the Prince brandish execution and authority so carelessly made the reality feel far sharper, he was horribly irresponsible. Declan had given up the crown, but she couldn’t think of any feasible reason he’d have for doing so, unless he wished to cast the Kingdom into ruin. She ought not doubt Dorain, it was unbecoming of a Kingsguard, and yet…

Her loyalty, which should have been tethered to the crown, to the Prince first and the Captain second, had shifted somewhere along the way. She felt it, quiet and instinctive as breath, the subtle lean of her purpose toward Declan rather than his brother. She felt responsible for him, protective in a way that went beyond title or oath. As though his wellbeing mattered more, somehow. 

[i]That is not how it should be,[/i] she told herself. [i]That is not how it must be.[/i] 

Yet the thought lingered, stubborn and traitorous.

She glanced at Declan, broad shoulders bathed in setting sun, hair tousled, gait steady even while dragging a complaining prince behind him. He laughed under his breath at some muttered barb from his brother, a warm, rolling sound that softened the hard edges of the city around them. Lei’s chest tightened, unwelcome and unmanageable. She pushed the feeling down—deep, deeper—and refocused on the road ahead. Her duty. The Citadel’s distant silhouette. The approaching night.

The two brothers walked on, still bickering, still bound together by chain and blood and affection buried beneath irritation. Lei followed behind them with a sword at her hip, a storm in her ribs, and the uncomfortable realization that her loyalties were no longer as cleanly drawn as they ought to be.[/color][/justify][/indent][/indent][/indent][/indent]

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[color=808080][b]interactions[/b] [color=2e2c2c]....[/color]|[color=2e2c2c]....[/color] dorian [color=2e2c2c]...............[/color] [b]mentions[/b] [color=2e2c2c]....[/color]|[color=2e2c2c]....[/color] none [color=2e2c2c]...............[/color] [b]collabs[/b] [color=2e2c2c]....[/color]|[color=2e2c2c]....[/color] [@Sleepy Tani][/color]
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