[IC] 🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕 (Page 110)

FLASHBACK

John & Charlotte

Part 4

Time: Ignis 1 Afternoon
Location: Woods near Lovers Lake

The density of the trees thinned as they made their way down the final stretch toward the lake.

Lover’s Lake spread out before them, its surface shimmering beneath the sun. The air felt cooler here, damp with moss and the area was shaded by the canopies of trees. A few families were still scattered along the shoreline, blankets laid out as their children dug merrily in the sand.
Charlotte slowed, her steps faltering as she took in their surroundings.

“Charlotte…”

“John…”

Her gaze was drawn across the lake as that strange voice met her ears. 

It was just like the library.

White water thundered down the distant cliffs, spilling into the basin below. The sound of it pressed against her insistently, as the waterfall itself was beckoning her too. The voice rose again from that direction, clearer now. 

Charlotte’s dark hair whipped behind her with the breeze. For one second, she considered it. 

Then she looked away.

Whatever waited there would have to wait for her. The matter of finding Steven was much more important.

West of the area, near an entrance to another path through the woods: the land rose gently—two low, rounded hills, their slopes mirrored on either side of a narrow overgrown footpath that vanished into the trees. The trail was well-worn by children’s footprints.

“John…”

She lifted a hand, indicating the rise ahead. Her gaze traced the shape of the hills, one… then the other. “Do you see them? The two triangles,” she murmured, almost to herself. “Placed side by side… with a path between.”

Her eyes followed the trail into the trees, where the light dimmed quickly and the forest thickened. “They were playing hide and seek, I presume.  she added softly, “Something obvious to them… and invisible to anyone else.”

She looked back to John then. “If this is where the triangles lead…” she said, quietly, “…then the turns come next.”

The duo pressed onward, occasionally pushing aside branches as they followed the narrow path into the woods. Time stretched as the trees thickened around them, until at last a crossroads emerged.

Charlotte slowed, recalling the instructions—two rights, then three lefts. She gestured them to the right, committing to the first turn. The next decision point did not come quickly. The path wound on and on, and with each passing minute she found herself questioning what on earth had possessed a group of children to venture this far into the woods simply to play hide-and-seek. 

Nearly twenty minutes passed before the final turn was behind them, and they found themselves approaching a small clearing ahead. Smoke curled from a cookfire in the center of the clearing. 

Charlotte saw two men immediately in leather—one pacing with agitation, the other planted like one of the trees, arms folded. Their voices carried in a way that suggested they were in the midst of an argument that had been circling for far too long. She took John’s hand and pulled him into the shadows with her, pressing them close to a trunk.

It was then she noticed a young boy was lashed to a tree with rope, wrists high, shoulders pulled back. Dirt streaked his face and clothing. He should’ve looked small like that, but his mouth narrated a different story.

“If you’re going to execute me,” he said brightly, “could you at least do it now so I don’t have to listen to you two idiots talk any longer?”

The pacing hunter retorted, snapping, “He’s a witch, Digby. ” and the other shot back, “He’s a kid.”  Steven tilted his head, eyes flashing. “For the record, I’m not just a kid. I’m a great kid. Practically collectible.”

“Stop talking,”  the pacing hunter hissed,  “Hours of this. Hours. You don’t get to—”

“Oh, have we passed hours?”  Steven asked, feigning surprise. “Here I thought you’d been threatening me for days. My mistake.”

The other man’s jaw tightened. “Enough,”  he said tiredly. “We keep him alive until we’re sure.”

“And how sure is sure?”  the pacing hunter snapped back, hands splayed in a gesture of maddened disbelief. “He laughed when I said cleansing. He’s not normal.”

Steven gave a helpless shrug as far as the ropes allowed. “I laugh at a lot of things. Coping mechanism.”

A twig snapped under Charlotte’s boot and she bit her lip, her eyes widening in alarm. The sound seemed to slice straight through the clearing.

The standing hunter paused then let his hand drift to a string of beads at his wrist—stones threaded with iron, each one etched with tiny marks Charlotte couldn’t make out. He thumbed them once. Then again—slower.

The beads clicked. 

His expression tightened.“Hold.”  He lifted his wrist toward the dark beyond the camp, scanning the treeline. “That’s not him.”

Steven perked up immediately, eyes widening with vindictive delight. “Told you. I’m very upfront about my hobbies.”

“There’s a witchblood nearby,” The pacing man’s mouth twisted with hunger. He turned toward the shadows as if he could will them to part. “Someone came back for him.”

Steven’s grin faltered for a moment then he forced it back into place. “Well,” he said, “whoever it is—hi. I’m Steven. I’m tied up. I would like to not be tied up anymore.”

“... Perhaps I should draw them off—have them chase me—while you free the boy?” Charlotte’s voice softly filled John’s ear.

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Part 5

Time: 2nd Ignis, Evening
Location: The Damien Estate

“You’ve asked your questions. Now, I believe it’s my turn, and I’d like to start with the most curious of us at this table.” The attack was warm and friendly. “You must tell me how the courtship between you and Lady Vikena is going? I mean, her father might be a lunatic, but Charlotte is…” He made an uneasy face. “Plain is probably the best word, which probably makes it that much easier for you, being a Damien. You could probably do better, but the Duke of Vermillion’s daughter that everyone overlooks might be a great choice in the longterm. I might be lucky enough to see a Duke Damien in my time.”

Cassius finally allowed his gaze to slip away from Marek as Alexander addressed him. The man’s comment about Charlotte was an obvious barb meant to stir the coals within him. He did not give Alexander the satisfaction of a response outside of the slightest scoff of a chuckle escaped him. 

Marek’s fingers stilled against his glass, the smile at his mouth thinning as though something inelegant had just been spoken aloud.

“Does it not have a nice ring to it? Duke Damien,” Lianna repeated with a thin smile.

“It’s the D’s, I think.” Alexander nodded to his wife.

“Yes, the D’s. It’s quite nice.”

Calbert shifted back in his chair, the wood giving the faintest sound beneath him. He had been about to speak up, but his wife beat him to the punch. Lily had smiled suddenly, folding her arms on the table. “My, my,” Countess Damien said pleasantly, folding her arms atop the table. “I have indeed noticed the way Cassius looks at Lady Vikena.”

Her smile did not falter. “Which makes it rather interesting that you should raise the subject at all, Mr. Deacon—considering how frequently your own name has been whispered alongside hers of late.” She tilted her head, as if recalling the details. “The art gallery, in particular, seems to have inspired quite a bit of discussion.”

Her eyes met his, bright and curious. “Rumors, of course. But care to enlighten us anyway?”

The ironclad grip Cas had formed on his composure slipped ever so marginally as he listened to Lily’s insinuations. His grin all but fell away; the eyes that had been calculatedly softened by that smile hardened as they broke from Alexander and moved instead to his plate of food. The thought of a vile thing like Alexander alone with Charlotte began to heat his blood. 

Though curiosity festered within him like a nagging wound, he dared not wait to hear any revelations. It was time for him to remove himself from the moment. 

“Please…continue on with such fascinating conversation, however I must excuse myself for the moment. I fear the holiday’s sporting has finally caught up to me. I’m in need of a bit of fresh air.” Cassius spun the narrative with charm, though inside his blood was not far from reaching its boiling point. He did not wait for permission or response as he walked away from the table in the direction of the front door. 

“Hmm,” Alexander let out, vocally marking Cassius’ departure. It was good for the young man, and an even grander opportunity for himself. He and Charlotte were now placed into center focus, with not a soul around to speak for her. 

Violet’s gaze followed Cassius only briefly, crimson eyes tracking his retreat until the front door swallowed him whole.

Her fingers curled subtly in her lap.

Instinct urged her to rise, to follow, to offer some quiet word or simply stand near him until the worst of it passed. But she stayed. Cassius was not a man who unraveled under watchful eyes, and an empty chair at the table would speak louder than any concern she could voice. Space, she knew, was sometimes the kinder choice.

Charlotte however, seemed to be a common concern of his, not just passing interest. Not a mere rumor. There was something deeper there than Violet had understood, something raw enough to crack Cassius’ carefully cultivated armor. 

She drew a slow breath and straightened, lifting her chin as she turned her attention back to the table.

“If I may,” Violet said calmly, her tone composed but firm as her gaze settled on her mother. “They were only rumors indeed.”

Her eyes flicked briefly to Alexander before looking at her mother. 

“Lord Ravenwood and I were both in attendance at the gallery,” she continued evenly. “We spent the evening in quite pleasant conversation with Mr.Deacon and Lady Charlotte. Mainly discussing the displays and the artists before we all departed.”

She allowed a faint, polite smile to surface.

“Art has a way of encouraging speculation where none is warranted,” she added lightly. “Sometimes I feel people are less interested in the art on display and more interested in the people who enjoy the art.” She took a sip of her wine. 

“Spoken with wisdom beyond her years…” Lianna replied with a pleasant smile. [color=paleviolet]“But I believe Alexander mentioned something occurring between himself and Lady Vikena.”[/color] She nodded, positive that her revelation debunked Violet’s testimony. It even provoked Alexander to blanket her hand with his own, as if he was preventing her from striking with a phantom blade in her grasp.

“Lianna, please…” Alexander frowned, shaking his head at her as if she could see it. “Charlotte was-”

“She was being young!” Lianna cut in with a humored and easy tone. “I’ve outgrown jealousy, my love. It is a feeling we wives must set aside when our husbands are so handsome. I’m sure Countess Damien would back me up.” The comment drew a giggle out of the countess, as Lianna laughed lightly into her hand, before continuing, “Charlotte is just… playing the field. It's likely why she jumped at the opportunity to participate in this morning’s dating auction.”

“Lianna…” Alexander's voice dragged almost harshly, his face rather stern.

“That tone is undeserving.” She tilted up her head in playful defiance. “I was simply answering the question posed by the countess, dear.”

Marek watched the exchange between Alexander and Lianna with faint, academic interest, but his eyes often shifted over to Calbert as he enjoyed seeing the gears turn and the emotions cycle in the man’s gaze. 

But eventually, he grew tired of the game and set his glass down with just enough force to alert the room.

“Despite such…quaint conversation. I find,” Marek said mildly, rising from his chair, “that I have seen all I intended to this evening.”

The movement itself was unhurried, elegant even. As though the dinner had now ended precisely when he decided it had. 

“Count Damien,” he continued, inclining his head just enough to be respectful without being deferential. “Your hospitality has been… illuminating.”

His eyes flicked briefly to the table. To the food untouched by Violet. To the tension still coiled in the empty chair Cassius had left behind.

“Let that boy of yours know that I look forward to our next meeting, but for the rest of you… I trust you will continue to enjoy your evening.”

Marek turned then, the hem of his coat whispering against the floor as he began toward the door. He was nearly at the threshold when he stopped and stood in complete stillness for a beat. He then turned back around ever so slowly that the room seemed to tilt with the motion.

His gaze found Violet with unnerving precision.

“Lady Violet.”

The way he spoke her name carried authority, almost as though he owned it. Though there was charm there still, an antiquated sense of effervescence that felt almost alien. 

“Should you ever wish to meet the man who put the axe in your head,” he said, voice smooth, conversational despite the heaviness of the topic. “you need only ask.”

He paused there for maybe two seconds before turning and continuing his stride. From the threshold of between the dining and beyond, he said his final piece. 

“I know exactly where he is.”

And with that, Marek Delronzo turned and walked out, his presence peeling away from the room like a shadow retreating at dawn.

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Kalliope's Kidnapping

Time: 3am, Ignis 3
Location: ????

The first thing Kalliope heard was the snap of a match.

Sulfur hit her first, like someone had struck a match right under her nose, and the smell yanked Kalliope up out of blackness before her mind could assemble a single coherent thought.

When her eyelids fought open, she saw: stone closing in on every side, damp air that tasted like old metal, a single candle with its flame dancing and stretching shadows across the walls. When she inevitably tried to sit up, she’d discover, in the same motion, that her body no longer belonged to her.

Her wrists were forced behind the chair, locked in iron cuffs that bit into already aching skin, the chain between them too short to grant comfort. Her shoulders screamed the moment she pulled, heat and tearing pain blooming along the joints as if someone had designed the angle to punish instinct. Her ankles were shackled as well, linked close enough that even shifting her feet scraped skin raw. 

A strap cinched her torso to the back of the chair, so tight that every breath perpetuated her pain.

Then she felt the collar. The moment she tensed, the warding reacted. Pain slid behind her eyes like a blade being pushed in slowly. She didn't scream; she merely sucked in a hissing breath through gritted teeth and threw her head back, eyes squeezed shut as she waited for the room to stop vibrating.

A laugh finally greeted her, thoroughly entertained, as though her suffering was all too amusing.

Felix Ivanov stood a few steps away in the candlelight, tall enough that the ceiling arches made him look even longer, his posture loose in a way that suggested he had all the time in the world. His countenance held seriousness that didn’t match the amusement in his eyes.“Careful,” he said, voice mild, “That collar doesn’t like enthusiasm. It will treat panic the same way it treats defiance, and it’s very thorough about both.”

He was a sharp-featured young man dressed in a dark turtleneck with tousled dark-brown hair and striking eyes. His jaw was set, mouth relaxed in a way that read more bored than anything. 

Across from him, perched with feline ease as if she’d always belonged in dark places, Yuka Hanami watched with bright attention. Her black hair was swept up with a few loose strands that look intentionally placed. Dressed in glossy black with a severe collar and clean lines, she looked like elegance weaponized. There was warmth in her smile, the kind that could almost be mistaken for friendly. “You’re awake,” Yuka murmured, leaning forward, as if Kalliope were something interesting she’d found on a street and decided to keep. “I’ve been waiting for a long time.” She tilted her head, eyes blinking in an almost inhuman way.

Felix crouched in front of her. “You’re under Sorian,” he said, not bothering with dramatic emphasis because he didn’t need it. “Old service tunnels, older than the parts people pretend are ‘historic.’ Stone, iron, and a lot of space that doesn’t echo the way you want it to. You can scream if that helps you, but it will only change the air temperature in the room.”

He tilted his head toward her bound hands. “Cloth over the hands so you can’t do anything precise. Wrists behind you so you can’t generate leverage. Ankles close-chained, so you can’t brace or lunge. The strap is there because people with your kind of willpower throw their weight around when words don’t work, and I’d rather you didn’t test the chair. The collar is the important part.”

His fingers didn’t touch her, but his gaze did. “The collar isn’t here to choke you. It’s here to stop you from doing whatever it is you do when you feel cornered. If you keep pushing, it gets worse, and it doesn’t get tired. It can outlast you.”

Kalliope’s skull thudded against the chair, every word from Felix slicing through the fog in her head: the cuffs, the shackles, the silence. Candlelight jittered above, smearing gold across the sweating stone ceiling as her vision clawed its way back to clarity.

A low, broken sound rattled up from her chest—first a wheeze, then a laugh, black and sharp, bouncing off the tunnel walls. She let it run wild, the sound jagged and mocking, until she finally dragged her head upright. Her eyes, green and wild, caught Felix’s and held, glittering with something feral and unsteady.

“You talk a lot for a man who needs a leash and a chair to feel safe in the same room as me,” she rasped, her voice scraping out like gravel. She shifted, the iron gnawing at her skin, and let her gaze slide to Yuka. That 'warm' smile—she’d seen it before, on the faces of monsters who liked to savor their meals.

“And as for the screaming?” Kalliope leaned in, the strap biting deep, a slow, wicked grin splitting her blood-smeared mouth. “I only scream for those who’ve earned it, darling. So far, all you’ve done is prove how scared you are of what I could do with my hands.”

The collar jolted against her throat, a punishing throb, but she refused to look away. “So, are we going to keep prattling about how fucked I am and what pain’s waiting if I twitch wrong, or are you finally going to tell me what you want?”

Felix smirked, his eyes drifting over her face like he was picking a point to press until it bled. “Yeah,” he murmured calmly, voice deep and heavy, “and you talk a lot for a girl who thought the bed was wet from the rain.”

He straightened with unhurried ease, then began to pace, slow enough that every scrape of his boots felt intentional, counted out, inevitable. The candle flame shivered when he passed, stretching his shadow across her throat and collar like a hand.

He stopped at her ear, close enough that his voice seemed to come from the stone itself. “And you talk a lot for a girl who still thinks the part where you survived was luck.” he breathed.

Felix’s smirk pressed down on her like a boot to the chest, but it was his voice—those low, deliberate words curling into her ear—that cut deeper than any collar ever could.

The bed was wet from the rain.

Kalliope’s breath caught, sharp and ragged, betraying her before she could swallow it down. The mocking grin stayed plastered on her lips, but it went stiff, cracking into something fragile and false. Her heart slammed wild and uneven against the strap across her chest. That wasn’t a taunt; it was a ghost clawing up from the grave.

The tunnel vanished. She was back in that room, the sticky drag of blood-soaked sheets clinging to her small limbs. Mildew gave way to the thick, metallic stink of her parents’ lifeblood. The candle’s flicker twisted into the roar of flames devouring her home. Silence shattered under the memory of her aunt’s voice, raw and desperate, screaming at her to run.

The river’s cold still gnawed at her bones, making her shudder. Hafiz’ face flashed up and she tried not to flinch at the memory of the man who’d dragged her from the dark and forged her into a weapon. If they knew about the bed, they knew about the rescue. They knew it all.

She forced her eyes to stay open, though they were stinging with a sudden, unwanted heat. She followed Felix with her gaze, but the feral light was gone, replaced by something cold and calculating.

“I’ll ask you again, you went through a lot of trouble to kidnap me,” she began, her voice dropping to a flat, dangerous monotone. She didn't bite at the bait about luck or survival. She didn't ask how they knew. She simply stared through him, her expression as cold and impenetrable as the stone walls surrounding them. “What the fuck do you want?”

The candle suddenly did something candles weren’t supposed to do. Its flame didn’t gutter or bow to a draft... It stretched, as if the light itself had been hooked and pulled toward the doorway. Shadows followed, lagging behind the movement of the air.

Felix stopped pacing. Yuka’s smile thinned, not with fear, but with the alert stillness of a predator noticing a larger one has entered the same territory.

An older, black-haired man with gruff facial hair and an intense gaze like no otherstepped into the candle’s reach without urgency. The firelight slid across the scars on his face and found nothing soft to cling to. His eyes were entirely black, depthless as a well that didn’t reflect the sky.

A wicked smile touched his mouth like he was remembering an old pleasure.

“Why Kalliope?” His voice was low, deep, almost conversational in a casual way as it echoed unnaturally. “It’s you I want.”

—and then Kalliope’s scream tore through the tunnels.

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        A S K E L  &  L U C I A N 
       A S K E L  &  L U C I A N 

Time: Mid-Day, 3rd day of Ignis
Location: Outskirts of Sorian
Attire: Riding gear
Interactions: Askel @Remram
Mentions: Marina @princess, Thrane @Oso, Sylvia @AuthenticTomb
TL;DR:
Lucian and Askel trauma dump on each other a bit and both feel better(?) about it afterwards. Plus a bit of typical sibling shit.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Lucian pulled at his horse and called for it to slow down once he was sure he and Askel were outside in a less populated area. The area was calm, a soft warm breeze moving through the trees. He tugged his tawny horse to the side to spin around to meet Askel head-on as he came to stop nearby. He watched his horse dip down to eat some of the grass and chuckled softly. 

Lifting his head, Lucian spoke to his brother, ”I see your horsemanship has gotten even better. Not that you were ever bad at it.”

"When you spend most of your day with your bum on the saddle of a horse you'd improve too." Askel said with a playful smirk as his horse came to a slow stop soon after Lucian. He took a deep breath and took in the scenery; his eyes filled with fondness for the scenery, something that felt so familiar to him and comforting and yet, there was tension, an awkwardness that was hard to put into words.

Askel's focus returned to his brother. "It's been a while, hasn't it? He said with his ever-warm smile though Lucian could tell that there was guilt behind it. "Us spending time together I mean. You and Sophia used to visit me so often after Ambrose wore me down to the marrow. You'd pick me up like a sack of potatoes because I was so bloody useless afterwards though I think these days I could pick you up pretty easily."

Askel’s comment reminded Lucian of the weeks he wasted after Sophia died and his faint smile faded into a mask of guilt. He forced a small smile and a nod in Askel’s direction. 

“It has been far too long.” He returned softly, a somewhat pained expression on his face that only grew as Askel continued. The memories themselves were warm, gentle, and filled with love, but all they brought him now was pain. The type of pain that cuts like cold steel, sapping energy. He looked Askel over, his last comment causing the older male to inspect his younger brother, which was a welcome distraction. Askel had certainly grown more muscular and lean. Where he had once been thin and bony, he had filled out with muscle, and the calluses on his hands showed his efforts with the sword. 

After a moment, he finally spoke again. ”You’ve become a good man, Askel.” There was a hint of sadness in his voice, though if asked, Lucian wouldn’t really know what to attribute it to. Guilt over not having protected Askel more or being there for him? Lingering feelings from Sophia being mentioned? It all felt muddied together in his mind. ”A fine man.” He offered again, trying to sound a bit less… depressed.

”Pick me up though, and I might punch you.” He added with a slight smirk, trying to lighten the mood.

An amused grin spread along Askel's face at the supposed threat from his older brother. "Many have tried and many have been laid out by my hand." That grin softened into something sheepish though appreciative. "But thanks, it does mean a lot coming from you. It really does." He looked at Lucian, the man that he in some ways chased after from behind. Askell knew that Lucian would become not just a good king, but a fantastic king and he wanted to stand by his side as his knight though all he could see was the man he admired, barely holding himself together. 

Askel had to be a rock, a foundation for him. It was the least that he could do for the man in front of him and for everyone, for the people still alive for he could do nothing for the dead. His violet blue eyes searched over his brother, knowing that the ghost of Sophia haunted him and it filled Askel's heart with a pain that was all too familiar to him. The pain of watching someone lose someone, the pain of losing someone important to himself, and the pain of absolute helplessness though he hid it behind a smile. 

"You know, it's funny. I find myself feeling out of place these days among the luxuries we had growing up. I sometimes forget that I am a prince of a nation, not just a knight. It's been an adjustment I have to say." Askel admitted to his older brother. "I mean, you should have seen the place that Sylvie picked out for dinner the other night! There was a pool in the middle of the restaurant! Who in the world thought that was a great idea?" He laughed though it was plain to see that there was some insecurity behind his eyes. 

His smile was nervous as his eyes cast downward. "I guess I can't help, but to worry, you know? I'm a representative of Varian, not just as a knight, but as a prince, your brother. What if I mess up? What if I embarrass you?"

Lucian chuckled at the retort, knowing full well his brother would never, at least not outside of sparring with one another. Though he had no doubt his brother could lay him out flat if he really wanted to. 

There was a soft silence that fell between them for a moment. It wasn’t long, but Lucian could see the younger boy looking him over. He couldn’t quite understand everything going on in that head of his, but he had to imagine he was worried. Lucian would be too, were the roles reversed. 

Lucian let out a soft chuckle at Askel’s admittance. ”A pool… That does seem a little over the top.” He remarked, shaking his head at the thought of it. He’d have to see if he could get one of the girls to take him there too. He’d have to see it for himself to believe it. 

He straightened a bit on his horse as Askel continued, his voice a little more nervous and anxious. He couldn’t remember the last time he had seen or heard Askel being this vulnerable with him. He let a gentle smile spread across his face, and he guided his horse closer to his brother. 

”Give me your hand, Askel.” He told him, it was gentle but a command nonetheless. When he did, Lucian turned it over in his own hands. ”Did you know that I was jealous of you?” He started, looking up at him.

”These are hands that have seen more and done more for our kingdom that I think I have in my entire life. These are hands that have seen hard work and seen our people’s plights.” He turned his gaze up to look Askel directly in the eyes. ”I know the pressure of being a prince is a heavy one, believe me.” He paused, his eyes getting that heavy, sad look on them again, ”I believe in these hands and the mind that guides them. You are a Camilia. You will not be able to please everyone, that is a fact of life. You will make mistakes and you will learn from them. But please, know that, as your brother, I will always be here for you.” He squeezed Askel’s hand before letting him go. 

Lucian's words touched Askel and yet his heart ached. 

"But I failed you, didn't I? As your knight and as your brother. I do not deserve such kindness from you." Askel said, his eyes casted downward with a gnawing sense of guilt. "When I ventured out into the world, I did it so I could understand it for you, my future king. The crown is already so heavy, it's a burden that I cannot dare to imagine. The things that I have seen, things I would not wish to utter, I would not wish for you to bear it on your shoulders as well. I wished to guide you, to counsel you as your knight and as your brother."

The knight glanced down at his hands and gripped them tightly; his brow furrowed with frustration. "You speak of these hands, but they were too far away to protect those that I hold so dear. I know all too well that I can't save everyone, but I could have saved her! I should have been there! In my conceit I failed you, I failed Ambrose, I failed Sophia, and I failed your child! I failed everyone!"

Askel looked up though he couldn't look his dear older brother in the eye, tears welling in the corner of his eyes. Brusquely, he wiped them away. "Forgive me, that was rather unbecoming of me. I do not want to add to your list of troubles. You already have enough of them."

Lucian listened quietly while his brother spoke. He thought to comfort him, let him know that it wasn’t his fault, but then he would have to admit that there was nothing he could have done either and there was no part of him that would ever admit that. Still, he had to find some words that he hoped could offer him peace, even if marginally. 

”Askel…” He started, letting out a soft sigh. ”We all failed her. It is our burden to bear as a family. That burden is not yours alone to shoulder.” He offered, his voice strained as he choked back his own anguish. ”Failure teaches. Like hardened steel, we become strong because of the mistakes we have made, we learn from them.” He continued. He straightened his back, swallowing to try to steel himself against his own emotions. He wanted desperately to protect his brother from all of this. No part of him ever wished to share his pain with his siblings. This was his burden, his shame. 

Regret washed over him like a cold breeze. ”No, I’m sorry. You… had nothing to do with it. Should have and could haves would not have changed anything.” He sighed, shoulders hunching over, ”You should be proud, and I truly mean that, of the path you have chosen, for it is a noble one. Sophia would be proud of you, my brother.”

"Knowing that she would've been proud of me is what gets me through the day. I guess..." Askel sighed heavily, frustration evident in his voice and yet he looked tired. The vibrant light behind his violent eyes had lost their luster. "I'm sorry, I should have never brought her up. If Ambrose was here, he'd lecture me for letting my emotions get in the way of my judgement. We're just going to talk in a downward spiral, and I know that Sophia would be scolding us for ruminating on what ifs and coulds and shoulds. She'd want us to be spending time as brothers."

He smiled at Lucian though melancholy painted its undertone. "I suppose it's redundant to ask at this point, but how are you? I mean really, how are you actually doing?"

Lucian knew all too well what emotions might be going through Askel right now and it warmed his heart to know how much he cared. He couldn't help the stab of pain in his chest at hearing Sophia's name and how upset she would be at them. It brought back memories of that dream and caused him to straighten his back again. 

”I'm as good as I can be. I'm…” He paused, as if trying to bring himself to admit it, ”trying really hard to keep going for the exact reason you mentioned.”

”I keep having dreams where she's crying, looking at me with those eyes… She's sad that I'm acting like this, that I'm not happy without her.” He admitted. He hadn't told anyone about that, not even Marnie, and putting it to words was cathartic, in its own way. ”So, I'm trying. Day by day. Trying to figure out how to keep going. Trying to do right by those that are still here.”

At that, he turned his head back up to look at Askel, feeling a little exposed in front of him like this. ”What about you, Askel? How are you holding up?”

Askel chuckled dryly and said, "You know me, always trudging forward." A silence fell before him for a moment before he broke it. "Honestly? I'm struggling. I wasn't kidding when I said I was having trouble with adjusting back to the role of a prince. It's..." Askel paused again, his face twisting as if he was struggling to find the words. 

"I never talked about in the letters I sent back to you all. It was always the good things, the fun parts of adventuring Varian and the rest of the world. I mean, could you blame me? Would any of you rest peacefully if I told you everything?" He laughed though there was no humor behind it. "Have you seen suffering? I mean true suffering. I have, Lucian, and it's not something you get to just walk away from; you carry that weight with you every day."

A scowl painted his face, something unusual for someone that was always so good natured. One could hardly imagine a time when Askel ever wore such an expression. "So, do you know how hard it is to sit in a restaurant with a bloody pool in the middle of it surrounded by people who not only could not care less about the situation of those they feel beneath them, but may think they deserve it? To put it plainly, I'm angry."

He was about to resign himself to not having Askel open up to him truly when Askel turned the tables and started to explain what he was really feeling. He listened intently, his body pushed forward in a silent show of his intent. He kept his gaze steady, watching Askel’s face, reading his expressions, his body language. He knew, just watching him, that he was getting truth from him. 

”It’s hard to put to words what true suffering is, I think. For me, those images replay every day in my head like a neverending nightmare. So, I want to say that I know, I know what true suffering is. But for all my damned study, I still don’t know half the things that our people struggle with.” He returned. He kept his hands at the horn, anxiously fiddling with it. 

”What restaurant? What?” He asked, concern on his face. Context was everything. 

Askel exhaled an exasperated sigh. "It's not this specific restaurant, Lucian. It's the general attitudes, the lack of care of nobles and of the upper class. It doesn't matter where; you just know that most of them don't have a single thought for those whose station is below them. They are indifferent and believe me, indifference is one of the most insidious kinds of evils. It's what allows children to starve and for slavers to rip people off the streets."

He looked at Lucian with a sad smile as if he was pleading for him to understand. "I know there are good people, brother, I do. I hold out hope every day for people to be better because I've met such people in the unlikeliest of places, but I have also seen the worst and I could not help, but to recognize it when I see it."

His grip on his reins tightened and he chuckled dryly. "I know how it sounds. I don't mean to say this out of some sense of self-righteous indignation. It's just... you try to enjoy dinner with your sibling and friend, but then there's this pit in your stomach that won't leave you be. I'm doing my best to readjust, but it's hard and the last thing I want to do is weigh down anyone with my whining." He smiled at Lucian though it was just a mask. "I mean, I am lucky, right? I have two loving parents, amazing siblings, dear friends, and left wanting for nothing. I don't have the right to whine."

”You’re proving more and more of my point, brother.” He offered with a small chuckle. ”These are the words of a man who has seen what true suffering can be and has seen exactly what our people deal with. It’s no surprise to me that their pain and suffering angers you, you’re a Camilia.”

”I don’t think your whining is misplaced, Askel. And besides that, I don’t think it’s whining.” He spoke matter-of-factly, his head shaking side to side. ”You want to stand up for those who can’t stand up for themselves, but you feel pressured by your status and the whims and rules of the upper class. Your title feels like a shackle you can’t shirk, but it’s the one thing stopping you from protecting those who can’t protect themselves. Am I getting that right, or am I totally off base there?”

"You're not entirely right, but you're not entirely wrong either. To be honest, it's hard to describe. Just indulge me for a moment and bear with me" Askel climbed off his horse and landed with a gentle thump feet first. He looked at his horse and gently stroked its head. 

"It's like I've lived a life so completely differently from everyone for so many years and now I'm back, wearing fine clothes that don't belong to me even when I know they do. He looked back at his brother and smiled at him reassuringly. "Don't get me wrong, I am happy to be back. I missed every single one of you terribly and I am ready to serve Varian as its knight properly. It's just..." The knight trailed off in thought as he searched for the right words.

"You get used to it." He finally said. "Living with the commonfolk, the downtrodden, and the sinners. There were times I wished you were there for you to see it, to see your people for who they are. To see those beyond our borders. All their faults and foibles, but the humanity and joy they found even in their everyday struggle. Their compassion to give when they have so little themselves. I've found myself saved by their kindness many times." There was a fondness in his tone when he spoke of the people he met on his journey. It was gentle and warm, as if he was reminiscing on long lost friends. 

"While I am a prince I broke bread with them, shared in their woes, and shared in their small victories. They taught me a great deal that I could never learn in a book or in a palace. They are all a piece of me, and they too embraced me, Varian or not. No matter what, I vowed to leave each place better than I found it. I lifted my blade for them, titles be damned." He laughed softly, knowing such a declaration would have been frowned upon by certain members of society. 

"I suppose that's why it's so hard. I feel like I sit between two worlds." Askel said while he walked over to Lucian, offering him his hand to help him off his horse.

Lucian took the hand, hopping down from his mount. He took the reins down and gave his horse a few pats before turning to face his brother again. 

”I know I’m supposed to be trying to find the right words to comfort you and say things that will make it all better, but all I can think about is how proud I am of you.” He told him. ”I don’t think I’m going to be able to offer words that can lift all your doubts and worries, that’s something you’ll have to find on your own. But I hope you can find peace in knowing that your experiences and passion have value. Being able to see with that perspective will serve you, and I think our country well.”

He paused for a moment, a thought dawning on him. ”And I just realized how that sounded.” He sighed, lifting his hand to rub the bridge of his nose. ”Here you are battling with your own self-image and I’m only looking at it as an item for the country’s benefit.”

”I can’t even imagine what it must feel like for you.” He pulled his hand back down to look his brother in his eyes. ”Before you are anything else, you are my brother. Noble, Knight, Peasant, hell you could be a horse and I’d still love you, no offense Bastion.” He added, patting his horse on his neck. 

Askel remained silent for a moment before a smirk cracked along his face. "...At the very least, I can take some comfort in knowing that you're already thinking like a king in how to use me already. Real proud of you brother! All heil King Lucian Camilia!" He punched Lucian's side playfully and burst out in the first bit of genuine laughter since he arrived back home. His arms hugged his stomach while his side's felt like stitches ready to burst and his already rosy, red cheeks became even rosier. 

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I know you were trying to be the wise, loving older brother, but by the Gods I could not let it pass!" His breathing finally slowed down, and he let out a loud 'phew'. "Oh god, I haven't laughed like that in ages." He wiped a tear from his eye. 

"I wouldn't worry Lucian, about that dream of yours. You'll be happy again, but it will take time. It'll never be the same as before and that pain will never truly be gone, but you will be happy one day." Askel laid his hand on Lucian's shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. "But you have the right to take it at your own pace. For now, just enjoy the trip and let's make some new experiences before we're old and bound with responsibility."

He rolled his eyes at Askel’s teasing. It did help to ease his anxieties, but he’d forgotten just how annoying a little brother could be, too. He chuckled fondly, shaking his head at him as Askel nearly bent over in laughter. ”Yeah, yeah. Get it all out, brother.” He chuckled. 

His smile dimmed only ever so slightly as Askel brought up his dream again. He took in a long breath. He hoped that was true. But even if he couldn’t be happy, he’d make damn sure the people he loved were safe.

”Speak for yourself, I’m already bound and my bones ache!” He returned playfully. ”But yes. Let’s go live life while we still can.” He added, lifting a hand to his brother’s shoulder. 

”Ready to head back? I think our horses are getting a little antsy.” He asked, nosing over to Askel’s horse, who was now trying to nibble at Askel’s collar. 

Askel glanced over to his horse and gently nudged it away from his collar. "I think so. Oh, uh, let's keep our conversation between us. The last thing I need is Marnie hyper focusing on me too. It's hard enough with Sylvia on my back with my love life, I don't need mother hen on me too."

Lucian smiled, holding his hand out to Askel. ”Brother’s honor, I won’t say a word. The same goes to you anyway. I haven’t told anyone about those dreams…”

Askel reached out and grabbed his brother's hand firmly. "What dreams? As far as I know, all we talked about were my problems." He let go and got himself seated on his horse once more. "Shall we?"

He chuckled, nodding. ”Yes, before we have to explain to Marnie why we didn’t ask her to come with us.” He stepped back up onto his horse and rode back towards town with his brother, feeling a little bit more at peace with himself, for however much that was worth.

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Lucian & Mina: A Touching Moment

Part 1

Time: 3pm, Ignis 4
Location: Sorian Guesthouse
Outfits:Lucian’s OutfitMina Outfit

Lucian’s Outfit

Lucian had been out practicing with Kilian, and if he’d thought Ambrose was a tough teacher, he had nothing on Kilian. Lucian hadn’t been pushed that hard in quite some time, and he felt it in every fiber of his being. He wasn’t even sure what had carried him back to the Nobles’ lodgings, but it could only take him so far. 

He honestly had only meant to stop for a moment, let him rest his eyes, and then he’d be ready to head up to his room. But a quick resting of the eyes turned quickly into full-blown sleep as the Varian crown prince snoozed on the couch in the public rest area of their lodgings. His sword had fallen to the floor, his arms hanging haphazardly off the side. His red hair was a tousled mess as gentle breaths caused his chest to rise and fall. 

The rhythmic thud of steel hitting the floorboards broke the silence Mina had created behind the heavy velvet drapes. She let out a soft, tired sigh and marked her place in a scandalous romance novel. It served as a momentary shield against the unsettling, cold drafts that seemed to follow her even in the stillness of the room.

Peering out, her storm-blue eyes softened instantly. Lucian lay sprawled across the settee in utter exhaustion. To the court, he was the kind but guarded Crown Prince, always polite yet distant. To Mina, he resembled the boy she had once followed through Breoven, before the shadow of loss had dimmed his spark.

Setting her book aside, she stepped from her sanctuary with silent, practiced grace. She grabbed a wool-lined blanket and approached him, her heart skipping a beat she would never confess. As she draped the blanket over his broad shoulders, a soft, haunting melody escaped her lips. It was the lullaby her mother had taught her, the same one she had taught to Sophia years ago to help comfort the others when Mina wasn't around.

"Pushing yourself until you break, Lucie?" She murmured. Her voice was a velvety shadow of its usual sharp elegance. Her hand lingered for a moment before she moved to pick up his sword, her intent to place it on the coffee table so it wasn't a tripping hazard.

Lucian had been dreaming. The sort of soft, gentle dream he hadn’t had in a while. They were always welcomed in the moment, but left a gaping hole in his heart when he woke again. Each passing glance felt so real, it was as if he could feel her love from across the room. Sophia. She always looked at him like he was the one who placed each star in the sky for her. Her beautiful eyes watching him, as she gracefully walked across the room.

When he felt the pressure of the blanket across his body, he began to stir ever so slightly. There was a part of him still in his dream, still back there with her. So, when he opened his eyes and saw the flutter of a dress in front of him, he smiled, a slow sleepy smile. Eyes still barely half open, he reached out to grab her wrist and tugged her down over top of him. “Sophia..” He mumbled softly, his voice deep and husky, as his hand reached up to her face. The rough skin of his thumb brushed over her cheek before he began to lift himself up to place his lips to hers. It was then that he realized and reality came crashing down on him like a meteor. 

Lucian jolted, pushing Mina away, a look of mixed shock and embarrassment on his face. “M-Mina…” He stammered. “I-” He continued, still trying to process what he’d just done. 

Mina froze as his fingers squeezed her wrist. The sudden pull brought her down until she collapsed against his chest, his scent overwhelming her senses. For one breathless second, as his thumb brushed her cheek, she allowed herself to get lost in the moment. Her eyes fluttered shut as she leaned into his warmth, a wild hope igniting in her chest. It was a fantasy she had buried years ago in the dirt of Breoven.

Then, she heard the name that slipped from his lips like a curse. Sophia.

The longing was quickly replaced by sharp, jagged pain. He wasn't seeing Mina; he was reaching for a ghost. As he leaned in to close the distance for a kiss, she felt a sickening jolt. She couldn't let him do it. Not because she didn't want him to, but because she knew that when he finally saw her face instead of Sophia's, it would break him. She was already pushing against his shoulders to create space when he jolted, reality crashing back into the room.

Mina stumbled back and hit the other side of the couch with a thud. The force of his rejection stung more than the physical push. She saw the exact moment his dream died, replaced by the reality of her—just Mina. It had been so long since she'd seen him, having missed the funeral to care for her “ailing" uncle, and this was not the reunion she had imagined.

She quickly masked her expression, though the hand attached to the wrist he had grabbed shook. "It’s alright, Lucian," she said, her voice steady despite the ache inside. She forced a small, practiced smile. "You were miles away. I just wanted to keep you from catching a chill…and prevent this from getting stepped on." She looked down at his sword, focusing on its weight as she lifted it for him to see and offer back. "Sophia always said you were a nightmare to wake," she added softly, letting out a small laugh, a gentle lie to ease the tension. "I should have known better than to approach a sleeping lion." She grinned at him.

He heard the thud of her crashing back against the otherside of the couch and for the briefest of moments, he saw the look of shocked pain on her face. He could feel his insides wretching. The tug of emotions was disorienting, like being pulled in every direction. He was sad it wasn’t Sophia, and he felt guilty for being sad that it wasn’t Sophia because that somehow implied that Mina was less than, and then he felt guilty for feeling guilty. It was painful.

He took in a jagged breath and lifted a hand to run his fingers through his hair, getting it out of his face. He knew better than to continue apologizing. That would likely only double her own pain. ”Did she now?” He replied, trying to force himself laugh, but all that came out was a dry, forced sound. 

He offered her a small smile as he replied, ”No, you should feel perfectly safe to approach this sleeping lion, Mini.” He pushed himself up the rest of the way before he took the sword back from her. He lifted it, feeling the strain in his own arms and set it to the side, leaning against the wall. 

”Thank you, by the way. For doing that.” He offered, a bit of his usual warmth coming back to his tone. He’d always seen Mina as part of his family, so being able to see her again really was something that brought him comfort, aside from whatever just happened a moment ago. 

”How have you been?” He asked, looking her over. How long had it been? He couldn’t recall. She had certainly grown up in the time he hadn’t seen her. Even for a man whose heart died long ago, he could tell she was a beauty. Although more than that, there was an intelligent fire in her eye, something he’d always found attractive.

The sound of the nickname caught Mina off guard, her heart stumbling in her chest as if it had forgotten its rhythm. Mini. The name was delicate, a slender thread reaching back to a time when she had not needed to hide behind measured words and polite smiles. For a brief moment, the ache of that lost self pressed in around her, heavy and familiar, but she pushed it aside, tucking the hurt away into the quiet corners of her mind with the same careful discipline she had learned as a Blackwood.

"You say that, but you nearly tossed me halfway across the room, Lucie," she replied, her tone lightening as a teasing lilt crept back in. She stuck her tongue out at him, a fleeting echo of the girl she had been in Breoven, before sinking back into the cushions. Her fingers smoothed her skirts, careful and deliberate, hoping he would not notice the faint tremble in her hands.

"I've been... managing," she lied smoothly, her mind flashing to her uncle’s blood-stained sheets and the ghosts she’d been trying to ignore. "Kolonivka is quiet, and Uncle Sebastian’s health requires much of my attention. I’m sorry I couldn't be there... when it happened. I truly wanted to be."

She looked at him then, her storm-blue eyes searching his face with a gentle warmth that slipped past the careful mask she wore. "But just look at you. Whoever is training you must be running you ragged; you look as though you’ve been wrestling bears. How are the girls? Marnie and Sylvie? Are they here too? I’ve missed their chaos almost as much as I’ve missed our debates over terrible poetry."

He felt another jolt of guilt through his gut when she mentioned how he’d pushed her. He felt the urge to defend himself, but his words caught before they ever had the chance to bubble from his throat. He wasn’t even sure he could defend himself. She was right, he’d nearly knocked her across the room once he’d come to. An impulse. One he regretted, but wasn’t sure he could have stopped. 

He smiled at her cheeky tongue, enjoying the little reminder of their shared memories. He’d always enjoyed her company, even if she could be just as much of a brat as Sylvie. 

He noted the slight pause before her answer. He knew that look all too well. He’d had to force himself too many times to count. It was the sign of deliberate thought, of a decided, measured response. She was hiding something, either from him, herself, or both.

”I’m sorry to hear he hasn’t improved.” He remarked. His head tilted just slightly as he watched her face. Strangely, her mention of Sophia’s death didn’t hit him as harshly as it had so many other times. His focus was on Mina’s pain, her worries. He could tell there was more beneath the surface, though he wasn’t sure he was the right person to pry.

”Wrestling a bear… Not too far off.” He chuckled, a genuine smile gracing his angular features. ”Oh, they’re doing well. Both have followed me here. Mother sent me to find a bride, Marnie followed to shadow me, and Sylvie… to be honest, I can’t remember if she’s here to follow Marnie or if our parents sent her. Askel is here too. Again, not entirely sure why.” He explained, shrugging at her lightly. 

”I still think that line about the dove was genius.” He added, a rare smile spreading across his face. 

Mina gave a small, resigned shrug, her expression momentarily distant. "One grows accustomed to the shadows, I suppose. I've come to terms with the fact that I will either find a cure myself or I will lose him. There isn't much room for anything in between." She shook the heavy thought away, forcing her focus back to the present.

"But Marnie and Sylvie are here?" Her voice lifted with genuine excitement. "And Askel too? Gods, the lodgings won't know what hit them. I shall have to find Marnie and Askel the moment I leave here; I’ve missed her chaos terribly and I’ve missed Askel in general."

She moved a little closer on the settee, her posture easing as she nudged his arm in gentle jest. There was a warmth in her eyes, a fondness that spoke of years spent together. "Searching for a bride... it still sounds odd to me, Lucie. I only hope she understands how fortunate she is. Of course, she’ll have quite the task ahead, keeping you from leaping into every fire you see in the name of someone else’s troubles."

She laughed then, a bright sound that bypassed her mask as she shook her head at his final comment. "Genius? Lucian, the poet compared a dove’s wings to a 'flapping linen laundry sheet.' It was atrocious, and I will stand by that until the day I die. Even 'a heartbeat fluttering against the cage of the ribs' would have been better than laundry."

Her gaze lingered on him, and she was struck by the quiet realization that she had not felt this kind of happiness in quite some time. Moved by a sudden wave of nostalgia, she reached up and ruffled his untidy auburn hair, a gesture she had not allowed herself in years.

Lucian couldn’t help but notice that look in her face. There was a twinge of something in the back of his head, like looking into a mirror but not liking what you saw. If she was anything like him, she was willing to do just about anything for that cure and that worried him. 

“The Lodgings will have their hands full, for sure. Ambrose is here too, so he should help keep them at least moderately in check. Probably.” He spoke, an uncertainty in his tone. ”She’ll be very excited to see you too.” He smiled, thinking about the smile on her face when she saw Mina. 

Hearing Mina talk about his search for a wife brought a painful pang to his chest. He smiled at her and nodded. ”We shall have to see.” He replied simply. He had no real interest in seriously looking for a wife right now. He needed to make the world a safer place for her, whoever she might be. For now, he needed to focus on the people around him. 

”What? I like the little moments, like flapping sheets of linen.” He chuckled, his smile bright and for once, completely genuine. Those memories were some of his favorites. He truly loved the quiet, simple moments and Mina was good at that with him. She wasn’t quite as chaotic as his siblings, at least not all the time. She certainly fed into Marnie and Sylvia’s energy sometimes. 

Lucian saw her reaching her hand over to him and it took him a beat to understand what she was doing. His eyes went wide and his heart seemed to crash against his own ribcage, as if trying to escape. He had time, if he wanted, to pull away. But, there was something inside of him that wanted this, needed it with a desperation he hadn’t even realized. He felt a heat rise to his cheeks as she ruffled his hair and could feel his short-circuited brain trying to come back from wherever this had sent him. It felt like he couldn’t breathe for a moment. He felt himself leaning closer to her. 

The quiet of the sitting room was broken by the sudden, sharp sound of his breath, so loud that it seemed to echo in the stillness and sent a faint shiver up Mina’s arm. The playful mask she wore slipped, her composure wavering for just a moment.

It had only been meant as a sisterly gesture, a small attempt to reach back toward the uncomplicated days of their youth, before her world had become tangled in secrets and shadows. Yet as Lucian leaned into her touch, his eyes wide and searching, she found herself unable to withdraw. Her thumb moved of its own accord, tracing the line of his jaw in a gentle, almost absentminded caress. Her heart thudded wildly in her chest, a rhythm she could not quiet. Better than laundry sheets, she thought, a wry echo of her earlier criticism of the poem slipping through her mind.

"Lucie..." Her voice was a mere breath, losing its sharp, aristocratic edge as she leaned in a fraction closer.

Panic, cold and familiar, began to claw at her throat. She shouldn't be doing this. She was a woman of "questionable reputation," a creature of the dark who spent her nights drugging men in velvet-lined rooms. She was a Blackwood, cursed to see things that weren't there and bound to the survival of a monster. She was in no position to offer him, or herself, anything that wasn't tainted.

"You've gone quite still," she murmured, her eyes dropping to his lips for a fraction of a second before she forced herself to meet his gaze. She tried to summon her usual languid charm, but her voice was thick. "Have I shocked you so much? Or have you simply forgotten that I’m capable of affection that doesn’t involve a barbed comment?"

It was only then that her mind caught up to something he had said—a name, Ambrose. The memory struck her with a force that left her breathless, recalling the night she had been forced to break his heart for the sake of his own safety, to keep her uncle’s gaze from settling on him. And then there was Munir, the most recent in a line of men she had been compelled to push away, always for their own good. Always to keep them alive. If she allowed Lucian to draw any nearer, would she be forced to destroy him as well? Could she bear to do it a third time? The thought twisted inside her, and she wondered if she could ever bring herself to hurt him, or if he would even allow her that close.

Reality returned, cold and heavy, settling over her like a damp shroud. Her fingers trembled where they rested against his skin, and she began to draw her hand back, her eyes darting away as though the brightness in his gaze was suddenly too much to face.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice barely more than a breath as she began to retreat, her heart still pounding an uneven, desperate rhythm. “I shouldn’t have… I…”

Her words faded, her hand lingering uncertainly in the narrow space between them, suspended as she waited for him to either let her slip away or close the distance himself.

Her touch left a trail of warmth he hadn’t felt in ages. It wasn’t something he’d even considered or thought about. He was certain she could hear, truly hear his heart beating like a frenzied bird. Everything slowed to a still as if time itself had slowed. Her voice calling to him, the warmth and care it carried. 

He opened his mouth as if to speak to her, but couldn’t find his voice, couldn’t find the words. He was shocked, just not at her. Shocked more at his heart that had seemed to find its beat again. He couldn’t tell if it was just because it had been so long since he felt anything remotely close to this or what, but deep down, in the darkest parts of him, he feared that if he let it go now, he might never get this feeling back. 

He felt her pull away, and his heart sank. There was a desperation in his throat, lodged there, choking him. He could feel her fingers trembling, felt the warmth fade and it hurt. It actually hurt, like pinpricks in his heart. It was a split second that felt like an eternity. Lucian knew that he couldn’t let this warmth go, and his window to pull it back in was closing quickly. 

Before he could even consider the consequences, he was moving. One hand reached for hers, tugging her back to him. ”Please…” He begged, his voice low and thick. His other hand reached up to her face, his callused thumb brushing lightly over her cheeks. 

Moving entirely on impulse and his unconscious desire for her warmth, Lucian pushed himself forward, his head tilted just slightly. His lips stopped very briefly before hers, a pause, before he closed the distance completely. 

The instant his lips touched hers, the world beyond the small sitting room seemed to fade away, leaving only warmth and a hush that pressed in around them.

This was nothing like the careful, calculated kisses she had given to men she meant to drug. No, those had been a mask, a means to an end. This was something else entirely. The touch of his mouth sent a shiver through her, a warmth that curled her toes inside her boots. For a moment, Mina forgot how to breathe at all. This was the warmth she had longed for in the cold corridors of Kolonivka, the light she had watched from the shadows for so many years.

A chorus of voices shrieked in the back of her mind—her uncle’s warnings, the judgmental whispers of the court calling her a whore, the pale memories of the ghosts who reminded her she was tainted. You will ruin him, they hissed. Does he even want you? Or is he just so hollowed out by his own burdens that he is reaching for the nearest source of heat?

The thought ought to have stung, but as she felt the quiet desperation in his touch and remembered that singular pleading word, a familiar, sorrowful resolve settled over her. It struck her, with a clarity that was both beautiful and devastating, that she didn't care why he was doing it.

It did not matter whether he loved her or was simply using her to feel alive again. She had always been his sacrificial lamb, even if he never realised it. She had spent years quietly guiding him, teaching him how to win Sophia’s heart if he ever wished, all the while pushing him toward another’s arms as her own chest felt like it was being hollowed out with a rusted blade. She had always broken herself so he could have what he wanted. If he needed this from her now, if he needed to consume her to feel a flicker of warmth in his own darkness, she would let him. She would give him every breath, every spark of her strength, every piece of herself, until there was nothing left but ash.

A quiet, broken sound escaped her as her resistance gave way. She did not simply return his kiss; she yielded to it. Her fingers found his hair, holding him close, her body pressing to his with a hunger she could no longer hide. She was greedy for him, starved for this closeness, her lips moving against his with a need that ignored all the rules she had been taught.

She would not be the one to end this. She would not pull away. She would remain in this fire until he decided he was done with her, even if it meant she would wake tomorrow more hollow than before. She poured years of silent longing, of stifled cries and hidden tears, into the kiss, meeting his need with a devotion so absolute it was terrifying. For this one moment, she was not a protector, not a witch, not a niece; she was simply his, in whatever way he needed her to be.

It spread over him like the warmth from a fireplace. If he were clear headed, he might have stopped this. If he hadn’t been so starved for this kind of warmth, he might have stopped himself. If he were a better man, he wouldn’t be doing this to her. His head had gone fuzzy and he’d lost all sense of reason. 

It was intoxicating. She was intoxicating. He felt her relax into him and the hand around hers loosened as he reached over to her side, holding her close. A quiet shiver ran down his spine as he felt her fingers carding through his hair. He could drown in her and would thank her for it.

His breathing staggered as he pulled away just long enough to catch his breath, the heat between them palpable. This was a mistake, something he shouldn’t be doing to her. If someone walked in… He heard the rustling of leaves outside and it startled him, tugging his attention from Mina to the window. He could already feel the shadows creeping in again, threatening to overwhelm him but he shouldn’t be doing this to her, not Mina. 

Once again, he felt a lump in his throat and a weight in his chest. ”Mina..” He started, a furrow in his brow as he looked at her. There was sorrow in his eyes. He was sad that he needed to stop this for her sake, and ashamed of himself for allowing himself the chance. ”I shouldn’t be doing this to you…” He spoke, turning his head again to look at her. 

His hands remained at either side of her face, cupping them gently in his rough palms. Mina was something precious, something he shouldn’t taint and mar with his own darkness. Especially when he didn’t know if this was anything more than his own desperate need for affection. 

Slowly, hesitantly, he pulled away. He’d felt the raw emotion she had given, and understood enough to know what her body yielding to him meant. Had he never realized? Looking back, he only ever saw that little girl, the childhood friend he protected like a sister. But… what sort of feelings had she been hiding from him all this time? Had it been all this time? Or was she like him, desperate for warmth, for the touch of another person. His mind swirled now. 

He looked over her face, his brows still furrowed. He had crossed a line he couldn’t uncross now and there was a small part of him that was glad for it. Larger than that was the shame. He wanted to ask her, how long had she felt this way, but he couldn’t bring himself to. The idea of it hurt far too much. He knew the length she had gone to, the assistance she had given him in courting Sophia and the idea of her doing that all while harboring feelings for him…

”I should… walk you to your room…” He spoke, standing up now. He’d hesitated for a moment, trying to consider if he should just leave or escort her. There was some small part of him that wanted to stay by her side, figure this out, somewhere less… visible. 

The cold air that rushed into the space between them as he pulled away felt like a physical blow, more biting than any winter wind. As Mina watched the sorrow and shame etch themselves into Lucian’s brow, she felt the first hairline fractures spider-webbing across her heart.

His words cut at her, but not in the way he might have thought. Mina did not see a prince trying to protect her reputation. She saw a man who had only reached for her because he was lonely, and now regretted it. The shame in his eyes was not for what they had done, but for who he had done it with. She understood, even if it stung, that he was only looking for a moment of comfort, and now he was horrified to realize he had used a friend he did not love just to feel alive for a little while.

Mina stood, her hands dropping to her lap before she made herself smooth the folds of her deep red skirts. She looked up at Lucian, her face open and honest, though she could feel how fragile she must have seemed.

"Lucian, stop," she said softly, her voice trembling before she caught it. "Do not look at me with such... pity. Or shame. It is beneath you."

She forced a bitter, weary smile to her lips, hardening her mask to provide him the exit he so clearly needed. "Don't be ashamed of needing warmth, Lucie. Gods know there's little enough of it in this world." She paused, her eyes searching his with a tragic sort of resignation. "And truly... who better to take that warmth from than the 'Whore of Varian'? At least with me, you needn't worry about the consequences of a heart being involved, right? I’ve already been ruined, you can hardly make it worse by using me for a moment’s peace."

The words felt bitter in her mouth. She had not meant them to be cruel or accusatory. Instead, she was trying to make it easier for him, offering herself as someone he could turn to without guilt, so he would not have to carry the weight of the feelings she had kept hidden for so many years.

When he offered to walk her back, Mina noticed the way he hesitated, as if he only wanted to make sure she was safely behind a door so he could leave. The thought stung, but she was not ready to be alone just yet. Even if he only wanted to be rid of her, she would take a few more minutes with him by her side.

"If you insist on being the gentleman, then yes," she murmured, her voice losing its edge as she stepped toward the hallway. She looked back at him, her eyes dark and dangerously self-destructive. "And Lucie? If you find the silence of your own room too cold tonight... you’re welcome to seek more 'warmth' in mine. I promise not to hold it against your conscience in the morning."

It was a harsh offer, meant to make her seem as empty as the rumors claimed, even though it hurt to say it. Her eyes gave her away, no matter how steady her voice. She waited for him to move, her heart beating unevenly in her chest.

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S A I L I N G . T O . S O R I A N

Date: Ignis 2 · Time: Morning · Location: Middle Sea — en route to Sorian on "The Radiant Dune."

The Radiant Dune had been at sea for nearly a fortnight.

Brightly dyed canopies danced in the breeze as the royal sailing ship made its way across the Middle Sea, en route to Sorian of Caesonia, carrying some of the Sultan’s precious offspring. The vessel cut through the morning swells of the sea with the confidence of a creature born to the water.

Beneath those canopies lounged Alidasht nobility, reclining on cushions as servants came one after the other carrying trays that clinked as they were set upon clothed tables.

Teas, sugared fruits, and towelettes scented with orange blossom were placed before the royals to indulge in. Soon the tables filled with even more delights: warm saffron flatbreads, bowls of yogurt drizzled with honey and topped with pistachios, and platters of sliced mango, papaya, and starfruit. Crystal goblets caught the sun as servants poured pomegranate juice.

Nearby, Royal Wardens kept steady watch along the railings, while the hooded Sultan’s Sentinels stood like statues, guarding everyone on board with vigilance.

Beneath the deck, a full traveling household was available to tend to the royals’ needs: attendants, scribes, personal physicians, cooks, and serving women selected from each territory.

It was the warm morning of Ignis 2nd.

The crew murmured of shifting currents and the possibility of summer storms, but the sky remained mostly clear. The passengers could no longer see land in any direction; only the endless rise and fall of waves. They were far from home now, and the long weeks at sea were beginning to settle into their bones. They weren’t slated to arrive until the morning of Ignis 10th after all.

Weaving between posts and the occasional sibling, Fareed’s tall form paced the room. Not clearly showing any form of agitation, but the sense of it was clear. “And we are certain that this trip is necessary? The… security in Caesonia is far from enough. Such stories have come from it…”

Aslam took a slow sip of tea, his closed eyes the center of his relaxed posture. “It is our father’s will.” He spoke neutrally, setting his cup down without so much as a soft clink and at last opened his eyes, looking up at Fareed. “I share your concern, brother, but I am just as eager to finally be off this ship. My supply of reading material is running quite low.” He finished with a self-amused laugh that lacked the concern he claimed to have.

Ranya simply watched her brothers with a smirk, her fingers gently kneading the thick, white fur of Aisha's neck. Her jewel-toned silks caught the sun as she moved, making her gold anklets chime a private, happy tune. Should she be wearing her “holy” silks? Maybe, but she felt like they were in a trusted area with trusted guards. Plus, Abba wasn't here to dictate her. She took another perfect slice of mango, enjoying the cool, sweet flavor against the hot air that always seemed to follow her. Her eyes twinkled with genuine amusement.

“Oh, my dear, serious brothers,” she purred, her voice playful as she glanced between Fareed and the seemingly calm Aslam. “Let’s be honest. This trip isn’t just about strengthening ties. It’s about apologizing for the theatrical disaster our family caused earlier in the season. We are here for damage control, a delicate repair job that only my charm can fix.” She gave a proud, pompous look before breaking with a snort of laughter at herself. “Think about it, Mayet threw a dagger at a duke, Nahir doesn’t remember an entire party, and poor Munir cried over a Countess who probably used him for a jewelry box. They made us look like a desperate spectacle! Abba needs us to impress, and frankly, I was bored with the palace. We are here to show the Caesonian King and Queen that the Kadir family is still the ultimate prize. Now, stop fussing and trying to wear a hole in the deck, Fareed. Let your little sister enjoy the fresh open sea air that she's never experienced because she's never been permitted to leave home before.”

“I understand, even for them such actions were foolish. Do you think they were coerced? Should I prep my toxin tools?” Fareed’s pace slows for a moment, a far off look in his eyes.

Although she had been listening passively, Maryam had no desire to join the conversation. It seemed much like chatter, and hearing her recount the events was a little absurd. She was aware of the situation, yes, but it was odd to hear it spoken aloud. Her time was best spent thinking. Pondering, over whether this would be a mistake. She idly begins to tap her shoes on the ground.

Aslam had joined Ranya with a soft chuckle of his own at her initial statement that might have had the secondary effect of disguising tea that had gone down the wrong pipe at that moment. He, of course, had kept a vague eye on his distant siblings but Ranya always did have a wonderful way to put things that he VERY much appreciated. The prospect of repairing their image was a far more interesting project than weaving through the web of foreign nobles in the hopes one was less likely to stab him in the back.

“Perhaps, but they should have been better prepared for such maneuvers. Whatever the case, we shan’t find answers out here.” His shoulders shrugged in the way he attempted to express indifference when a subject did bother him. Aslam brought a flatbread to his lips after another sip of tea, the movements made at a leisurely pace. “All the more reason to CELEBRATE our dear Ranya’s first sea voyage.” His hand reached out for one of the yogurt, using the lavish spoon provided to bring some of the sweet treat to his mouth with a soft hum of delight.

With a fluid grace, Ranya rose from her cushions, the silks of her gown whispering against the deck as she intercepted Fareed’s path. She reached out, taking his large hands in her small ones, warm skin against his anxious energy, and gently tugged him toward the cushions as she gave him a reassuring squeeze. “Sit, brother. You are making the horizon dizzy,” she chided softly. “Keep the toxin kit handy, but no need to prep it just yet. Mayet wasn't coerced, that I can guarantee. She simply has the temper of a viper. And Nahir? She likely just found a bottomless cup, however Abba did say there were talks of magic or drugging. Certainly something to be aware of, at very least.”

The much taller sibling looks down at her, letting out a deep sigh and visibly relaxing. As much as he does that is.

She released him to glide toward the refreshments. A servant stepped forward to assist, but Ranya waved her away with a sharp, regal flick of her wrist, seizing the crystal pitcher of wine herself. She enjoyed the weight of it, the agency of serving rather than being served.

“Munir is a curiosity,” she continued as she grabbed four goblets and moved back towards her siblings. “Our brother, the eternal rake, suddenly weeping to 'settle down'? To break a playboy's heart, you must first convince him he has one. That smells of manipulation.”

She poured wine into a goblet and then pressed the first glass into Fareed’s hand, then moved to Aslam. “But I prefer Aslam’s philosophy.” She handed him his wine, leaning down to press a warm kiss to his cheek. “To the horizon. And to the first time in twenty years the walls around me aren't made of stone.”

Aslam offered a warm smile at Ranya as he took his glass, putting down his now empty bowl of yogurt, and raised it boldly high at her toast. “Well said!”

Finally, she sank onto the cushions beside Maryam, pouring her some wine before extending a goblet to her quiet sister to interrupt the rhythmic tapping of her shoe. “You are thinking too loudly, sister,” Ranya murmured, her voice dropping to an intimate purr as she settled close and giving her a warm smile. “Is it the destination that worries you, or are you simply plotting which of us to throw overboard first?”

“Uhmmm neither… Just not sure if this is all a mistake, I guess.” Maryam murmured. It wasn’t long after her words that she suddenly rose and departed back to her bedroom.

Aslam’s first sip of the wine was a long, slow one taking time to savor the flavor. He titled his head side to side as he let the wine linger in his mouth for a prolonged moment before swallowing. His golden eyes had lingered far too long on the glass after he put it back down, his brows slightly furrowed. His decorated robe flowed down as he stood up and he made his way over to the nearby railing to stare over the waters. “I knew there was work to be done, but hearing it from Ranya…just…” He spoke quietly to himself, a habit he couldn’t break.

“...I wonder if there are any rare ingredients I can acquire while we’re here. There was a story about some crimson flower high in the mountains….” Aslam muttered a bit louder as he looked forlorn over the horizon. His posture slouching some as he leaned his arms on the railing, his long locks of black hair blowing in the sea breeze.

Ranya paused, her glass suspended midair, as Maryam disappeared with the startled elegance of a deer catching a scent on the wind. The space her sister left behind seemed to shimmer, and Ranya’s eyebrow arched in silent amusement. She barely had time to savor the oddness before Aslam slipped away, drawn to the rail and the restless sea, his words scattering into the salt air like secrets meant only for the waves.

She turned to Fareed, lowering her glass with a rare look of genuine perplexity. “Did I say something upsetting?” she asked, her voice dropping the teasing lilt. “I thought I was being rather optimistic, all things considered.”

That’s when a servant slipped into their circle, bowing low to murmur news of the delegation’s awakening. In an instant, Ranya’s posture changed. The warmth in her eyes cooled, the playful sister dissolving beneath the weight of duty. Obligation settled over her shoulders like a familiar, heavy cloak. What words boiled in Fareed's throat slipped as if rain off it.

“Excuse me, brother, but it seems like it is my turn to vanish for a moment as duty calls,” she said, handing her wine glass to the servant. “If the court is waking, then Suna’s Chosen must be seen. I cannot greet the others on the ship looking like… well, like myself.”

She slipped into the cool shadows below deck, vanishing as quietly as a thought. When she returned, she was remade. The easy silks and bare skin were gone, replaced by immaculate white gauze stitched with gold that shimmered in the morning sun. A veil hid the mouth that had tasted both wine and mischief, leaving only her eyes—dark, rimmed in kohl, unreadable. Each step was slower, her movements measured, as if the weight of her jewelry and the heavier burden of expectation pressed her into stillness. She settled among her cushions, serene as a statue in a sunlit sanctuary.

Qingling spent a good amount of time with her daily morning preparation before she considered herself ready to leave her bedroom and face the rest of the world for the day. Applying her elaborate and delicate cosmetics took time as it could not be rushed and then moving on to the actual dressing itself. Once personally certified ready, she left her quarters and moved up the decks of the ship to where the Alidasht royalty lounged to offer them her morning greetings. She glided over the decks of the ship, her feet mostly concealed by the long flowing nature of her dress that rested high upon her chest. Upon approaching the sheltered canopies of cushions, Qingling bowed in traditional Kimoon fashion to the princes and princess present first before acknowledging the rest of the other nobles present. “Good day, your highnesses, Shehzades, Shehzadi. I hope you all are doing well.” Once she was done with her greetings, she moved to an unoccupied cushion, pausing en-route to grab two pieces of warm saffron flatbread to munch on before even seating herself. Qingling would then focus her attention on devouring the flatbreads in her hands before moving to grab herself a goblet of pomegranate juice as well as a serving of the yoghurt.

Ranya watched the woman move, all liquid grace and easy confidence, gliding across the deck as if the world itself parted for her. Qingling bowed, then seized the flatbreads with a boldness that made Ranya’s heart twist—so unashamed, so alive. It was almost scandalous, and Ranya ached with envy.

Look at her, Ranya thought, the fire in her chest sparking hot and sharp behind her ribs. She walks as if the air belongs to her. She plays her music, she dances, she eats when she hungers. She is an artist of her own life, while I am merely the canvas others paint upon. Her fingers curled, white-knuckled, in the silk at her waist. It was never about the food. It was the hunger itself. It was the freedom to want, to take, to exist without the suffocating shroud of holiness draped over every breath.

Outwardly, her mask held firm. Ranya tilted her head, letting her eyes smile with a flicker of warmth barely visible beneath the veil, all tranquil grace and gentle light. No hint of the wildfire beneath. “May the sun warm your path this morning, Hanim Qingling,” Ranya said, her voice a soft, melodic chime, perfectly modulated for a public audience. It was gentle, welcoming, and distant. “It brings joy to see the sea air has given you such a healthy appetite. Please, sit. The vastness of the ocean is best admired in good company. I hope the trip has been treating you kindly?”

While finishing up the first of the two savory flatbreads in her hands, she also took her seat, upon the princess’s invitation. Dutifully, she ignored the towering form of Fareed two steps behind his sister. Visibility being his own form of politeness. Ranya's mouth then moved to form words, and Qingling felt compelled to answer. “My appetite is rarely dulled, Shehzadi. My father often jokes with laughter among others that my appetite can feed a whole army of servants.” With the sole remaining flatbread she had initially taken left in her hands, she paused for a moment to take a scoop of the yoghurt before continuing to form words. “I am well-accustomed to such journeys. My father, being the influential passionate merchant lord he is, travels frequently, many times by ship, and I accompany him often.” Finished forming words, Qingling moved to munch on the remaining flatbread in her hands, tearing bite-sized pieces, one after another as she brought them to lips, savouring each one of them.

Amira had been up since the light had filtered in through her window. She had truly meant to join the others for breakfast, but after grabbing a fig from the kitchen when no one was looking, she had spent the last hour just gazing out at the beautiful ocean.

She imagined all that awaited her, and her chest could hardly contain the excitement that beat inside her. She envisioned going to a beautiful ball, filled with glamorous men and women. There she would catch eyes with someone, and then just in that moment, she would know. That was who she was supposed to be with for her whole life. She couldn't help but make a little squee noise as she brought her hand to her chest.

It was only as she saw the elegant Zhao from Qishu, that she seemed to notice herself. Not only was she running terribly late for breakfast now, but she had to remind herself that she was no longer alone. And not in that way that meant a guard or her siblings were close by, even if both were. There were constant eyes on her now, and she had to make sure to keep up the act of a dignified noble.

Though... it was just her relatives, right?

Excitedly heading after Qingling, she turned up at the luxurious area under canopies. Smiling a bright and warm smile to the rest of the nobles, she greeted them cheerfully, “Morning to all of you. I hope it has been as glorious for you as it has been for me.”

Quickly, her hands found themselves taking hold of a serving of honey-drizzled yoghurt, before adding on a ton of different fruits. Only then did she turn to take a seat in the mass of pillows as she looked at the deliciousness in front of her. She did not hold back for even one moment, seemingly forgetting all about her chastising herself about appearing more noble as she gladly indulged.

Aslam’s expression grew a bit darker as Ranya excused herself, the pleasant mood from earlier souring slightly in his mind. He made his way back to his earlier seat, pouring a generous cup of the wine he had tasted earlier, in preparation for the rest of the distinguished guests to arrive. Part of a smile came back to his face as Qingling made her entrance. “A pleasure for you to join us. We are doing as well as rich food, soft cushions, and a beautiful vista can afford us. Perhaps once you have had your fill you can grace us with a small performance.” A bit of his more playful mood rising in his response as he gestured to each with an open hand that finally pointed towards the vast sea that laid just beyond the railing.

He didn’t interrupt the conversation between his sister and Qingling, nodding along as his eyes darted to the current speaker. His stomach was mostly full so beyond his sips of wine he snacked on what fruits there were. “I am sure you have a wealth of stories to tell then. I am curious to know what sort of exotic sights you have come across.”

The muscle of his left eye briefly twitched as he noticed Amira follow in shortly after, but he quickly schooled himself as he turned his attention to his cousin. “You are quite lively again today, Amira. You must have slept well.” The smooth glass of his cup graced his lips immediately after he spoke.

Ranya sat as still as painted sunlight, hands folded perfectly in her lap. She speaks of feeding an army, she thought, envy curling like smoke in her chest as she watched Qingling eat with such unburdened gusto. And I am not permitted to feed even a whim.

“There’s a kind of wisdom you only find in the world’s marketplaces,” Ranya said, her voice gentle and clear, like water over stones. “I imagine their maps are drawn in colors we’ve never seen.”

Then the whirlwind arrived. Amira burst in, all noise and hunger, her laughter squeaking through the air and scraping at Ranya’s nerves like grit caught in silk. Aisha rumbled a low, sympathetic huff, and Ranya’s hand found the tiger’s neck, fingers kneading the thick fur in silent thanks. She let her eyes crinkle with a practiced warmth as she turned to greet her cousin, masking the flicker of irritation beneath a silken smile.

“Cousin,” Ranya greeted, her tone indulgent but laced with a quiet command. “You bring a storm’s energy to a calm morning. Do breathe between bites, Amira. The fruit is not fleeing. It will not jump overboard if you do not conquer it all in one moment, I promise.”

She caught Aslam’s eye, sharing a fleeting, conspiratorial glance before turning her attention back to Qingling. “But please, Hanim, indulge us. Tell me something so impossible it might just be true. I am starved for a little wonder today.”

Qingling looked towards Prince Aslam as he spoke about gracing them with a small performance of her own. Now, that was something she could do. Although she did not have any of her musical instruments with her at the moment, she could still sing for them. Like all of her performances done in Qishu, her singing was always done in traditional Kimoon, followed first by an explanation in the common tongue so that all could appreciate what the song was about. Qingling would indeed be glad to entertain the entire gathering of royals and nobles on the deck this beautiful morning. The song she was about to perform was a signature of hers, an interpretation of two ancient Kimoon poems about a lonely traveller far from home.

Her hands free of all the flatbreads and with the yoghurt completely consumed, Qingling rose from her seat and bowed proudly to all that were present.

“Shezades, Shehzadis, fellow nobles, I will be performing for you a popular song of mine called ‘The Passage of Time’. This song is based on two ancient Kimoon poems about a lonely traveller drifting through a vast, mist-shrouded range of mountains and cold rivers, where the changing colors of the leaves and the flight of wild geese serve as painful reminders of a home they cannot return to. It reflects on the tragedy of time, lamenting how a person’s vibrant youth eventually fades like falling petals, leaving them alone with only the silent moonlight and the memories of a life spent wandering. It is a poem about the longing for a past that has withered away while the world indifferently moves on.”

The young noble then moved her cushion to a more central position and knelt on them as she began her song. It begins with a hypnotic haunting tune, the sweeping and airy melody of her traditional singing style that has captivated many an audience. The breathy tone with its swaying, rhythmic pulse, rises and falls like gentle waves, drawing in listeners with a captivating effect. Not once does she raise her voice, instead maintaining a low soothing tone that feels peaceful and melancholic, as she conveys the song’s theme of deep, underlying ache for something lost. Once she was finished with her performance, Qingling did another Kimoon bow and beamed a proud cheerful smile that was completely opposite to the melancholic song she had just performed. “I hope my performance was to your expectations.”

“I slept so well, Cousin Aslam,” Amira replied gratefully in a cheery light voice as she stopped for the moment to stop her attack on her food, “The swaying of the boat is like the ocean itself is rocking me to sleep—”

Almost like a mother... she had gone to say but stopped herself at the last moment. It was not like she would know anything about how that would actually feel. Her smile faltered for a moment before quickly distracting herself with the deliciousness in front of her.

It was then she heard Ranya greet her with words that brought a warm blush to her cheeks. Her hand slowed down as she found herself focusing on the food. It was much nicer to concentrate on than the creeping feeling she had that maybe this family reunion wasn't going exactly how she wanted.

Luckily for her, Qingling was fast to delight them all with a beautiful song. Staring up at the elegant woman with large brown eyes filled with wonder, all she could do was be in awe.

This lady was so graceful and peaceful, leaving all eyes on her as they soaked up her art. Amira couldn't even fathom having that kind of presence.

That did not stop her from speaking up in a quiet, hopeful voice though as she fiddled with the fabric of her skirt, “I - I can't sing, let alone follow up on such beauty but... I can dance a little.”

Aslam listened attentively to Qingling’s song with his eyes closed, swaying his head lightly alongside the tune. It was truly a hauntingly beautiful melody and even if he couldn’t understand the lyrics, which he could, Qingling’s performance carried the intended feeling of the music perfectly. He looked towards the songstress with a smile as he clapped his hands. “It was very enjoyable, Hanim Qingling. I thank you for indulging me this morning. If only I could bottle it up for later.” Aslam mused with a soft sigh. Truly the unease he had been feeling just recently seemed to have retreated back into the deeper depths of his mind once more.

His attention shifted over to Amira once she had spoken up. Aslam did not wish for the rest of the trip to be a tense or awkward time between them, even if she was another one of her father’s agents. It would be too much of an annoyance to maintain and Qingling’s song had placed him in a rather merciful mood. “Would you be willing to give us a small demonstration, cousin?” It was a genuine request from the eldest prince, an olive branch for the trip at least.

He had long since read through what books he had brought with and there was sadly no laboratory he could experiment. Aslam would take what entertainment he could find.

At the sound of her cousin's voice agreeing, she looked up at him with shock that seemed to scream 'really?!' before beaming a grin back at him that was as bright as the sun beating down upon them. Amira had never performed in front of anyone but the servants and her teacher, but she was not going to let this opportunity pass her by.

She stood up a little too fast to hide her excitement or keep up the appearance of the noble she was. Looking around, a shy smile seemed to light her face as she noticed the space she had and the fact that she had no music. Such little things would not stop her passion, though.

Slowly closing her eyes, she took in a deep breath and listened to the waves of the ocean hitting the side of the boat before her hips started to move with the gentle metronome beat. There, under the bright blue sky, Amira opened her bright amber eyes and stared past the people and right into the water that carried them across to a foreign land.

Arms calling out to the unknown, she brought it in, as she started to bump her hips from side to side. She no longer seemed to even notice the eyes on her, raising her arms up above her head before bringing them down to flow across her body. Then without any warning, she spun—a lovely spin that made her skirt flare up and jingle—till she tripped over a plate of fruit.

Toppling over the loose fruit and wooden ball, she fell hard to the wooden floor of the ship. Amira made a surprised guttural sound at the sudden impact before she groaned and began checking her forearms, which had caught her fall, to see how badly they were hurt. Next moment, she was looking past her long brown hair to where the rest of her audience was, a bright red blush starting to burn up her cheeks.

This was not how it was supposed to go.

Ranya held herself upright, every inch the golden idol, while Qingling’s song threaded through her, tugging at the old ache that lived beneath her ribs. A life spent wandering, she mused, the thought sharp as citrus. I would give up this title for even a single day of such freedom.

“Your voice carries the weight of the mountains, Hanim,” she said aloud, her public mask serene as the jewelry on her veil chimed. “It is a rare gift to make a heart ache for a home it has never truly left.”

Amira rose, and chaos bloomed in her wake. Ranya watched, lips barely twitching, her disappointment cool and distant as moonlight. When her cousin finally tumbled into a heap of silk and crushed fruit, Ranya remained perfectly still, only Aisha’s low, amused chuff betraying the humor in the scene.

The storm finally broke the furniture, Ranya’s internal voice drawled. This is why they cage us, Amira. Because you are made of clumsy, unbridled impulses.

She exhaled a thread of patience, silver-fine, her gaze gentling as she donned the mask of saintly compassion. “Passion is a fire, cousin, but even fire must be mindful of where it treads.” With a flick of her fingers, she summoned a servant. “Are you alright, Amira? It would be a tragedy for our journey to end with a twisted ankle before we’ve even glimpsed the shore.”

As Princess Ranya complimented her on her performance, Qingling smiled warmly with pride. It always felt great when others enjoyed her performances, be it her music, singing or dance. It was something she lived for, and would never get tired of. “You are too kind, Shehzadi. I feel most honoured that you enjoyed my humble little performance.” Her gaze then shifted to Princess Amira who seemed like she was now motivated to put on a little performance of her own.

Qingling was eager to see what the royal had in store for all of them. The Kimoonese looked on with delight as Amira started dancing and watched intently. Then without any warning, the Shehzadi fell in a tumble of silks and fruit and a plate that was flung her way, which she caught with ease. She placed the plate on the deck and without any hesitation, Qingling got up from her seat, and moved over to where Amira was checking her forearms. She knelt down and moved close to check on the princess, but also made sure not to touch the royal without permission.

“Are you hurt, Shehzadi?” As a dancer herself, she was no stranger to falls. When she first started many years ago, her arms and legs were often bruised from the many falls she had until she learnt to practice well.

Aslam had found himself impressed by Amira’s movements at the start of her dance as he watched on with passivity exceeded only by his darling sister. He was well versed in the many dances within the kingdom and for a brief moment he believed Amira to have a genuine talent for it. That belief came crumbling down just like the Shehzadi onto the floor. His eyes closed for a brief moment as he gritted his teeth and exhaled through his nose. The only redeeming factor of this incident was it had not been around outsiders.

He nodded his agreement with Ranya. “I should have a lotion with my personal items to ease any swelling should there be bruising. The ball will quickly be upon us when we arrive and it would not do for you to be injured.” The softness in his voice did not quite meet his eyes. He would not have to worry if his Uncle had trained his daughter as an assassin it seemed.

Amira had hoped for the same compliments that showered Qingling, but instead, after her little accident, Ranya's words cut through the awkward silence like steel.

No matter how kind they sounded, the tears were already starting to threaten to spill from Amira's eyes. Then there was suddenly the elegant Qingling, the star of the morning, right down there next to her, asking her if she was alright.

She no longer could hold back the tears, and before anyone else could reach out to help her up, she was up in a startled mess of clinking jewellery and silky cloth. What was long, luxurious chestnut hair that had been carefully prepared, was now a tousled mess sticking to her skin and catching on to the golden decoration. Her large amber eyes looked over all the staring faces, and before another word could be said, she ran.

Jingling and bare feet padding across the wooden deck, she ran until she could no longer see the eyes that stared at her with pity or something she could only liken to distaste. It was only when she ran back to her cabin, with the door closed behind her, that she stopped running. There she threw herself onto her bed and stifled a small cry.

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Remram

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Olivia & Askel

Ignis 4th
@Potter

The streets of Sorian were bustling with people. Flora Road’s bazaar had garnered attention from nobles and peasants for ages; whether merchants from other lands came to sell their goods,nobles to sell their wares, or peasants selling their goods for cash, it was nearly always busy. The cacophony of voices drowned one another out. Olivia sat on the edge of a nearby rooftop observing, her legs dangling over the edge. She wore a dark navy blouse, pants, and boots with a sunhat covering her head, and her lock red locks hung in braids. She watched a young girl dressed in rags with greasy hair, dust and dirt covering her and holding a basket that had seen better days. She bounced from stall to stall, attempting to convince people to purchase her eggs. Liv’s heart clenched; it was as if she were watching herself in the past. 

Two noblewomen, arm in arm and nearly identical brunettes and their escort stood nearby, buying goods and selling whatever trinkets they decided to part with. Realistically, Liv wouldn’t be surprised if they were scamming others. As the peasant girl moved away, the man from the noble trio bumped into her. The girl, frail as she was, fell, and the contents of a basket spilled all over the ground. Eggs, milk, bread, and other average artistic trinkets fell to the ground. There was a pause as some people looked, and then the woman-a brunette-gasped loudly and dramatically as she gazed down at her dress. The young peasant girl (Olivia decided to nickname her Helena) stood up and dusted off her clothes sheepishly. She began gathering her items, but the women’s shrill yell made her flinch and stop. 

”You wrench! You got your filthy milk all over my dress? Do you know how much this costs?” She raised her hand but the man caught it and held onto it.

”Now now, Priscilla, we shouldn't yell at people,” The man softened his voice as he began to dust off the lady’s dress. ”It’s not this brat’s fault she was born unlucky.” He paused for dramatic effect. ”Be a good rat and clean up your mess.” The two women howled with laughter. Olivia’s face reddened with fury and the girl’s expression cracked like an egg. 

”Phillip, that was great!” The woman, apparently Priscilla, exclaimed. Her sister, still howling with laughter, pushed the girl to the side. She cried out and hit the ground again, and Olivia noticed dots of blood on the ground from where she must have skinned herself. She stood up, clenched her fists and cursed herself for not carrying her bow. 

”Here little rat, clean up your mess.” The other girl teased, as she kicked around Helena’s items. Her face was red with embarrassment and anger, but she didn't say anything. As she went to grab the bread, Phillip picked it up and chucked it to Priscilla who held it out of the girls’ reach and laughed harder. 

”What’s wrong little rat, you can’t reach it? Here, Petunia!” She tossed it to her sister. Phillip kicked her milk carton and eggs further down the road and picked her basket up.

”This is a basket? Are you serious? I guess you don’t need this thing anymore,” He ripped it apart as the girl jumped for it, tears streaming down her face.

”My mama made that! No! Please!” Helena cried out with grief.

Heat rose in Liv’s face and all she could see was red. Her heart clenched as if someone were squeezing it, and her lungs begged her to breathe or else she might collapse. Nobody stood in to help the poor girl and watched with horror and amusement. Phillip watched her leaping and kicked her backwards into the dirt, the trio howling with laughter.  Priscilla set her foot on the girl’s back to keep her down. 

Olivia moved silently. She parkoured and landed behind the group–silent and vibrating with controlled fury. A few heads turned to see her and blink with surprise. ”Put down the bread and give her back her basket.” Her voice was low yet menacing. Liv stopped the milk carton from cascading further away with her foot. 

The quartet turned to her, all pausing, expressions and laughter halted to discover the saver of the young girl. Helena’s locks were smudged with dirt–in fact, it was hard to truly tell how much had been added during the scuffle. She flashed her a kind smile then turned to glare sharply at the group. ”I said, put down the bread, and give her basket back. Can you hear?”

Priscilla scoffed. ”And who are you supposed to be?”

Liv ignored her and stepped closer to Phillip. ”I’m asking you one more fucking time and then I won’t apologize for what happens next.”

Phillip gulped, seeing the fury in her eyes, the controlled calm she was oozing and the menacing look in her eyes–and tossed the bread to Petunia, but Olivia moved faster and intercepted it. She snatched it out of the air and handed it to Helena with a sweet smile. ”Stay behind me, darling.” She ushered her behind her. Helena froze, then ran behind her and clutched her bread. 

”You three are picking on a weaker target; that doesn’t make you noble, it makes you cowardly. You are the worst of the worst.”

Petunia scowled at her and stepped forward. ”Do you know who we are, girl?” She bristled with indignation. 

”No, but you’ll find out who I am in a second.” Olivia raised her fists and the three of them began laughing again raucously.

Phillip, enthusiastic about the fight and odds, pushed his sleeves up. Liv’s eyes narrowed and she stepped forward. ”You going to pick on someone your own size now, sugar?” She taunted with fury. She gritted her teeth and could feel the urge to use magic raise, yet she resisted–for now. 

Phillip swung first, hoping to punch and knock her out–but Liv, anticipating his moves, leapt out of the way quickly and performed a roundhouse kick to his head. He yelped as his fist swung wildly, and stumbled backwards. Priscilla gasped in horror–again, was that all she could do?-- and aimed to punch her next while Petunia recoiled and then tried to intercept behind. Liv dodged them both and punched Priscilla in the abdomen and kicked her hard backwards.

As Philip regained his balance, he was ready to charge right back into the fray when he felt gravity fail him. Something lifted him into the air, a hand gripping the collar of his shirt. When he turned to see the cause, he discovered it was a young man with auburn hair and violet eyes that glared daggers right into his heart. Before he could say anything, he was just casually tossed aside like a bag of potatoes and landed unceremoniously onto his ass. 

"Three against one? I'd ask if you had any shame, but I think we all know that this isn't the lowest you can go," Askel said with an amused smirk though his eyes told a very different story. To Olivia, he was just another noble judging from the way he dressed though his choice of clothes were far more subdued though of fine make. However, his clothes failed to hide an impressively strong physique that laid beneath it and attached to his side was a sheath that held his longsword. His presence could only be described as suffocating. 

The young man feigned a polite smile and with clasped hands began to speak though his words, polite they may be, were laced with venom. "Pardon me, I couldn't help, but to overhear your exchange as I was passing by. Well, it seemed rather one sided by the looks of it. It's no wonder Caesonia's state of affairs are in such shambles with rabble like you running amok. Just a bunch of hoodlums," he said with never letting the corners of his mouth droop into a frown.

"Now I am a most gracious man. I am giving each of you a chance to repent and pay for whatever damages and more you have caused. A peaceful, just solution is better for all parties involved. Respectfully speaking, the three of you probably do not stand a chance against her and, well," For just a brief second, there was only menace. That polite smile fell and there was only scorn, those dark blue violet eyes were colder and sharper than any blade. "There are only a handful of people in Caesonia that could handle me and none of you are one of them."

He let his words hang in the air like a heavy morning fog before his expression relaxed and a smile crept upon his lips. "So let's settle this as cordially and politely as possible!"

Olivia’s eyes widened. Who was this? His outerwear described a nobleman and his physique told her there was more than meets the eye. She didn’t relax because she couldn’t tell if he were to be trusted yet. She huffed–three against one, she had done worse than that. Did she look like a damsel in distress? A spark of irritation rose inside but she quelled it with a deep breath. His politeness was merely a play–one that the trio had so graciously begun earlier. The venom could not be disguised with his flowery words of cordiality and peace. His words offered a threat, and though he was capable of carrying it out, she had difficulty judging whether there would be further consequences. How could this trio of insolent pigs be allowed to wander freely? Who was to say the trio wouldn’t perform such cruelty again? Clearly, whoever he was, he was the most gracious man. She wouldn’t say no to assistance, especially from what appeared to be a higher up nobleman. 

The fury she had been withholding was beginning to dim, as the trio now looked flabbergasted that two people had stood up to them. She glanced at Phillip who was now sheepishly dusting off his pants while the two girls' feathers couldn’t have been more ruffled. ”You heard him.” Olivia gestured impatiently with her hand and glared at them. ”Give her back the basket, food, and get the fuck out of our sights.”

Priscilla, the queen of gasping, let out a tinier one and grimaced as she picked up Helena’s now dirty and broken basket. Olivia glared at her hesitation, then snatched it and handed it sweetly back to Helena who was trembling and wiping her eyes. She moved up to Petunia and glared menacingly at her. “I see you have food you’re not giving her.” she said coldly. “She’s clearly starving–share, for once in your miserable life.”

Petunia’s face flushed, and her fury gave way to reluctant compliance as she shoved food–bread, eggs, fruit and vegetables–toward Helena. Olivia didn’t wait; instead, she guided them into the basket, then moved back in front of her, with her shoulders tense and ready. ”Get the fuck out of here.” The trio exchanged a look before scattering, tails tucked.

Olivia exhaled and carved their faces and names into memory. She turned to the red-haired, violet-eyed man and offered a faint smile. ”Thanks for your help. What’s your name, sir?” Liv turned, hoping to find out the girl’s real name, but she had scattered like a leaf in the wind. Olivia sighed and fixed the onlookers with a glare until they remembered their business.

“And just so we’re clear,” she added, glancing back at him, her smile thin and humorless, “I could’ve taken them but your help was most graciously accepted.” She paused as a mischievous smirk flashed across her face. It wasn’t arrogance–it was a promise.

Askel had stood there with his arms crossed and still like a statue, his gaze stern and unwavering as he made sure that dear little girl was given her basket back and more. The only thing that moved were his eyes that followed every morsel of food that was shoved into the child's basket. As much as he would have loved to drag these nobles by the hair and throw them in front of a judge for their shared crimes, he knew that this was going to be the most amount of justice that could come out of this situation. 

His eyes followed them as they skulked away, making sure that they truly had gone and were not just lurking around a corner. A sigh heaved from his body, not of relief, but of frustration that this was all he could do. At the very least a little girl had food, so he'd take whatever victory he could get. 

His attention was turned to this spitfire of a young woman. The stern look faded into something softer and a chuckle light as snowfall floated in the air. "Oh I have no doubt that you could, but the trouble always comes afterwards. If a noble can't hurt you physically, then they are damn sure to try to hurt you in any way that matters. If you're going to fight nobles, you need more than a kick to the head." A scowl flashed upon his face as his gaze trailed back to the direction that the hoodlum nobles went towards. "Makes me wish those fools tried to punch me; King Edin would throw fools like them under a trolley to stay in our good graces. About the only way to get any sort of justice with people like them."

Olivia listened to the newcomer with her arms folded. Her gaze kept scanning their surroundings then landing on him. Anytime someone looked their way, she would scowl at them and they’d turn away sheepishly. While his words rang true, OIlivia was unconcerned. Her reputation was not something she worried about. As he continued speaking, her eyebrows rose–what did he mean with the King? Who was she talking to? Her chest tightened and her heart rate quickened. His fury towards the idiotic trio began to dim towards kindness and sheepishness. 

A look of realization dawned upon him and gave her a sheepish smile. It was certainly a departure from the man whose words were laced with venom and a smile to kill. "My apologies, I have yet to introduce myself." He performed a small bow from the hip and laid his hand over his heart. "My name is Askel Camila, knight of Varian and second in line for the throne, but please, call me Askel."

Once he introduced himself, Olivia stiffened. She was speaking to a knight and a Prince? That explained it. Liv swallowed hard and quickly moved into a curtsy. ”Oh dear me, excuse my ignorance.” Olivia replied fervently and raised her head to meet his eyes. ”I am honored to make your acquaintance, Pri- Askel.” She corrected herself quickly. 

The prince-knight returned to his natural pose though he was far more relaxed now than before.  "So, do you usually go around playing vigilante or is this your first go around?" He gazed at her though one could tell there was no ill-intention; Askel was quickly studying her, and a look of worry painted his face. "To say you're awfully ill-equipped would be an understatement. What would you have done if either of them had a weapon?"

Olivia straightened once he had as well and smiled gently. Vigilante, huh? That was what he called her. Was she? She scratched her head and bit her lip. ”I was just enjoying the scenery and saw those thugs messing with the poor girl. So no to vigilante, but I do like to look out for the… lower class.” Calling them peasants caused her throat to clench. ”Eh, weapons don’t scare me much. I would’ve handled it just fine. They weren’t really lookin’ for too much trouble.”

As the memory of the tavern slunk through her thoughts, she bit her lip and leaned against the nearby brick wall. ”So, it looks like you handle yourself well too.” She paused, thought about her words, and continued. ”You seem to know what you’re doing, how do you feel like teaching me more defensive or offensive stuff? Cause if I see more nobles picking on the… lower class, I’m going to step in.”

Askel's brows lifted from his head at the sudden request to train her, this stranger that really took who he claimed to be at face value. On one hand, this was a terrible idea; one should not teach random people he meets on the street how to wield a sword. On the other hand, if she was going to keep taking justice in her own hands then she may meet her match one day. 

With crossed arms and a furrowed brow, the prince said, "Normally, I would be against civilians throwing themselves headlong into danger, but in this case, I get the feeling that the responsible thing would be to teach you. I'd never stop worrying if you end up dead in an alley." The idea of this girl lying dead in the streets, cut up all because she had no way of defending herself properly and it would have been his fault. With a sigh, Askel relented to the imagery that filled his head and said, "Alright, I'll do it. You don't look like the sort to go out of her way to hurt someone, at least I hope so."

Preemptively, he held his palm out to her to signal her to stop her from saying anything else. "Before you offer compensation, and I do mean this as kindly as possible, I don't need anything. This is for my peace of mind alone." However, he offered her an appreciative smile. "But your name works too. I can't keep calling you 'you;' I may have been away from the court for years, but even I still must address a lady properly."

Laughter nearly bubbled out from Olivia at the word civilian. Not to mention, him thinking she'd end up dead in an alleyway. She knew her request was sudden, but how often would their paths cross? Then again, he didn’t know she was feigning nobility–perhaps they would meet more often than she anticipated. She folded her arms and listened to him–how he didn't want anything, and how it was for his peace of mind only. She smiled wryly. 

“I do appreciate your acceptance. I’m not just some random stranger, Prince Askel. I’m Lady Olivia Hawthorne, and I am a family friend of Duke Lorenzo Vikena’s family. Also,” she smirked and pulled a blade from a hidden pocket. She twirled it briefly before letting her hand rest.

“Noblewomen aren’t usually walking around armed.” Olivia paused as she set it back. “I had this blade waiting in the wings, should I need it.”

Askel slowly blinked as he processed what she had just told him. She was a noblewoman? And a friend of Duke Vikena's family? And he spoke to her like she was just a commoner? Oh. Oh no. "I am so sorry" He exclaimed with great exuberance. "I just assumed that you, well, weren't. Most nobles don't go out of their way to those less fortunate than themselves." Askel tried to explain though a heavy sigh just poured from his lips. Maybe being away from the court for so many years had some drawbacks too. 

Taking a deep breath to regain his composure, he said, "Be that as it may, a knife is not going to cut it in most scenarios, Lady Hawthorne. It's better as a secondary weapon, for surprise attacks, or extreme close quarters combat. A knife is light has very little defensive measures against anything bigger and heavier."

He folded his arms and looked at her as if he was peering through her, examining her build. As far as he could tell she certainly did not live a sedentary life, especially with that roundhouse kick she landed earlier. "So, when do you want to start?" The prince asked.

”No apologies needed,” She brushed his apologies off and smiled sweetly. She giggled at his reaction, but it struck a chord in her heart. It was true–most nobles didn’t care for the lower class. Charlotte was an exception. She waited until he had regained his composure and gazed around the marketplace briefly. Then her gaze returned to him as he spoke. She nodded in agreement. A knife wouldn’t cut it–her past told her that. Still, she wasn’t used to running around without her bow on her–these damned noble rules were too restrictive. 

”I’m available when you are, Prince.” She replied and put her knife back in her pocket. ”I do appreciate it. What works for you? Also, I know it was random to just spring this on you. I was at that tavern event the other night on Drunkard’s Day and I really do want to protect people around me better.” She sighed.

”It’s been lovely chatting with you, by the way.” She then added with a grin, mischievously. ”I’d have hated to be the guy you picked up and tossed. You tossed him like a sack of flour,”

"I don't exactly have a packed schedule if I have time to throw men like that." He said with a humorous smirk. There was plenty of free time he had on his hands ever since he arrived in Caesonia; all of his duties as a prince and knight of Varian were on hold until the ball where he needed to show his best face. Well, his duties as a knight certainly were never put on hold. Olivia certainly was earnest in her desire to protect people though he could only wonder what happened during the Drunkards Day night.

Well, it was not really any of his business; if she wished not to go into the details then it was not his place to dig into it. With all of this free time on his hands he suggested, "If you wish to train right now then I would be able to accommodate you." However, he took a moment to consider what he just said.

"But I understand that you may have your own commitments, so how about this? The training grounds across the brewery are open to the general public, so I've been training there in the early hours of the morning. Meet me there and I'll give you your first tasks then." Askel offered as a compromise. He certainly would not mind having company in the wee hours of the morning. 

Olivia laughed at his joke. Not only was he a knight, but he had humor and was friendly. It was oddly welcoming, but she didn’t let her guard down. Still, Olivia remained jovial and friendly herself–he was willing to train her, and she needed all the help she could receive.  

”Tomorrow morning sounds great–thanks!” Liv replied. ”Um, I’m not sure where you were heading again, and I don’t want to keep you either in case anyone important wonders where you are. Think I’m going to go home and hope I don’t see any more trouble.” She nodded to him and then disappeared into the crowd like smoke.

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Hidden 4 mos ago Post by HylianRose

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Lucian & Mina: A Touching Moment

Part 2

Time: 3pm, Ignis 4
Location: Sorian Guesthouse
Outfits:Lucian’s OutfitMina Outfit

He wasn’t sure what he should have expected. Of course she would be hurt, he knew that deep down but had pushed for the kiss all the same and he was kicking himself for it now. He felt her words cut him like a hot knife. It was beneath him. His jaw tightened as he clenched. He hated the weight of that damned crown. More often, it felt more like a crown of thorns than anything else. In his eyes, there was no beneath or above.

”Feelings are lost on royalty, hm?” He remarked, admittedly much more coldly than he intended. ”I’ll try to stop, but not because it is beneath me but because you are deserving of much more.” He explained. His tone was firm, but gentle. 

”Who called you that?” He asked, snapping to look at her again. He’d heard the rest of her words, yes, and they shocked him as well, but he was still stuck on the title she had used for herself. ”Mina, stop. I asked who called you that?” He asked again, reaching for her arm to stop her. There was a scowl on his face, an anger he couldn’t quite place. 

Mina flinched as his fingers tightened around her arm, not because it hurt, but because the heat of his anger startled her. She looked up at him, seeing that the sorrow in his eyes had vanished, replaced by a scowl. It struck her as almost laughable—after all the time she had spent feeling cast aside, now he was acting as though her honor was something precious he needed to protect. That it was something worth defending.

"Does it matter?" she asked, her voice airy and brittle. She tried to pull away, but she could feel herself crumbling bit by bit under his gaze. "I imagine the list of people who haven't used that title would be shorter, Lucie. It would be a very small piece of paper."

She let out a short, brittle laugh that caught in her throat. Mina tried to pretend the name meant nothing, but she could feel the mask slipping. Each time she forced herself to say it, the ache in her chest grew heavier, as if she were collecting stones one by one.

"But if you are truly looking for the architect," she continued, her tone dropping even as her eyes grew glassy, "you need look no further than the 'charming' King Edin. He was the first to realize that a woman who cannot be controlled is best dismantled with a few choice whispers."

She met his eyes, and for a moment she let him see the cracks in her composure. Only then did she realize he truly hadn’t heard. He had been gone when the whispers first began, safe in the comfort of his marriage while she had been left behind, picked apart by the court’s gossip.

"He planted the seed, and the rest were only too happy to water it," she whispered, her fingers ghosting over the hand he held her with. "Don't play the hero tonight, Lucian. It’s far too late for that, for me. I’m fine. Just... just walk me back."

As the last word slipped from her lips, Mina felt her composure crumble. A single tear slid down her cheek, silent and warm, before falling onto the back of his hand where his grip still held her in place.

”Yes, yes it does matter.” He replied simply, unable to quell the anger he felt. He felt her tug away but refused to allow her. His grip tightened, not enough to hurt but enough to show her that he meant what he said. Hearing her words only angered him more. How long had she endured this alone? How long had she suffered this weight in silence? 

When she told him who had coined her title, he felt his stomach twist. Surely he had not. Surely the king had more grace and tact than to resort to baseless rumors. And that besides, why Mina? What benefit would he have in doing this to her? Control? It was clear to him that he had been holed away in his grief for far too long. The Sophia in his dream flashed before him briefly before Kilian’s words about the King resurfaced. It made his blood boil again. Fool of a King.... 

”Why? Should I go back to my sorrow? Drown myself in drink again?” He asked, his tone a bit more accusatory than he meant it. ”I’ve no illusions of playing the hero or making all of this go away for you. My power only reaches so far and I’ve never been very good at protecting those close to me…” His voice cracked just slightly. 

”But can you at least let me try? It might be selfish of me, but…” He felt his throat tighten. ”I can’t keep burying my head in the sand, pretending the world isn’t moving on without me, pretending like I don’t care if it does.” He turned his head down to look at her hand, thumb brushing over the back of it. 

He felt the tears before he saw them and felt a tug, like a gravitation to protect her. His eyes scanned the room briefly to ensure none were around before he pulled her into an isolated hallway. Lucian tugged her into his arms, wrapping them around her small frame. ”Let it out if you want to. I’ll hide you… He whispered, a hand reaching up to pat at her hair. ”Orrr punch me if it’ll make you feel better. I can take it… I think. Probably.” He lightly joked, trying to lift the mood even if just a little. 

Mina flinched, the raw honesty in his voice stripping away her final layer of defense. He wasn't just reaching for warmth; he was reaching for a reason to stop drowning. "You're an idiot, Lucian," she choked out, her voice cracking as he pulled her into the shadows. "A royal, selfless, thick-headed idiot."

The idea of him trying to protect her now, after the world had already done its worst, made something inside her snap. It was a terrifying, suffocating kind of hope. "You think I want you to drown? You think I read those letters and learning of your devastation, just waiting for the day you’d finally decide to come up for air?" She balled her fist and struck his shoulder hard. It wasn't a lady’s tap, but a strike fueled by over a decade of silence and the agony of knowing he had been wasting away, broken by the death of someone they both cared about, and Mina not being able to do anything to help. "I have spent years being the person everyone else needs me to be! I’ve stepped aside again and again, throwing away my own happiness so others could be happy! I have fought every vulture in this court alone while you were away!" It wasn’t actually his fault, she knew that, and she wasn’t actually mad at him. She was angry with herself.

She hit him again, the strike landing weaker as her voice broke. "How dare you offer me safety now? How dare you make me want it?"

"Damn you, Lucian! Damn you for being so blind! And damn you for coming back and making me feel something again when I had finally learned how to be cold. I was safe when I was numb!"

Her hands uncurled, her fingers clutching desperately at the fabric of his shirt as her knees finally gave way. She collapsed into him, her forehead dropping against his chest as the first true sob racked her frame. It was an ugly, broken sound as the dam finally burst. She clung to him with a white-knuckled grip, letting the 'Whore of Varian' wither away in the darkness of the hallway, leaving nothing behind but a girl who was simply, devastatingly tired.

After a long moment, she pulled back just enough to look at him, her face tear-stained and her expression deadly serious.

"Listen to me," she whispered, her voice firm despite the tremors. "If you ever decide to spiral back into a bottle, I will find you. I’ll drag you out myself, or I’ll dive right into the wreckage with you just to make sure you don't have a moment's peace. I won't let you disappear again. You and I both know Sophia wouldn't want that for you... and neither do I. Do you understand?"

He smiled faintly as she called him an idiot, though if asked he probably couldn’t have told you why. Perhaps because he agreed with her. He was many of those things, selfless though, he’d have to disagree on. The fragility in her voice made his heart ache, his mind once again thinking of Mina dealing with all of this on her own for so long. Perhaps they could both benefit from sharing their anguish and pain. Perhaps some of her burden could be lifted if he shared it with her. Perhaps.

The faint smile faded the moment she started talking more. He kept his arms wrapped around her, her scent filling his lungs, intoxicatingly soft. A rather frustrating juxtaposition to the current mood. Her words stung, a thousand little needles in his heart, but he needed her to say them. He needed to hear them, take that weight and that blame. He winced as she hit him, a small part of him taken aback by the force of it. That was going to smart for a little while… 

Each strike against him was weaker than the last, but damn if it didn’t still hurt his shoulder. He made a mental note to never piss this woman off. Ever. He listened quietly as she spoke, cursing him. He would take it all, shoulder that blame. What was just a little more self loathing after all? He couldn’t begin to understand what it was she was feeling, the emotions coursing through her. He could, on some levels, understand the pain of coming out of a numbing stupor, of raising your head above the dirt you had buried it under. He understood all too well how painful it was to pull yourself out of your comfort. For him, that had been his grief. Oddly enough, his grief had been his armor, a way to protect himself. He could hole himself away and not face the world. It took a wake up call from the ghost of his late wife to jog him into the realization that he couldn’t do that any longer.

He felt the weight of her as she collapsed against him, arms tightening as he held her up. For her, his expression was probably one of pity, but to him it felt like looking into a mirror somehow. His pain reflected by hers. 

”Hey, hey.. I’ve got you…” He spoke softly, his grip on her tightening again as he felt the force of her tears. For such a strong fist, she felt so small and frail in his arms, like he could envelope her whole. He rested his head against hers, letting her cry as long as she needed to. He would have stood there holding her until his legs collapsed if she needed it. Though, he was thankful he didn’t have to. 

His gaze was soft as she turned to look at him, his brows furrowed ever so slightly in concern. A smile grew as she spoke, turning into a soft, light laughter. It faded just briefly as she mentioned Sophia. He took a moment to look at her, truly look at her. The Mina he knew in youth was still there, just behind her eyes, but the woman standing before him was almost poetically beautiful. There was a tragic sort of beauty in her eyes sore from her tears and in the raw, unfiltered emotions she had allowed herself. His heart twinged, twisting ever so slightly in conflict. 

”I’m not going anywhere.” He promised. He knew what Ambrose thought of his promises and his abilities to keep them. He knew his own damned shame about it, but he had every intention of keeping his promises now. He’d keep them even if it killed him.

Mina studied his face, searching for any sign of uncertainty, but instead she found only a quiet, unwavering resolve. The weight of his promise settled over her, unexpected and almost overwhelming. She realized, in that moment, that she had been longing for this very thing, a simple vow to stay, without ever daring to hope for it.

She let out a long, shaky breath, her fingers finally relaxing their death-grip on the damp linen of his shirt. "See that you don't," she murmured, her voice thick and gravelly. "Because I wasn't there to pull you out the first time, Lucian... and I don't think I could live with myself if I let it happen again."

She drew back, just enough to try and gather what little dignity she could muster, pressing the heels of her hands firmly against her eyes. A small, irritated huff escaped her lips, a sound that betrayed her sudden, keen awareness of how unraveled she must appear.

“Wonderful,” she muttered, her voice thick with the remnants of tears and a touch of frustration. “Just look at me. My eyes must be swollen, and—” she paused, noticing the vivid streak of color on his shoulder, “—judging by that mark of lip rouge, I’ve managed to ruin your shirt as well. I must look wretched. Crying is such a dreadful, undignified thing, and now I’ve gone and left the evidence all over you.”

She fussed over herself for a moment, hands moving with a desperate sort of energy as she tried to smooth her hair and dab away the last traces of tears, as if she could somehow erase the evidence of her unraveling. Gradually, her movements slowed, and as she glanced up at him, the sheer absurdity of it all struck her. A soft, genuine laugh slipped out between the remnants of her hiccups. It was a sound that felt more like her old self than anything she had managed all evening. “I’m sorry,” she said, shaking her head as she met his gaze. “I’m being utterly ridiculous. Thank you, Lucian. Truly.”

He nodded. He had no plans to run from this now. He needed to protect those that mattered the most to him. He couldn't afford to let more time slip by him. 

He pressed his lips together to contain his laughter at her little huff. He'd laughed before and knew better, but he couldn't help but find it oddly endearing. He turned his head back down to look at her as she pulled away. He felt his breath hitch in his throat for just a moment, his stomach doing a small flip. He couldn't be sure what flip had switched and he knew how absolutely mad he would sound if he voiced this out loud. 

She looked beautiful. 

Even just thinking it broke his brain. How? Her eyes were a swollen mess, her lipstick smudged and everywhere. There were tears stains where her makeup had been washed away and he could hear how sniffly she was in her voice. But damned himself if he didn't find her absolutely attractive right now. It left him with a confused and stunned expression on his face that he just could not mask.  

Her laughter broke his utter stupor as a flush of heat rose to his cheeks. The thoughts in his head right now were not the kind you had about friends. And he internally cursed himself for being such a hound when she'd literally just cried her heart out on him.  He was a beast. 

”You do look a little ridiculous.” He lied, poking at her side playfully. His gaze softened again as he looked back at her. ”Any time, Mini.” He returned, offering her a gentle smile. 

”Let's get you to your room, shall we? Can't have anyone seeing you like this.” He asked, offering her his arm. Nevermind the fact that there was a small unspoken part of him that didn't want anyone to see her like this for very, very different reasons. Selfish, possessive reasons. Nothing he would ever openly admit to himself right now, anyway. 

Mina caught the subtle shift in his expression, the dazed, almost stunned look that sent her heart stumbling in her chest. When he reached out to poke her side, the unexpected touch startled her just enough to bring her back to herself, though the heat that had curled in her chest refused to fade.

"A little?" she repeated, her voice carrying a weary edge as she managed a faint, crooked smile despite the redness around her eyes. "You’re a terrible liar, Lucian. I must look like a drowned cat." Without thinking, she slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow, leaning into him as if drawn by instinct. The warmth of his arm against her shoulder was a comfort she found herself needing more than she wished to admit. She glanced up at him through her lashes, allowing a spark of mischief to flicker in her gaze, determined to make light of the absurdity that surrounded them.

"You're right, we should move," she said softly, her voice dropping into a low, teasing silkiness. "Imagine the scandal if we were caught like this. The Varian Crown Prince and Lady Mina Blackwood, tucked so deep in the shadows it looks like they couldn't even make it back to her door without devouring one another."

A quiet, self-mocking laugh escaped her, though the words felt hollow even as she spoke them. She found herself searching his face, wondering what thoughts lingered behind his eyes, her mind drifting back to the way he had kissed her—the need in it, the heat. Her heart broke quietly at the thought that he might regret it, or worse, expect them to simply return to the way things had been, settled heavily in her chest. She tried to convince herself that they could go back, that nothing had changed, but as they walked, she doubted she would ever find her way back to what had once been normal.

"It's better than the truth," she murmured, drawing a little nearer to his side as they walked. "That I was standing here blubbering like a child and making a mess of your shirt. It makes for a far more interesting story, don’t you think? Certainly more on-brand for me." She pointed at a door now coming into view. “That’s my room.”

”Liar? Are you calling a crown prince a liar?” He asked, a playful tone to his voice. He wanted to prove her wrong but also didn’t want to admit how wrong she was. If this is what a drowned cat looked like, Lucian had some issues to work through. He stiffened just briefly as he felt her hand slip around his arm. It was the sort of thing a school aged boy would do when faced with his crush, though Lucian still hadn’t quite made that realization yet himself. 

And then she looked up at him and the unholy thoughts raced back. He was going to need to do a lot of thinking later… He couldn’t know the way his eyes darkened just slightly as these thoughts came to him or what she would think when he averted his gaze. All at once he couldn’t remember how he had treated her before this. How close had he been before? Did he hug her casually before? Could he do it again now? His mind raced. 

He very nearly choked as she spoke about possible scandal, not because it was shocking in and of itself but because it had been so similar to the thoughts racing through his head just moments ago. He needed a cold shower… and maybe a priest…

He only turned to look at her again when he heard her soft whisper. He shook his head, his throat making a soft sound in disagreement. ”Miss Mina Blackwood, I think it’s time for a rebrand. The Rose of Varian.” He started, looking her over. ”I can’t control what others say anymore than I can keep the sun from shining, but I can control the space between you and I. When you are with me, you are just Mina.” He explained, lifting his hand to her hair now, tussling it playfully. 

”So frankly, I don’t give a damn what’s on-brand for you.” He shrugged, smiling at her. He turned to open the door for her before leaning against the wall beside it to wait for her to step inside. ”Go rest up and get refreshed. I’m sure you’ll feel better once you’ve cleaned yourself up a bit. I’m upstairs in room 21 if you need me, okay?” He told her. ”Knock loudly though, I might be passed out. He laughed.

A quiet gasp escaped Mina as he tousled her hair, a small sound of protest that faded almost as soon as it began. She did not move away, choosing instead to linger at the threshold, her heart beating far too quickly in her chest. Turning to face him, she let her shoulder rest against the doorframe, delaying the inevitable return to her room. The thought of that silent space unsettled her; she knew it would be filled with the memory of his heartbeat and the lingering warmth of his touch.

"Careful," she murmured, a crooked, bratty little smirk finally surfacing as she smoothed her hair. She felt a reckless urge to push him, to see if the man who had just kissed her with such hunger was still simmering beneath the princely facade. "Remember what happened the last time one of us tousled the other's hair?" She leaned an inch closer, her eyes searching his with a sudden spark of boldness. "Unless, of course, that was the goal all along."

Her words lingered between them, charged and unspoken, the memory of his lips on hers still painfully clear. For a fleeting moment, she wished he would reach for her again, to draw her back into that world where nothing else existed. Yet uncertainty pressed down on her, a heavy ache settling in her chest at the thought that perhaps she alone was left unsteady. The realization left her teetering on the edge, and she released a soft, uncertain laugh, hoping to dispel the tension that had gathered. "I'm joking. Mostly. Though I think I was calling a Crown Prince a liar earlier... and I'm still waiting to see what he's actually going to do about such an insult to his honor."

Her expression softened then, the playfulness receding just enough to show the raw girl underneath. She looked at him, really looked at him, wondering if he knew how much power he held over her in this moment. "And I’ll try," she added quietly, her voice barely a whisper, a promise she wasn't sure she could keep but desperately wanted to. "To be just Mina. With you."

Mina hesitated, her eyes falling to the faint rouge mark on his shirt—a small, undeniable sign of her presence, a trace of the woman she was with him. A wave of possessive longing swept through her, unexpected and undeserved, and she found herself searching his gaze once more, a flicker of mischief returning to her expression.

"Room 21," she repeated, her voice dropping into a playful, velvet hum that masked the tremor in her hands. "You’re far too trusting, Lucie. I can be a very loud knocker when needy, and I’m not sure I’m quite finished making a mess of your night just yet."

He watched her move, expecting her to start heading into her room. When she paused to lean against the doorway, he realized he’d been hoping she wouldn’t leave. He raised a brow when she told him to be careful. Careful of what, he wondered with mild amusement. 

She answered that before he had time to even consider it. He felt heat creep up to his cheeks again and he kicked himself for being so sensitive. His eyes went wide as she leaned in closer, close enough for him to get another breath of her scent. She.. certainly was not helping his… mood. Though, he was beginning to think that was her plan. 

He felt a drop in his chest when she said she’d been joking, unable to stop the disappointment he felt. That, in and of itself, was something new, something he’d have to figure out on his own. ”What better way to combat an insult than to simply be the bigger person and continue to be a Prince who does not lie. He replied, conveniently forgetting the lie he’d told just a moment ago. 

His own expression softened and he seemed to relax a bit more in his posture. ”Good girl.” He offered softly, smiling at her. He knew it wouldn’t fix everything, couldn’t possibly. But, that shouldn’t stop him from doing what he could do. 

The look on her face next had heat rushing back to his face. Didn’t she say she’d been kidding? Was she trying to give him whiplash? He swallowed hard, nodding his head as she repeated his room number. He was trying to ignore the way she sounded, the way her voice seemed to envelop him like velvet. 

”M-Mess?” He stammered without thinking, his composure breaking for a moment. He coughed, trying to regain his composure. ”That’s… If… If you need me…” He added after a moment, his voice breaking slightly as his brain tried to reboot. 

Mina’s heart lurched in her chest. The words “good girl” echoed in her mind, leaving her flushed and unsteady on her feet. It was both a command and a compliment, and she felt herself unraveling under the weight of it.

She watched him falter, his stammering giving her a brief sense of control before it was replaced by a sharp, restless longing. "Do you... do you want me, Lucian?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. The words hung in the air, and she felt her cheeks burn as she realized what she had said. "T-to need you, that is. Because I think I..."

She didn't finish the sentence. She couldn't. Instead, she found herself leaning closer, her body acting on a primal instinct that overrode every bit of her common sense. She was moving into his space again, her gaze locked on his mouth, her mind screaming a silent, pathetic plea for him to just reach out and take her. She wanted him to bridge the gap, to pull her into her room and slam the door on the rest of the world.

Behind her, the cacophony in her head reached a fever pitch. The voices. The unseen, persistent weights that followed her everywhere swelled in a chaotic symphony. Some were laughing at her desperation, mocking her for thinking a Prince could ever truly want a ruined thing like her. Others were whispering foul, encouraging things, urging her to take what she wanted while the shadows were still deep enough to hide them.

The noise was deafening, a whirlwind of shame and desire that had her teetering on the edge of a complete breakdown. She was a heartbeat away from reaching for his shirt, from begging him to ruin her properly—

"Mina? Is that you?"

The voice hit her like a physical strike. Mina didn't just startle; she recoiled, her entire body locking into a state of rigid, primal terror.

Sebastian.

A flicker of jagged anger and sharp frustration crossed her face, but it was instantly swallowed by a cold, paralyzing fear. It was the kind of fear reserved for a predator that has finally cornered its prey. Her uncle had become a shadow over her life, his behavior growing more erratic, more unpredictable, and more dangerous with every passing month.

She stared at Lucian, her eyes wide and glassy with a sudden, raw vulnerability. She looked hunted. For a split second, the "Rose of Varian" was gone, and in her place was a girl terrified for her very life, silently pleading with the man in front of her to see the danger, even as she turned to face it.

By the time Sebastian’s footsteps sounded behind her, Mina had forced her expression into a careful mask, though it threatened to slip.

"Ah, Prince Lucian," Sebastian said, his voice carrying a booming, jovial warmth that felt like a serrated blade against Mina's nerves. He stepped up behind her, his hand settling heavily on her shoulder. It was a gesture that looked affectionate to an outsider but felt like a shackle to her. "I didn't realize you were here. I hope my niece hasn't been bending your ear too long with her nonsense. She does love to hear herself talk."

Mina kept her gaze fixed on the rouge stain on Lucian’s shirt, her breath coming in shallow, silent hitches.

Lucian froze, hearing the words from her lips. 

"Do you... do you want me, Lucian?"

His brain short-circuited again. He half asked himself what she could have meant by that question, but he knew. It wasn’t hard to figure out. She’d said them so quietly, but it rang in his ears like a deafening chorus. He wasn’t even sure he knew how to answer that or if he should. The answer was yes, he couldn’t deny that even to himself on at least a physical level. But he knew that he needed to keep a level head. He needed to control himself and figure out his own feelings before he let his hormones take over. 

She started leaning towards him and he felt like there was a carriage car racing towards him and he couldn’t bring himself to jump out of the way. ”Mina..” He started, trying to work up the courage to stop her, even as his hands began to lift, just ever so slightly, to reach for her. 

He heard a familiar voice break the tension between them and all at once he felt like a boy having been caught by a parent doing something he shouldn’t. How long had Sebastian been there, he wondered as he turned to face the voice. 

Lucian turned to look at Mina for a moment as Sebastian walked closer. He saw the look on her face, noticed the distinct change in how she carried herself. It was like night and day. Gone was the warmth from her face. Her body had gone rigid and saw the wide, terrified look in her eyes. It was something he’d expect out of someone who’d just seen a ghost or a beast, not their unwell uncle. 

His gaze shifted back to Sebastian, who had closed the distance rather quickly, before returning to Mina. By the time he did, however, her expression had changed again. It was something more deliberate this time, but he could still see the fear in her eyes. Confusion furrowed his brow for a moment, but he quickly smoothed it to put a smile on his face for her uncle. 

“Ahh, Sebastian! I hadn’t expected to see you here.” He started cordially. The reaction from Mina was a stark contrast to what he expected from her in regards to her uncle. Was she that scared that they had been caught? 

”No, sir. She hasn’t.” He replied somewhat curtly, unable to mask the slight tilt of a brow raise. He did not like the way that sounded. It did not sound like the sort of thing you say about family. 

”Actually, I was just about to invite her out to go eat dinner with my sisters. I know she hasn’t seen Marina in quite some time.” The lie came easily, but he wasn’t sure if it would matter. Still, he had to try. The look on her face was stamped in his mind and he felt like he couldn’t leave her alone now. ”Would you mind terribly if I took her to go see her? I fear my dear sisters would be truly distraught if they couldn’t see her soon.”

Somehow, he still felt powerless. He saw no way to easily drag her away from this, not without insulting the Count and not without creating problems for his parents. But he had been powerless one too many times. He had to try. 

Sebastian’s hand settled on Mina’s shoulder, the weight of it making her tense beneath his touch. It was not just the pressure, but the way his fingers curled, possessive and unyielding, that made her want to shrink away. When Lucian lied, trying to intervene, Mina felt a flicker of hope, but her uncle’s grip only tightened, a silent warning that she could not ignore.

"How thoughtful, your Highness," Sebastian said, his voice a smooth, synthetic kindness. "But I must decline. My niece and I have private family matters to discuss over dinner. Important ones. Family must come first."

Mina caught the confusion in Lucian’s eyes, the way he tried to shield her with his words. She understood what he was doing, and as much as she wanted to let him stay, she knew it would only make things worse. If he remained, her uncle’s temper would only grow, and he would be in danger just like all the others. She had to send Lucian away, even though every part of her longed for the safety he offered.

She slipped free from Sebastian’s grasp and stepped closer to Lucian, wrapping her arms around his neck in a hug that was far too familiar for the setting. For a moment, she let herself rest there, drawing strength from the contact. "It was wonderful to see you, Lucian," she said, her words meant more for her uncle than for Lucian himself.

She pressed her cheek to his, lowering her voice so only he could hear. "Go. I’ll be alright. If I need you, I know where to find you. I promise." She knew he deserved more of an explanation, but she couldn’t give it. Not yet. But she would, she silently promised herself she would tell him everything eventually.

She pulled back, her fingers lingering on the rouge stain on his shirt before she retreated toward the shadow of her uncle. She gave him one last brittle, "Just Mina" smile, silently pleading with him to walk away before the mask shattered completely.

His heart sank a little as his ploy fizzled before his eyes. There was no getting her out of this right now. It stung all the more that there was nothing he could do. The look on her face stayed with him, haunting him and he knew it would stay with him the rest of the day. His jaw muscles flexed as he took in a controlled breath, a practice his father had taught him for controlling his emotions.

When she hugged him, he couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of guilt. Just moments ago, he’d mistaken her for his late wife, kissed her, and was actually debating whisking her away to somewhere private to do much, much more. And now, here she was pleading as if a monster was about to take her away from him, and he couldn’t do a damned thing to stop it. He intentionally did not meet Sebastian’s gaze as his hands gently rested against her back for the time she had embraced him. Stupid weak idiot, he thought to himself.

”The pleasure was all mine, Mina. I’ll let Marina know that you’d like to meet with her for dinner when you’re both available.” He replied cooly, not trusting a response to her whispered comment, not trusting that Sebastian wouldn’t hear it, and not trusting his resolve to keep this civil. He didn’t know what was going on, but if Mina was pleading for his protection, he wanted to find a way to give it to her. Even if it meant returning her to him for the moment. 

He nodded briefly to Sebastian, a silent gesture meant to show the older male his respects. ”Good day to you both.” He addressed them, his gaze lingering on Mina for a moment before he spun on his heels. Every movement took effort, and the moment he knew they couldn’t see his face, he allowed it to shift into the expression of anger he’d wished he could have shown before. He was too weak. Far too fucking weak. His fist clenched as he ascended the stairs towards his room and he resisted the urge to punch a wall.

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Stratya, Kazumin, Cassius, Olivia & Charlotte

Part 2

Time: Ignis 2 Evening
Location: Vikena’s Sorian Estate

The walk to the Vikena estate only took minutes, especially with Cassius able to assist. 

One moment they were surrounded by the cool bite of night air, the next they were within the familiar warmth of the Vikena foyer. 

Charlotte barely registered any of it properly. Her voice came out a little breathless, but determined as she led them through the entry. “This way—please,” she murmured, “Mind your step.”

The living room was surrounded by rich wood walls and bookcases. Under the center coffee table was a thick rug with elaborate designs. Several red-cushioned couches gathered around a wide hearth. The fireplace dominated the far side of the room, its flames throwing a dancing gold across the space. Despite the room looking the same as it always did, it somehow felt unfamiliar after the brutality of the tavern. 

Charlotte guided Stratya toward the nearest couch. “Sit—please sit,” she insisted, “You’ve done quite enough for one evening.”

When Stratya lowered herself onto the cushions, Charlotte hovered a moment longer. Then her gaze dropped, and her expression broke. It was smeared along the front of her dress. She stared at it as though seeing it for the first time, the reality of it settling. And then her eyes moved, inevitably, to Stratya’s hand.

She immediately sank down beside the couch, knees settling on the rug, her skirt pooling around her. Slowly and carefully, she reached for Stratya’s injured hand and cradled it, barely daring to touch as she cupped it between both of her own.

“Oh, look at your hand…” Her voice turned gentle in the way it did when she was trying very hard not to cry. “I’m so sorry, dear…” The endearment slipped out without permission. Her thumbs hovered uselessly, trembling just above Stratya’s skin. “I will fetch some medical supplies.” she told her.

As she pushed up, the room seemed to lurch—firelight suddenly too bright, the edges of her vision swimming. Charlotte’s fingers caught the edge of the couch as a sharp throb pulsed behind her eyes, and for a second she just stood there blinking like she was trying to remember how to be upright.

She still tried anyway: one step, then another. Charlotte’s grip slid along the couch for balance, chin lifting with a stubborn little set of her mouth, as if the next step were obvious. Yet her thoughts couldn’t quite get there: bandages, spirits, linen… but where? Charlotte swallowed hard, eyes flicking toward the hall and then back again, hand still braced on the couch. “They’re… in the—” she started, and the words just… didn’t come.

It seemed to the knight that arriving at the Vikena estate had sparked a drive in Charlotte, despite her state. Somewhere, it seemed the young lady had forgotten her own injuries. “Aye, feels tha’ way, doan i’, oooye,” Stratya let herself settle onto the couch with a groan, holding her left hand out from her body to spare it any shocks.

Those eyes came to her hand. Though Charlotte was continuing to prove herself, her calmness was not that born of familiarity, the way Stratya was used to her battle scars being greeted. So very tenderly, the young lady held her wounded hand, a softer response than even her mother. As Lady Vikena studied her hand, Stratya studied the Lady, “aye, go’ a bi’ rreckless, I think.” It was the injury she earned saving the very lady inspecting it. “I’ve ‘ad worrse and come back jus’ fyne. I jus’ need tae.. rrespec’ t’ injurry.” How could she possibly tell Charlotte the injury had been for her sake? It wasn’t necessary.

As Charlotte pushed herself back up, determined to tend to her guests, Stratya saw it. The young lady had taken a great blow to the head, and now the consequence was showing itself beyond fatigue. The knight leaned carefully to the side and stretched her right arm out to lay her hand over Charlotte’s on the couch, “Lady Charlot’e, y’ took a blow tae th’ head. You shoul’ come an’ si’ wit’ me. Help me wit’ my glove, won’ ye?” Gently, the captain took the young lady’s hand, though her fingers were clumsy as she did. Stratya’s hand burned still from her spell casting, yet her left was so much worse, even besides the knife wound. “Lord Damien, I’m afrraid it seems,” she took a moment to look for Vikena staff in the room, “we’ll ‘afe tae ask yersen tae find t’ supplies?”

Though she’d bade Charlotte to help her with her glove in an attempt to coax her to sit, perhaps her hand was worse yet than the hole in it.

“I’m—” Charlotte started, then stopped, breath catching.“I’m sorry. I know you’re right.” And she let herself sink down beside Stratya. Her hands, still trembling, fussed with Stratya’s glove. At least having something to do kept her from drifting.

Kazumin came in behind them, holding Olive tight to his chest, moving like he wanted to sprint but forcing himself not to, careful not to jostle her. The cold outside still clung to him, but the room was nice and warm. His eyes immediately darted across the couches, as if he were hunting for the safest place to put her down. Finally, he found an open spot and crossed to it, then slowed right at the last second, his grasp becoming gentle as he lowered Olive onto the cushions. 

His gaze swept her fast, and he visibly winced at what he found; his breath caught, then steadied as he leaned close. “I won’t be long,” he murmured, voice rough, thumb brushing lightly at her hairline before he pressed his forehead to hers with a featherlight touch. Then, Kazumin forced himself to pull away.

It was only then that he truly looked up and saw Charlotte properly, and he wore the shock on his expression. The gash, the dazed way she tried to stand like sheer stubbornness could glue her together… Heat flashed behind his eyes as Winston’s image stabbed through his mind. He swallowed it down with a harsh gulp, jaw working once like he was grinding the anger into dust, and made himself move before it could take him anywhere useless. 

His attention cut to Stratya’s hand next, and relief flickered that Stratya was coaxing Charlotte to sit. “Aye—good,” he breathed, and then his tone sharpened, aimed at Charlotte with blunt, protective insistence. “Aye, you sit there and tend to the lady general's hand. No need for ya to be moving and assisting with that head wound. Let me and Cassius handle fetching the meds and cleaning supplies, got to get those injuries cleaned. Gonna need to fetch plenty of water too… ” He stepped closer, then stopped himself, wanting so badly to hug Charlotte and not knowing how without hurting her; his hand even lifted before he caught it and let it drop back to his side, fingers curling tight.

He looked to Cassius, urgency back in his posture. “Lord Damien—if you’re willing, help me find the medical kit and clean linens, aye? We’ll need water too. Plenty of it.” Cas nodded simply. Then Kazu’s gaze returned to Stratya, worried for the captain as well slipping through despite him. After that, he turned, moving with haste, already scanning for cupboards, doors, staff, for anything that might get him to supplies faster without leaving the room to fall apart behind him.

A sigh of relief escaped Olivia once they entered the foyer. She held onto Kazumin weakly, her red hair draped over his arm like a waterfall of red. She shut her eyes briefly and pushed off the desperate need for sleep. She watched Lottie attempt to take care of Stratya and her injured hand, but the knight coaxed her into sitting beside her. Her chest became heavy while she watched the two ladies injured, but especially Lottie. She was going to have to stay awake and need supervision. Cassius’ interaction with Lottie was more intimate than she had expected, though she was glad someone else had Lottie’s back.

After Kazumin set her on the couch, Olivia sat up and watched the scene. Her own head throbbed,but she was nowhere near as bad as anyone else. She thought for a moment of a few spells, and then addressed the two ladies.

”I can heal both of you if you'd prefer. Lottie, you definitely need to be healed.” Her gaze flickered over to Cassius suspiciously. ”Unless you have any issues with magic. Will you rat me out? I think we’d all prefer that she doesn’t have any short or long-term injuries.” She then added in a quiet voice, ”I will hiss at you again,” she teased Cassius, although her resolve was not one of joking matter. 

At Olivia’s offer, Charlotte’s gaze lifted. “Yes,” she whispered. “Please. Heal her first.” Stratya, with her eyes on the healer in question, shook her head.

Cassius smiled at the jest. “Oh I have plenty of issues with magic.” He said boldly, though his concern for Charlotte was still obvious, the statement sounded more like the version of him the others had seen before. Lottie’s gaze had snapped to him immediately upon those words, concern written on her face that she hadn’t the mind to conceal.

“More than my fair share, to be honest…And I am a lot of things, but a rat? Not a chance.” Cas continued as he moved around the couch towards Kazumin in preparation for the two to go grab the supplies. “Furthermore, love, I’ve been hissed at by far worse things than a witch. If you can heal them, please…by all means. Do your thing. You will get no complaints from me.” 

Cassius then turned his gaze from Olivia back to Charlotte. As he spoke to her, his roguish inflection became softer, gentler, just for her. “Kazumin is right, Lottie. I know you wish to help, but right now the best way to do that is to tell us where to find the medicine. We can gather everything and help Olivia get you and our lovely Knight Captain here right as rain.”

“The… the medical kit,” Charlotte managed, eyes flicking toward the hall as if picturing it. “Butler’s pantry—left of the kitchen. Second cabinet. Top shelf. It’s in a blue tin.” She paused, as if searching for more details, “And linens… west staircase closet.”

She laid her head without much thought on Stratya’s shoulder wearily. “If you… if you two get lost, just screech until someone comes to your aid,” she breathed, the hint of a smile trembling at the corners of her lips.

A humored huff escaped Captain Durmand. If only things were so simple. “Lady” Olivia was not what she seemed, and that was very dangerous, especially now. She’d been climbing on rafters and fighting like it was a part of her life. As well, her shouted cooperative tactics with Kazumin spoke to years of working together. Alas, Kazumin was only recently raised to nobility. They only way, she thought, they could know each other so well was if they’d been long-time friends, but that didn’t make sense. 

“Lady Olivia,” Stratya began, her tone heavy, “I am afrraid I hesita’e tae le’ ye cast morre spells.”

The captain let her arm hold Charlotte gently, giving her shoulder a soft squeeze. She wished things were simple enough she could just allow it. “Jus’ momen’s ago, ye were in t’ thrrows o’ darrk magic. Thah’ is also an injurry. If I le’ ye cast morre magic, will it be aggrriva’ed? Will t’ darrkness surrge?” Stratya looked at the gash on Charlotte’s head, and then her hand. She could heal it herself, but her own injury was already going to take a long time to heal naturally. There weren’t a lot of options. Injuries like theirs might place them at the scene. Healing spells and dark magic seemed to her they would be at odds with each other. Perhaps such well-intentioned magic would be safe? Yet, it could also expend the energy that would stand opposed to corruption. Too much was unknown.

“I should arrest you.” Knight-Devout Captain Stratya Durmand gave the short, frustrated sigh of someone who was losing a fight against their own principles and values, “I should. Thah’ would be my safest move.. prrobably.” She watched Olivia for a moment, letting it sink in, before she continued,

 “but I think thah’ would nae be t’ best ferr t’ Kingdom oa its people. Yerr nae crriminal,” at least, not because of this, “yerr.. sick, or.. injurred. Somethin’, I’m unsurre if we have a worrd ferr i’. Y’ need help, nae punishmen’.”

Worse yet, “t’ Crown has got’en involved. Werre Qu-... Alibeth still on t’ Queen’s thrrone, I coul’ attempt tae rreason wit’ herr. I doub’ t’ King will hearr anythin’ I ‘ave tae say shorr’ o’ wha’ ‘e wan’s tae hearr. I migh’ jus’ end up marrkin’ m’sen, trryin’. The witchhun’errs will only get morre dangerrous..”

If dark magic sickness is anything like the Fury.. Hmm. It was worth a shot.

Stratya took her right arm from Charlotte and began to dig into her satchel, “Lady Olivia, I will grran’ ye perrmission tae use magic tae heal ourr wounds, bu’ I ‘ave conditions. Firrst, unless dirre-est need confrronts you, only cast with my perrmission. You will seek my council after such emerrgencies confrron’ you. Two, you will answerr my questions, which I will ask you in just a momen’. Thrree, afterr you heal ourr wounds, you will,” she pulled out what looked like a joint, “smoke this wit’ me. And fourr.. neverr, everr, cast darrk magic again.”

Olivia’s laugh was soft, brief,  and almost surprised; it slipped out like steam from a kettle before she could stop it. She tipped her chin toward Cassius in a wordless nod that carried a whole conversation inside it: I understand. I do. There was amusement, yes, but also a recognition of irony, a respect for the honesty. Then she let the sound die, and whatever warmth had been in her face went with it.

When Stratya spoke, Olivia went still.

Not frozen. Deciding. Her gaze held on the knight’s mouth as if every syllable mattered. Her expression became unreadable. Only one eyebrow lifted slowly. She could have snapped. The retort rose hot and instant. It would have been sharp enough to make everyone in the room flinch. She felt it press against her teeth.

But instead, Olivia swallowed it. Her pride went down, and her voice came out controlled. “No,” she said, and she didn’t stutter. “...It won’t be aggravated. It won’t surge from a healing spell.”

Her gaze flicked once, to Charlotte’s head, to Stratya’s hand. Stratya’s conditions came next, one by one, laid out like rails on a track. Olivia listened to all of it without interrupting. Not because she agreed, but because she was learning the shape of the cage being built around her.

Only cast with my permission.

Olivia’s face didn’t change. Inside, something in her curled its lip and mimicked the cadence of Stratya’s voice with a cruel little theater of her own. With my permission, with my council, with my…  Mentally, she rolled her eyes so hard it was a wonder the rest of her didn’t tilt. In actuality, she restrained herself.

She gave Stratya a slow nod anyway but when the joint appeared in Stratya’s hand, Olivia’s eyes dropped to it with immediate refusal.  “I don’t need it.”

“I won’t use dark magic again,” Olivia told her with a nod again, because nodding cost nothing and bought time. Inside, a different Olivia moved like flame along dry paper. Already thinking, with a cold practicality that startled even her: if Stratya tried to own her, Olivia would erase the part of her that thought she could.

She lifted her gaze, meeting Stratya’s eyes fully now, and her voice gentled just enough. “You’re doing your job,” Olivia said. “I understand that.”

“It’s interesting,” she murmured suddenly after a moment, “how many people in that castle use magic, and yet we’re meant to believe the King sees nothing at all.” Her mouth just barely curved. “Either he’s more oblivious than anyone gives him credit for, or he’s choosing what to be blind to.”

Her gaze returned to Stratya. “One eye for another,” Olivia said quietly. “You keep mine quiet, and I’ll keep yours quiet.”

I will not trade one prison for another.

Olivia let the pact settle without adding anything else to it, then moved to Stratya. Her hands were careful as she took the knight’s injured one, supporting it beneath the palm so the weight wouldn’t jolt the wound. “Hold still,” she murmured. She shut her eyes for a moment to focus.“Sanitatem.”

Warmth moved through her fingers and into Stratya’s hand, urging torn flesh. The wound tightened, the bleeding slowed, and the worst of it closed into a cleaner line that still needed bandaging, but would no longer split open with every movement. Olivia’s breath caught anyway,a dulled echo of Stratya’s pain going through her own nerves. 

“It’ll ache,” she warned, opening her eyes.

Then she turned to Charlotte, who looked so hurt that it made a pang go through Olivia’s chest, and when she spoke her voice lowered, as if she didn’t want to startle her. “Lottie, look at me,” she said softly. 

She brushed hair away from the gash and pressed her palm to Charlotte’s scalp. “Sanitatem.”

The spell took faster this time, greedier, and Olivia felt it drain her with a sudden heaviness. Charlotte’s wound sealed, the bleeding stopped, but a cold and punishing feeling curled through Olivia’s body. Her vision narrowed, her stomach turned, and she held herself upright on stubbornness alone until the magic finished.

The moment she pulled her hand away, a thin stream of blood slipped from her nose. Olivia wiped it quickly. “I’m fine,” she said automatically. The weakness rolled through her again, deeper, leaving her limbs heavy and her head light, and she reached for the couch to keep herself from swaying.

Her gaze found Kazumin, and whatever pride she had left was spent on staying standing. “Kazumin,” she said quietly, “Please take me to the guest room. I need to lie down.” She then allowed Kazumin to guide her out after he got done wishing the other girls to feel better, and giving them hugs.

Well, that didn’t go as poorly as it could have, at least. Stratya stared after Olivia for a moment before her watched her hand slowly flex. It had been closed, somewhat, before, but now she could actually articulate it at all without it seeping or oozing or outright reopening. She’d read the spell used before, and knew the price. She thought for a time before finally she broke her silence with a sigh, her head flopping back with resignation, “I fearr my intentions arre misunderrstood..” She let out a dissatisfied growl, lifting her left hand and pressing her wrist to her forehead. She should still be careful with it. “Things ‘ave become too dangerrous. Would thah’ I could give herr sanctions orr.. something. Not a Gods damned leash. Thah’s beyond my authorri’y..”

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 TRIGGER WARNING: DARK IMPLICATIONS, TORTURE, SA IMPLICATIONS

Kalliope's Kidnapping

Part 2

Time: 3am-10am, Ignis 3
Location: ????

 It was never just one thing.

Mind Flayer.
The Dagger.
The Flame.
Healed.
Infernal Needles.
Peel her nails. 
Break her fingers.
Healed—just enough to begin again.  
The collar’s lesson, repeated until her muscles stopped arguing.  
Another spell. Another correction. Another hour that refused to end.

And Marek had watched it all.

Marek’s attention was worse than either of Yuka or Felix: quiet, unblinking, almost tender in its patience. He stood there as though the stone had built itself around him. He only remained for an hour or two, but it had seemed like forever to Kalliope, the strange force of a man standing before her and simply smiling, barely blinking as he observed her pain with an almost perverse enjoyment.

Even Felix and Yuka left before he did.

 It was never clear who did the spells to her, but Felix and Yuka had taken their time in their trained methods of physical torment. Just when her mind started to reach for numbness, it would change. Not to give her mercy, but to deny her the comfort of rhythm.

But morning came and it came to an end. By seven, it stopped so abruptly it made her nerves reach for it like an addiction. Men replaced the night with watchful silence, faces she didn’t recognize. Time moved in slow increments until the familiar footsteps returned.

Around ten, the door opened again.

Yuka stepped in first, immaculate as ever, her smile soft enough to pass for kindness.  “Good morning, Kalliope!”

And behind them—someone else followed but remained in the shadows.

Kalliope stayed utterly still, frozen by something deeper than fear. Her head drooped, sweat-soaked hair plastered to her cheeks, hiding the wreckage of her face. She floated in that thin, colorless fog between blacking out and breaking apart. The missing bite of needles and fire pressed down on her, a suffocating hush that screamed in her skull. Yuka’s voice sliced through the murk, but it didn’t stir any fight—just made her fingers jerk under the bandages, haunted by the ghost-pain of torn nails.

She kept her gaze down. Every muscle in her body felt like a snapped wire, still twitching with the aftershocks of all the 'corrections' that had rewired her nerves since before dawn.

"Morning," Kalliope rasped, the word barely a ghost of a sound, scraped raw by the screaming she’d sworn she wouldn't do and the collar that had punished her for it anyway.

With a slow, grinding effort, she forced her chin up. Her eyes, once bright green, were now rimmed red and hollow, the color drowned out by exhaustion and something colder. She flicked a glance at Yuka, then let her gaze slip sideways to the shadow in the doorway, breath catching in sharp, uneven bursts. Who had they brought to her now?

She was splintering, the edges of her soul curling in on themselves like scorched parchment, but at the center, something black and furious still burned. "You're... late," she rasped, lips split and sticky with blood, twisting into a shadow of a smirk. "Thought we were having...such a good time."

Yuka’s smile didn’t move an inch at the sound of Kalliope’s voice. If anything, it warmed. “Aww. Look at you.”

She drifted closer, her gaze lingering on the collar, the wet strands stuck to Kalliope’s skin as though she were admiring a piece of art that had survived the fire. She trailed a finger along her jaw with an amused giggle. “Still so pretty.”

Felix took a step in behind her, hands loosely at his sides.  He looked Kalliope over without ceremony. “You’ve seen better days,” he observed mildly. Then he smiled, satisfied. “But then again, I’ve heard you’ve always been hard to… persuade.”

Felix’s gaze slid past Kalliope toward the doorway. Toward the place the shadows were still too thick. “If you couldn’t tell,” Felix said softly, “we know quite a lot about you. We were told… well. Everything.”

The silence that followed wasn’t empty. A breath moved in the dark and then the figure in the doorway finally stepped forward, as if he’d been waiting for the words to make room for him. The candlelight caught the shape of a smile first. Not friendly. Not even cruel.

Hafiz emerged from the shadow, his eyes bright as if he had just won a great victory.

“Here’s how this works,” he continued, voice still conversational. “You’re going to work for us. You’re going to report to us. And you’re going to do what we say.”

Yuka leaned in, hands clasped behind her back, smile widening like she’d been waiting for her favorite part. 

“If you refuse,” he said, “then everything we know gets leaked.”  His gaze flicked, briefly, to Kalliope’s mouth, as if acknowledging the last scraps of defiance there. “And as for your captain,” Felix added, the words almost idle, “we’ll make sure he’s sipping poison instead of drugged tea next time.”

The breath escaped Kalliope in a silent, painful rush. Her lungs felt as though the air had turned to lead. Looking at him—the man who had spent years tearing apart her soul—she experienced a wave of nausea so intense that she nearly gagged against the strap. Her pupils were wide and fixed, and she began to shake with a frantic tremor.

"Please," she whimpered. The word slipped out before she could stop it, a raw echo of the broken child she once was. "Not you. Anyone... anyone but you." Her gaze darted desperately between Felix and Yuka, pleading silently for the needles or the fire to return. Anything to drown out the suffocating reality of his presence.

The threat toward Sjan-dehk hit her like a blow to the stomach. Her head snapped forward as she grasped the reality of their reach. They had already drugged them once; they weren't just bragging—they were counting down. "Leave him out of this," she rasped. Her voice shook with a mix of fierce hatred and pure fear. "He has nothing... he's nothing to do with this." She turned back to Hafiz, her skin appearing ghostly gray in the candlelight. "What are you doing here? Why... why are you here?"

Hafiz did not answer her question the way a sane man would. He didn’t look confused by it, or even offended. He looked… rewarded. As if the sound of her pleading had reached some deep place inside him, and he was grateful all over again that it still existed in her throat somewhere. After all, that old reflex that tasted like surrender no matter how she tried to dress it up as anything else.

He stepped out of the doorway’s shadow with lazy certainty. “What am I doing here?” Hafiz echoed softly, almost amused at the idea that the question mattered. 

His gaze lingered on the collar, on the bandages, on her tremor.   “I am here because you finally understand something you have spent years lying to yourself about.” The smile that touched his mouth wasn’t warmth. It wasn’t even joy. It was appetite.

“You were never difficult to persuade. You were merely stubborn about admitting when you had already been cornered.”

He moved a step closer. “I made a bargain with Marek, Kalliope.” His voice was almost gentle. “I gave him more than what I knew. I gave him what I remembered. Not summaries. Not rumors. The memories themselves—whole, intact, and vivid. Every scene you have tried to bury.” His eyes traveled up her face.   “And I gave him yours as well, because the first thing I did when I got my hands on you was ensure I would never be surprised by you again. I studied you until you stopped being a person and became a map.”

The smile widened with something quietly triumphant, as if he’d been waiting years to say it aloud.  “So understand this now—Marek does not have to guess what frightens you. He does not have to waste time discovering where you bleed. He can reach into you and take what he wants when it suits him, because I handed him the keys.” Hafiz’s steps continued, predatory in their patience.  “And because I gave him everything, he gave me something in return.” His gaze flicked to Felix and Yuka as if they were merely furniture in the room. Then it returned to Kalliope, and stayed.  “Not only can summon you to do his bidding, but I can summon you for mine as well.”

Hafiz stopped close enough that she could smell him. His expression softened into a parody of tenderness.  “You asked why I am here,” he murmured, voice low.  “I am here to watch you realize what your pride has been protecting you from: that you were always mine, and… you will always be mine.” His eyes shone as if this was a love story to him. 

Kalliope stared at Hafiz, her breathing shallow and jagged. The fear felt like a heavy weight, a cold sludge filling her veins as he talked about her memories—the only things truly hers. The idea of Marek’s dark, empty eyes reaching into her mind to take away the few moments of peace or warmth she had ever known made her stomach churn. "You... you sold them?" she whispered, her voice cracking with the weight of the violation. "Everything... you already took everything... and you sold the rest?"

A sudden flash of anger surged through her exhaustion, a desperate spark of the fire that usually kept her going. "They weren't yours!" she snarled, her voice turning ragged and hysterical as hot tears spilled over, carving paths through the grime on her face. "You took my life, you took my body, but those... those were mine. You had no right to give them away! You're a coward, Hafiz! A pathetic, parasitic coward who can't even haunt me without help!" She thrashed once, a violent burst of anger that made her joints pop, but her bravado vanished the moment she saw Yuka and Felix creeping toward the shadows of the doorway.

“Yuka… Felix… You are dismissed.”

Her rage was instantly replaced by a heavy, paralyzing dread. The reality of the situation crashed over her like a freezing wave. The physical pain from the night was nothing compared to the thought of being left alone with the man who had owned her skin for so long. "Wait," she choked out, her eyes darting frantically to Felix, her composure shattering. "Wait! Don't... don't go. Don't leave me alone with him. Please. I’ll work for you. I’ll report to Marek. I'll do whatever you ask, just stay in the room!"

A sob broke free, raw and ugly, as she thrashed against the restraints, the iron biting into her wrists. "Yuka, please!" she wailed, her face twisting in a mask of pure desperation. "Don't leave me with him! Beat me, break my fingers again—I don't care! Just don't let him touch me! Please, gods above, don’t let him touch me!" When the door began to close, the sound triggered a primal scream that echoed off the damp stone; a sound of a woman watching her last shred of safety disappear into the dark.

Yuka’s smile stayed soft, almost sweet, as if she waved her fingers toward Kalliope upon the departure.  She even hummed, pleased, and let her fingertips drift away. Meanwhile Felix had also lingered. His gaze had snagged and a flicker of sympathy formed in his eyes. But ultimately, he tore himself away and left with Yuka.

And then Kalliope was left with Hafiz until the night time, when she’d finally be relocated.

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Lucian & Lottie

Time:Ignis 5 Afternoon
Location:Petal & Perk Café — window table
______________________________________________

At the table by the window, Charlotte sat perched on a cushioned stool in the Petal & Perk café. Golden afternoon light poured in ribbons through the doorway and through the panes of the window. The light illuminated the melancholic young woman, whose chin was propped up in her palm in a manner that almost suggested her head was too heavy to keep upright otherwise. She had been staring through dark lashes at the bundle of roses set in the glass vase at her table, as if they were the only thing in the room safe to set her gaze upon. Half of her hair was drawn back with a delicate lace ribbon, whilst the rest spilled over her shoulders in waves. 

Her dress was adorned with white lace that was rather pretty despite the sorrow in her expression. The bodice was modest and high at the throat, detailed with tiny buttons. The skirt fell in light layers, not quite grand, but undeniably feminine. The bruising on her neck was mostly swallowed by the high collar and barely noticeable to anyone who wasn’t looking for it, but she felt it every time she swallowed. The fabric tugged, and the reminder slid down her spine. Her free hand cupped around her untouched tea, fingers curled around the cup for the heat.

Charlotte had initially told Delilah she had been only coming here to purchase some seeds for the estate gardeners, and it was true, technically. Yet deep down, she knew she’d come for a respite from it all. She needed to be away from home for a moment, where Delilah’s hovering tenderness had turned her own helplessness into something impossible to ignore. Though she knew Delilah had meant well, somehow that had only made it worse.

People drifted past her as if she weren’t really there. And in a way… She truly wasn’t.

Nothing around her had been registering. Inside, she was still in that tavern. And she was still exhausted in that particular way sleep never seemed to help.

Lucian knew that his sisters would flourish in a place they stepped foot into. It was in their nature and in their blood. He wasn’t sure there were many places that they couldn’t find a place to belong in. But still, he knew being far from home couldn’t be easy and he wanted to make sure that they had something that would remind them of home in their rooms.

Which was precisely why the young crown prince was making his way to the local florist. He’d asked around where to buy flowers and had the address scrawled on a tiny ripped piece of paper. He’d dressed modestly so as not to attract attention to himself and his fiery red hair which was pulled into a neat low ponytail to keep it out of his face as he had ridden into town. He looked like a rich prince in commoner’s clothes, which was admittedly amusing to see.

When he finally arrived, he slipped the ripped piece of paper into his breast pocket and stepped inside. It was a delightful little cafe, which he hadn’t been expecting. He smiled, walking through the room towards the counter where a woman stood.

He greeted her with a soft smile and placed an order for two small bouquets of red roses. The woman raised a brow at him and he swiftly mentioned that they were for his sisters, lest she think that he was buying roses for two women. She laughed and went back to start the order for him.

While he waited, Lucian turned to look at the decor, admiring the flowers. His gaze passed over the occupants as well. A young man with a cup of tea, a young blonde woman admiring flowers she had been given by the man across from her, a woman with a pretty lace ribbon in her hair, a man who-

Wait.

Lucian whipped his head back to the woman with the ribbon in her hair, his heart skipping a few beats. It sank to the floor as she turned her head to look behind him. It wasn’t her. His expression dropped and melancholy washed over him like a tidal wave. His gaze remained on her for a few minutes, watching her expressions, before he pulled away.

A second later, however, he found himself watching her again, unable to shake the feeling in his chest. She looked… upset. He saw Sophia overlap her for a brief moment and he felt the urge to know why she was so sad.

Charlotte felt it before she located the source of it—the weight of someone’s eyes on her. Her eyes slid up, at last, with reluctance, until she found the sight of a man with his red hair tied back. It was no fleeting glance; he was watching her with a focused, steady gaze as if the moment he looked away she might disappear. She blinked once, her head tilting slightly as she sifted through her mind to try to decide why he felt familiar, and whether she even knew him at all. Nonetheless, the attention made her feel a little awkward, so she offered him a little wave finally, a faint smile tugging at her lips.

Lucian’s eyes went wide as he made eye contact with the woman. He stood for a moment, like a deer in headlights, a little unsure of what he should do. He swallowed and took the few strides it would take to close the gap between them.

”I am so sorry.” He spoke, bowing just a bit towards her. ”I-” He stuttered, his mind racing with what he should say, how he should approach this. ”You look like someone I know, but it was incredibly rude of me to stare. I would understand if you were upset with me..”

Charlotte’s hand tightened around her tea cup then eased. Her expression softened and as did her tense shoulders.  “Oh–no,” she said hastily, her voice warm with reassurance. It was as if the very idea of him thinking that he may have offended her pained her.  “It’s quite alright. Truly.”

She studied him openly now—and curiously.  “ I—…” Her eyes drifted to his hair and the line of his profile before returning to his eyes.  “I also thought you looked a little familiar as well actually. A self-conscious breath escaped her that sounded almost like a laugh.  “Have we met before?”

Lucian shook his head at her question. He couldn’t be sure, his memory was overlapping in a way that made the truth difficult to parse through. ”I don’t know…” He spoke after a moment, his brows furrowed as he tried to remember beyond just the startling realization that she looked the spitting image of his late wife.

”Forgive my rudeness. I am Lucian Camilia, Prince of the Varian Kingdom.” He offered her a deep bow, hoping that by revealing his identity to her, she would reveal who she was. She looked familiar even beyond just her similarities to Sophia.

Her face lit up with realization and she rose to her feet hastily, her ankle faintly catching on the leg of the table. Nonetheless, she recovered with pose and gracefully presented him a curtsy.

Realization crossed Lucian’s features like a mirror to hers. He moved just close enough that he could reach his arms out to be prepared to catch her should she fall.

 “Your Highness, please pardon me… It’s been some time since we last met.”  She formally greeted him with a warm smile.  “I am Lady Charlotte Vikena, of the Vermillion territory. My stepfather is Duke Lorenzo Vikena.” 

Then, she gestured toward an unoccupied stool.  “Please join me if you so wish.”

He smiled, the sort of practiced smile one comes to expect of someone of his station. ”It would be my pleasure, Lady Vikena.” He replied, his tone instantly swapping once he realized her identity. His mind still reeled silently at just how much she had grown and how similar she had become to Sophia.

”It has been far too long. I hope things have been well for you and your family?” He offered as he took a seat in the offered stool.

She held onto her smile as she returned to her seat, though her gaze dipped toward her folded hands.  “ How I do wish I could say it has been so,”  she admitted, a sigh drooping her posture.  “ It has been difficult since my mother’s passing, but we’re managing the best we can.” 

Charlotte’s eyes returned to his—the melancholy still lingering in her gaze. However sincerity marked her expression as she told him gently,  “ I do hope your family has been faring well, and that the world has treated you all with kindness.” 

He listened quietly, his gaze set on her face as she spoke. She looked so sad. The overlap of her and Sophia left his heart feeling as though it had been ripped to shreds all over again. He couldn’t help the way the corners of his mouth dropped into a slight frown or the way his brows furrowed with worry.

”We are managing as best we can as well. Life was not kind to us after Sophia’s passing. It left,” He paused, taking a deep breath, ”a rather large hole.”

Charlotte’s expression faltered at his words and she gently reached across the table to touch his hand tenderly.  “ I…I’m truly so sorry.”  She paused, her thoughts drifting. Then against her better judgment, Lottie decided to say more than that.

 “ I do recall when you two married.” She began softly. Her brows furrowed in concentration and then for a moment she saw it all again through her younger gaze—the photos, the paintings, the way other girls had fawned over their marriage.

 “My mother would show me the photos... “ She murmured, nostalgia warming her tone. “Princess Sophia looked ever so lovely, and you were the object of many girls’ dreams even here in Caesonia… I did not often believe in love outside of the books I held dear but you two seemed—“ She swallowed, pausing briefly, “—as real as it could be.” 

She peered at him through her lashes, shy in her next admission,  “ I do remember crying when I heard of her passing… I only ever did hear about how darling she was…and even over in Caesonia we felt the loss. I hope you know she has not been forgotten.”

Lucian tried to keep his face even, tried to temper his reaction to her words. A prince was not meant to fall apart in front of others, least of all a crown prince. His jaw tightened and he swallowed thickly.

”Thank you for the kind words.” was all he could manage, his voice cracking ever so slightly as emotions threatened his practiced composure. ”And once again, I apologize for my rudeness before. You just,” He paused again, as if thinking, ”looked upset.”

”I’d like to offer my ear in reconciliation if I might be so bold.” He suggested after a short beat. It was something he might not have done if it weren’t for her appearance. Sure, he would have continued the conversation, but Lucian felt a pressing need to ensure she was okay.

Charlotte’s smile stayed in place–sweet and ladylike as she always made sure to keep it. But there was something about the way he noticed she was upset, the way he had even offered an ear, that made her composure start to crack like glass. It was such a simple kindness. And yet it made her realize something in her had been fraying since last night… or perhaps since the very first ball.

The offer of his ear had landed on her like warmth she didn’t know what to do with. Something in her chest had lurched at his words, and she let out a shuddering breath. “Oh—Your Highness, please do not apologize… You’re not rude,” she told him politely, but the words slightly trembled. “Not even a little.”

“If anything, it was…” Her lashes dipped modestly, “very kind to notice, your highness.” Her fingers tightened together briefly. “...I’m afraid I simply look a bit…” She searched for a word that wasn’t too honest. “—tired.”

Her gaze slid toward the roses on the table as if they might help her find the rest of her poise. She reached out and brushed one of the petals with the tip of her finger, as if she were petting a beloved pet. “The evening of Drunkard’s Day was… unpleasant,” she offered gently, as though that single word could hold everything that had happened. “And I suppose it has taken longer than I expected to…” The sentence suddenly died on her tongue.

She had been interrupted by a sound that didn’t quite belong in a sunlit café–the hiss of a poker sliding back into coals. Then the broken edge of a man’s scream—Lord Edwards’ scream. His scream bled slowly into a desperate, animal scream of another. It wouldn’t stop as the smell of burning hair seemed to come from nowhere. The sight of flesh burning off the woman’s face hijacked her vision next. Her pupils dilated, and her hand froze, hovering over the rose.

For a moment, she was back on the sticky tavern floor, lungs seizing as she choked, the world around her muffled as if she were underwater. Charlotte watched the severed female head roll past her gaze, leaving that dark, horrible trail.

She tried to keep speaking anyway. She really did.

“—to forget.” she finished, voice still sweet, still careful… but now the tremor was more apparent under it, like a violin string pulled too tight. And when he heard her own voice, something inside her wavered.

Charlotte’s mouth parted to offer another graceful reassurance. But instead her hand rose, too quickly this time, and she covered her mouth as a sob clawed up her throat. Her eyes shone, and though she tried to blink them away, they very quickly started silently spilling from her lashes. They spilled over her knuckles in streams before she could do anything more to stop them.

Lucian felt his heart wrench like a vice grip had just squeezed with all of its might. He felt the almost violent urge to scoop her up and tell her it would all be okay, that nothing could hurt her again. He couldn’t be sure what had happened, whether someone had attacked her or said something simply untoward. He knew she wasn’t Sophia. And yet.

Lucian quickly reached for his handkerchief and reached over to offer it to Charlotte, all while every fiber of his being wanted to hold her. He was at least cognizant enough to know better.

Lucian pivoted in his seat, looking for the woman behind the counter, but she had gone into the back to prepare his flowers and hadn’t returned. He wracked his brain for ideas, solutions that could offer her the privacy she needed.

”Would you like to find somewhere more private, Lady Vikena?” He offered, his voice hushed and warm, filled with all the compassion the man could muster.

Charlotte had only hesitated a moment before reaching for the handkerchief with her free hand, her fingers trembling so badly she nearly missed it. She took it anyway and pressed the linen to the corners of her eyes. Her other hand, however, remained fixed over her mouth, knuckles tight, as though the moment she lowered her it, the noise that came out might ruin her entirely.

His question registered in her mind, but she didn’t trust herself to answer with words. Instead, she nodded slowly—a silent yes that asked for mercy without the shame of doing so aloud.

His jaw clenched, cursing whoever or whatever had her in the state before him. In a swift movement, Lucian was up and at her side, guiding her up from her chair. His eyes scanned the room, sending anyone who dared look his way a glare that spoke of the measures he would take to protect her image.

He spotted a little sitting room with a door and, luckily, no one in it. He began to guide her over to it, his grip gentle on her elbow. ”Just a few more steps..” He murmured.

Once they were in the room, he shut the door. Looking around, there was one window looking out towards the street. He sat Charlotte down at one of the tables and moved to close the curtain. The room was enveloped in a soft lavender shadow as the sun seeped through the lavender fabric.

”No one can see now.” He spoke quietly, moving to sit next to her. He was keenly aware of the rumors that would surface from what he’d just done, but he couldn’t think clearly when she looked like that.

She let him guide her as if she were fragile, her steps careful. With a lowered head, she kept her mouth covered. Though she didn’t look up, she could feel eyes on her. She nodded once when he murmured and forced her feet to obey as they made their way into a private room.

A quiet followed as she sat where he placed her, shoulders drawn in. She slowly lowered her palm from her mouth and let her lips part.

Charlotte swallowed hard. “I’m-” She began, and her voice cracked. Then she pressed the handkerchief to her cheek again, ashamed of how wet it already was.  “I am so terribly sorry. I am not… usually like this.”

Her lashes fluttered as another flash of terror threatened. A shaky breath that sounded like a forced laugh escaped her. She shut her eyes for a brief moment and then when she opened them again, she added ever so softly,  “It was just all so awful.”

Watching her felt like taking several stab wounds. His mind flashed for just a moment to Sophia, ripped to shreds and carried off into the night in front of him and how useless he had felt. His fist tightened against the arm of his chair.

”No need for apologies. While that door is closed, I am not Prince Lucian. Consider me… a wall. Or a stuffed toy.” He spoke, ”Say what you need to say, let it out if you want to. Nothing will leave this room.”

And with that, Charlotte told him about what had happened at the Tough Tavern the night prior—the deaths, the witches, how her friends had been hurt, even the sickening moment one had been kidnapped.

She had summarized it, of course, but it had been a few minutes all the same. When she had finally finished, she let out a shaky sigh.  “I… I just wish so strongly I had been strong enough to prevent it all.” She then gestured toward herself with a sad smile that did not quite reach her eyes.  “But I suppose there’s only so much one could expect from someone like me… when I can hardly keep my composure.”

His knuckles went white as he gripped at his chair, anger seething just under his skin. Of course. He thought bitterly. He shouldn’t be surprised that witches would be behind the girl’s pain and he felt a swell of bile threaten his esophagus. Another girl victim to their filthy actions. At least Charlotte was still here, still living and breathing. The same could not be said for Sophia.

”I know how you feel.” Lucian admitted softly, pulling his hand away from the chair to grip them together in his lap. ”When all you can do is watch and do nothing…” He picked absently at a scab on his ring finger, a small wound from practice with Kilian.

Her breath caught at his words.  “I…” Her eyebrows met as she frowned.  “I mean this with all my whole heart, Your Highness— I wish you did not understand. It pains me so.”

After a swallow, her attention snagged onto the movements on his finger. A tender sort of disapproval took over her countenance and she murmured,  “Oh, please don’t do that.” A flush rose in her cheeks as she realized she was ordering around a prince, but she supposed it was too late to back down. She reached into a small satchel about her torso and began to rummage through it.  “It will reopen and take twice as long to mend. “

”It’s really nothing…” He started, his voice trailing off. He had a deep seated wish that she wasn’t this kind to him, that she didn’t touch him with those warm hands that made his longing only worse. She couldn’t know the effect she was having on him and the despair he felt at knowing her warmth was dead and gone.

She finally produced a small folded square of linen and a little wrap of clean cloth. “I… have a plaster.” She announced with a sniffle. Then she leaned in just slightly, offering it, “May I?”

He stared at the objects in her hand for a long stretch of seconds, debating. He couldn’t think of a way to turn her down without seeing some sort of disappointed look on her face and he knew that would be far more devastating. He nodded quietly, watching her.

Charlotte inched her chair closer with a soft squeak of the metal. Then, she began to work gently, applying the plaster to his finger, a slight tremble remaining in her movements.  “When a scab is disturbed, the skin has to begin the whole process again. It’s… quite rude of us, really, to ask our bodies to do the same work twice.” She informed him quietly, though her wobbly attempt at humor did uplift the corners of her mouth.

After securing the plaster, she raised her gaze and smiled as she wiped at her cheeks again.  “There.”

Lucian watched her quietly, acutely aware of the way her skin felt against his. The scab was of no real consequence to him. He didn’t much care about it or himself, if he ever being honest. It wasn’t a lack of self-preservation or hurting himself, he just didn’t care. Still, her words did warm him.

”Thank you, Lady Vikena.” He replied politely, placing his hand back in his lap. ”I apologize for having worried you.” He offered, his words sounding hollow even to himself.

His response drew a breathy giggle escaping her lips,  “Worrying me? “ She repeated with astonishment.  “I am the foolish girl you had to relocate to the next room. ” Her smile wavered, softening.  “If anyone ought to apologize, it’s certainly me.”

He glanced up from looking at his hand to meet her gaze, his own soft smile returned to hers. ”You are not foolish, Charlotte Vikena. Merely human.” He returned. ”And if you ask my sisters, worry is just about all I do.” He chuckled.

”The things you went through are hard and you are a strong woman for having made it out alive. Don’t worry about the things you couldn’t do or should have done.” He spoke after taking a short breath. ”But please know that you are not the only one who feels that way. I imagine there are many from the tavern who feel similarly. I think it’s human of us to have those feelings.”

 “I suppose you have a point,” she conceded, though it didn’t seem as though she truly thought so deep down to her core. Then, after a pause, she added,  “Your sisters are very lucky to have you.”

Lucian smiled gently. He wasn’t entirely sure about that, but he was going to do his best to make it so.

Charlotte gently put her hand over his and looked up at him through her lashes.  “I can tell you carry more than you ever say.” She told him, and then an earnest smile flickered.  “Thank you. You’re a good person, Prince Lucian Camilia.”

Lucian simply smiled back, not trusting himself not to suddenly begin sharing everything to this girl. She was not his wife, despite how much he wished it so. If she were, he’d have no shame in letting tears fall, emotions boil over. He’d have no shame in sharing his burdens and his guilt. But his wife she was not. She was just a girl, a girl who was also carrying around her own burdens. She didn’t need his on top of that.

”Do you feel a little bit better having gotten some of that out?” He asked with an earnest smile.

 “Indeed, I suppose I do.” She replied softly. Though it had been therapeutic to vent, Charlotte knew this was something that would haunt her— one conversation wouldn’t just tidy it all away. But she also knew couldn’t dump all this on someone again; especially a prince at that and one she hardly knew.

And Charlotte could feel in her heart that last night was only the beginning of her troubles. There was no sense dragging Lucian into them.

With another smile, she rose once more.  “It was lovely to see you, Your Highness. Hopefully we can speak again under better circumstances.” 

Lucian knew the look on her face all too well and based on what she’d told him, those images would linger and give her endless nightmares. A shoulder to cry on could only do so much against those kinds of horrors, especially from someone like him. While he could empathize with her, at the end of the day, he was a Crown Prince, someone next in line for his kingdom’s throne. He wasn’t exactly someone people typically let their guard down around.

He stood as she did, bowing ever so slightly towards her. ”It was lovely to see you as well, Lady Vikena. Please send your family my regards.” He returned curtly. He couldn’t stop the nagging feeling at the back of his neck.

”I-” He started, his breath getting caught in his throat for a moment, ”I know it might be a bit forward of me. But, if you ever need someone to talk to, someone who understands, please know that I am always willing.”

“Likewise, Your Highness.” She smiled at him with a tinge of sadness in her gaze. “And of course, I will always be willing to lend an ear to you too… Whenever you want or need it.”

Lucian got up and walked over to the door before turning to look back at her again. ”I might just take you up on that,” He conceded quietly, giving her a slight smile. ”Lady’s first.” He added after a beat, opening the door for her, and she graciously moved out of the room.

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Askel & Mina: The Knight & The Witch

Time: 3pm, Ignis 5
Location: Askel's Room

The corridor of the guest house was thick with the cloying scent of beeswax, the hush broken only by the distant, hollow shuffle of the noble court preparing itself for another evening of empty spectacle. Mina stalked past the gilded mirrors without a glance, refusing to give a damn whether her ginger curls were in place or if her face wore that lazy, calculated smile she’d perfected for strangers.

With Askel, the mask was a burden she could finally set down.

She hitched the tea tray onto her hip, the porcelain rattling with every step. Her heart thudded hard and fast, a wild, guilty rhythm that was half anticipation, half the cold ache of knowing she’d missed Sophia’s funeral. She’d hidden in Kolonivka’s shadows, nursing a dying vampire and dodging ghosts, while Askel and the others—Lucian, Ambrose, Marnie, Sylvie—had braved that devastating silence alone.

She drew in a breath, forced her nerves into line, and rapped out a sharp, staccato pattern on the door—none of that delicate, noblewoman’s tapping. It was the old code from when they were young: trouble’s on the way, and it’s brought provisions.

"If there’s a servant in there getting ready to open the door, tell Askel you’re going to go find a hobby for an hour," she called out, her voice dropping the sharp, seductive mask she wore for the rest of the world. It was warm, grounded, and rich with a teasing familiarity. "And if it's you, Askel, open up. I’ve brought proper tea and a deck of cards that I fully intend to use to empty your coin purse. Unless, of course, you’ve grown so wild and fluffy in your travels that you’ve forgotten how to greet an old friend."

Askel had this late afternoon to take some time for himself, to laze in the guestroom he had called home for himself when the Camilia family had arrived in Caesonia. He sat by a window with the curtains pulled back to get a view of the afternoon sun kissing the palace grounds, a warm breeze passed through the opened glass panes. Dressed in a white tunic that was lazily unbuttoned to reveal partially the planes of his scarred chest and his sleeves rolled up past his elbows and his typical fluffy auburn man of hair charmingly disheveled, he looked like the picture of a prince who really had no plans to dress up for anyone at that moment. 

He was all too comfy to sit in his room with his feet on an ottoman and a book that he picked up in Alidasht that he had been meaning to read though the time was never really afforded to him. At least he tried to. It was no fault of the book; he simply just could not get into the headspace to enjoy it. A groan escaped his lips as he sunk down into the cushions of the plush chair. Why was it so hard to relax?! 

Askel had all but given up on enjoying his afternoon when he heard a rapping against the door, a very familiar pattern that was engraved into him. His pupils dilated and he sat up straight in an instant as if he was trained to respond to that particular knocking. And then a voice he hadn't heard in years rang behind his door. 

He quickly got up and was about to run to the door when he tripped over the ottoman with a loud thud before he scrambled back up and rushed over with thumping footsteps. The door was swung open and Askel stood before a red headed woman with a big grin like a dog that had seen his best friend in years, his eyes filled with unbridled excitement. 

"Mina!" He said with delight that was unbecoming of a prince. "Get in here so I can give you a right proper hug!"

Now Askel looked a bit different than the last time she saw him, mainly because he was much more muscular than before and his hair was a tad longer though he still had that same goofy grin on his face. The more things changed, the more things stayed the same.

The unmistakable, heavy thud from inside, chased by the frantic, desperate scramble of boots, ripped a sharp, unguarded laugh from Mina’s lips. It was a sound she usually kept locked behind her teeth in the suffocating, watchful halls of the court. But with Askel, the mask of the 'Whore of Varian' slipped away, leaving only the raw, reckless girl beneath.

When the door crashed open, the sight of him—shirt half-unbuttoned, hair wild, that ridiculous, eager energy pouring off him—slammed into her like a punch to the ribs. She’d shed her usual armor of severe, black silks for a gown the color of moss and memory, something that belonged to the wild Varian fields and their reckless youth, not the choking secrets of Kolonivka.

"Careful, my dearest Prince! If you break your neck on an ottoman, I’ll never hear the end of it from your mother," she teased, her blue eyes dancing with a mix of concern and mirth. She could see he wanted that hug, but she held up the rattling tray with a smirk. "Hold your horses! Let me put the tea down before you drown us both."

She swept past him, the tray rattling as she dropped it onto the side table, then spun and didn’t bother with hesitation. She launched herself at him, arms flung around his neck, clinging with a ferocity that was half relief, half desperate need to anchor herself in something real.

"Gods, you’re a bloody giant," she muttered into his shoulder, her fingers digging into the muscle of his back like she could anchor herself there, refusing to let go even as tears burned hot tracks down her cheeks. When she finally pulled away, it was only far enough to take him in, and her hands remained gripping his arms, unwilling to lose the contact. He was all broad shoulders and hard lines now, a warrior, while she’d traded the softness of girlhood for sharp cheekbones and a body grown into womanly curves and a narrow waist—a silhouette the green silk only accentuated. Yet no matter how fine the gown or how striking her figure, it couldn’t hide the hollow, hunted look in her eyes.

"What did they feed you on your travels? You've grown a whole foot and filled out like a warhorse. You’re definitely going to have all the girls after you this season." She said, her voice softening. "I missed you, Askel. More than the letters could say."

Mina would feel her feet lift off the ground as Askel's arms clung to her like a bear climbing a tree, trying to be the firm presence that she needed him to be. He knew not what had happened while they were separated for all of those years, but the prince knew deep down the kind of burden that she carried, the secrets that they both shared that weighed on their souls. With her, he did not need to be a prince of Varian or its knight; all he needed to be was Askel.

A quiet sight parted his lips, a relief to see his beloved friend after so long. "Gods, I missed you too. There was never a day when you weren't on my mind." He looked at her, really looked at her. She had changed; no longer was she the little girl with a round face, but a woman, a beautiful woman with grace, wit, and charm. However, none of that changed the fact that even though she had changed physically, the woman holding onto him so desperately was still his closest, dearest friend and confidant. 

With large, calloused hands Askel gently placed her back on her feet. "But I'm here now. I'm not going anywhere." Askel smiled at her so reassuringly. He did not say things were going to be okay, he did not have to. All that the prince needed to do was to be there for her again. 

"Let me get you a chair. We have much catching up to do, Mina." He gestured towards the empty seat he was sitting earlier with the ottoman that was sitting upside down with its legs pointing towards the ceiling. "And it would be a waste to let tea that you went to the trouble to make get cold."

Mina let out a quiet, shaky breath as her feet touched the floor, her heart still pounding with a mixture of relief and happiness. She brushed the tears from her eyes, feeling the weight of his promise settle over her, easing the restless worry that so often lingered. When she followed his gesture, her eyes landed on the overturned ottoman, and a small, genuine giggle slipped out. "I see the ottoman put up a valiant fight, my darling Askel. I’m glad you survived the encounter with your dignity mostly intact," she teased, giving his arm a gentle poke before making her way to a chair.

She settled into the chair, smoothing her moss-green skirts before reaching for the teapot. The gentle clink of porcelain was a comfort, something steady and familiar. As she poured two cups, watching the steam curl between them, she felt the weight of everything she carried—her uncle’s declining health, the thoughts that pressed in on her, the ghosts... It was all waiting at the edges of her mind. But for now, she pushed those worries aside. She wanted to hear about his adventures, to live vicariously through him, even if only for a little while.

"The tea is far too good to waste, the best from Kolonivka," she said, her storm-blue eyes bright with genuine curiosity. "Now, tell me everything. Where was the one place that actually lived up to the stories? And I want the truth. Where was the absolute worst place you set foot? I need to know if the world is as grand as the books make it out to be." She leaned forward, extending a steaming cup toward him with a soft smile.

Askel leaned forward to take the fine porcelain cup. A grin spread along his face as a chuckle rumbled from his throat, shaking his head at this line of question. "Oh come now! You can't seriously expect me to give such a black and white answer. Every place has its highs and its lows." The little cup of tea was brought to his lips, and he took a sip from it, a taste that invoked memories of sitting with Mina when they were children. 

Askel placed the cup down with a gentle clink on its plate. "Alidasht has diverse climates ranging from dry, searing desert days and nights that rival a Varian winter, and then jungles so humid and hot that the position of the sun matters not. Don't get me going on the mosquitos and the sweat in... places." While one would have assumed that he held an unfavorable view of the kingdom just by his words alone, there was a fondness in the way he smiled. One could not find the wonderful nooks of life if they never made the effort to trudge through the muck.

Wonderment glinted in his eyes as the prince spoke with a wistful nostalgia. "But I must admit, they were beautiful. I saw colors, plants, and strange creatures I could never dream of finding in nature and the architecture of those in Alidasht is so unique and varied. Alidasht is less of a cohesive kingdom and more various countries united under a banner. I've never met such diverse groups of people before in my life." A wry grin passed his lips and then he said half-jokingly, "Also, their food is fantastic. Probably one of the things I miss the most." Actually, she knew that he liked his food and drink so perhaps he wasn't kidding.

He let his words hang in the air as he thought carefully what to say next. His brow furrowed and he said in Norskan, "Caesonia is idyllic and never goes into extremes, but if we're talking about their views on women then you'd think this kingdom was still in the last century and don't get me started on their crime epidemic. I swear, everyone suffers for their gross mismanagement." If one was going to speak rudely of their host then it was best to make sure any prying ears could not understand him.

After another sip of tea Askel continued, "Caesonia for all of my complaints does have good people fighting the good fight, but I dare say that as a nation it leaves a lot to be desired."

Mina tipped her head back, laughter spilling from her lips, bright and unrestrained. "Eww!" She managed, dabbing at the corner of her eye where a tear of amusement had gathered. "Though, I suppose it does explain why their fashion favors so much loose, flowing silk. One must allow for a bit of air, after all, if one hopes to keep any semblance of dignity intact."

Her features softened as he spoke of the colors of Alidasht, and her thoughts wandered to Munir, the Alidasht prince whose gaze had unsettled her with its reverence. To be regarded as some divine goddess when she felt so very haunted herself had been almost too much to bear. Yet, hearing Askel speak of the land’s beauty made the memory seem less like some fevered dream and more like a place she might wish to see for herself one day...if only she had not sealed her own fate by wounding the very prince who had looked at her so intently.

"I am glad it lived up to the stories," she said, her voice tinged with wistfulness. "There is something about the way they see the world, it feels so much more alive than the cold stone and old blood we have always known. Having their royalty here this season has certainly been interesting. And I do not doubt the food was excellent. I am relieved your stomach has not lost its sense of adventure." A quiet laugh escaped her, lightening the heaviness of her words.

As he switched to the familiar, guttural cadence of Norskan, Mina’s posture sharpened. The warmth in her gaze didn't vanish, but it was joined by a cold, hard edge. She set her tea down and responded in the same tongue, her voice dropping to a low, private murmur.

"You’re right to be wary," she replied in the same tongue. "This kingdom is a gilded trap, Askel. It’s full of people who would rather watch you drown than ruin their silk gloves to pull you out. Dare I say it, they even want to watch it happen. They’ve even given me a charming little title, courtesy of King Edin, to ensure I know my place: the Whore of Varian. They whisper it behind their fans as if the words themselves are holy. Queen Alibeth was one of the few I could tolerate and respect, however I never understood how she could continue putting up with her husband. But now she’s been arrested, and the hunt for witches has increased exponentially."

A sharp edge of bitterness colored her words, but it faded swiftly, replaced by a more somber curiosity. She leaned forward, her storm-blue eyes intent upon his, considering what he had said about those who dared to resist the order of things.

"But you mentioned people here 'fighting the good fight,'" she prompted, her voice still low and serious in their mother tongue. "I respect that, gods know this place needs it, but I worry for them, Askel. It’s gotten dangerous lately. More than it used to be. The shadows in this court have teeth, and those with enough spine to stand up usually end up being the first ones the crown tries to break. In the first few days of my being here, they had an execution. They burnt a ‘witch’ at the stake. And now Roman is to be put on trial for potential ‘witchcraft’ all thanks to holding our normal celebration for the Summer Solstice and things getting a little wild, as they often can."

Askel threw his head back into the cushions of the chair and let out a long groan. "Don't remind me of Roman. That blasted idiot could have withheld the tonics, but no, he had to give a bunch of Caesonians a vision quest and now I'm going to have to go to the stand and defend his character." The prince leaned forward and looked at Mina with an exasperated expression as if he had been playing this exact scenario in his mind. " What am I supposed to say? 'Oh no sir, he's not a witch! He just got everyone higher than a kite!' If they don't kill him, I bloody will." He grumbled like a man who caught his dog shitting on the rug.

"And the King of Edin has stained your honor with such a title. My dear, you must have rebuked him something fierce to earn his ire." Askel chuckled though the obvious front of his good nature was breaking apart. One would only need to see his hands shaking with the seething anger at the very thought of Mina being so publicly humiliated. "'Whore of Varian,' what rubbish. If he were anything less than a king, his head would have been lopped off a long time ago for running that mouth of his. The only teeth this kingdom has is used to tear itself apart." He said with a darkness veiling his eyes filled. It was an unusual sight to see them so cold not with the focus he had gained from Ambrose, but something else, something chilling.

Askel let his lungs swell with air before he exhaled before his teeth. The darkness that clouded eyes lifted and the warmth returned followed by a smile. "Ah, but who cares what those fools think? Any man worth his salt would see that you are no whore, but the very definition of a beautiful, charming Varian woman sharp of wit and keen of mind and if anyone else says otherwise they'll have to answer to me. Why, I can only imagine the line of suitors you'll have when we return." The prince laughed with that same boyish laugh of his. 

He took a good look at her not like a man pursuing her with a licentious gaze, but a boy who had not seen his friend in a long, long time. His gaze softened and he prompted, "I must confess, you startled me; you've grown so much that I hardly recognized you. I suppose we both did."

Mina offered a sheepish, lopsided smile at his groan, her fingers tracing the delicate pattern of her teacup as a flicker of guilt crossed her face. "I do feel a bit responsible, honestly." She sighed. "While the Caesonian guards rudely interrupting and looking for Lady Violet Damien wasn’t my doing, I could have done more to keep from getting kidnapped. He was only trying to protect the ritual and me when things turned... complicated. And in his defense, he was quite explicit about those tonics. He labeled every cup and warned them exactly what would happen. If the Caesonians chose to go on a 'vision quest' despite the warnings, they can hardly blame the brewer for the destination."

She reached out, her hand coming to rest lightly atop his trembling one, the contact gentle yet steadying. The fire in his eyes stirred something within her, a warmth she had not felt in some time. It had been far too long since anyone had been so willing to defend her honor, to stand so fiercely at her side. "Let them whisper, Askel. Their words hold only the weight I allow them," she said softly, her gaze lingering on his. "Still, I am grateful for your sword. It is a rare comfort to know I have both a knight and a prince willing to stand with me once more."

A soft laugh escaped her, melodic but tinged with something weary as she leaned back in her seat. "Suitors? I fear that would be a rather short line," she replied, a wry smile touching her lips. "There was one, a Shehzade, but it ended almost as soon as it began. My uncle has decided that no one is quite suitable, and now he seems determined to keep me within arm’s reach at all times. He claims it is for my safety, but it has made the prospect of courting feel more like a trial than a pleasure." She shook her head, as if to cast off the lingering shadow of his overprotectiveness. "Sometimes I wish I could simply be Mina, without the burden of titles, scandals, or masks."

Her gaze softened as she studied him, her expression reflecting a quiet understanding. "We have both changed, haven’t we?" she murmured, her voice gentle. "Time and circumstance rarely grant us much choice in the matter. Yet, seeing you now, I think I rather prefer who we have become. A little older, perhaps a touch wiser, and certainly taller." A playful glint appeared in her eyes as she regarded him over the rim of her teacup. "I would not be surprised if there were a line of admirers at your door by the end of the ball. There are quite a few lovely eligible ladies this year. You have become quite the distraction, Azzie." The tease lingered in her tone as she took a slow sip of tea.

A sheepish chuckle escaped from Askel's mouth as he shook his head at Mina's teasing. He casually waved away her praise with his hand and said, "I am flattered that you think so, but there are other princes and noble dignitaries that have a much more regal air and are much more charming than I. If anything, I would be more of a novelty that people would get bored of quickly." Askel took a long slip of his tea before he exhaled, his eyes seemed glazed over as if this had been a much more recurring topic than he'd like. "But that doesn't seem to be stopping Sylvie from advertising me to every warm-blooded woman in both kingdoms. That girl has made it her mission to make sure that I don't die alone. Do not get me wrong, I appreciate it, but we have drastically different views on love."

His finger began to make circular patterns on the arm of his chair. "Though I suppose views on love are irrelevant here. You know how Courting Season is; it's mainly political marriages and strategies. I've set my expectations comfortably low at the idea of finding someone that loves me for me and not for my title. If by some miracle I do find someone I'm sure you'll never let me hear the end of it. 'The boy that only cared for knighthood finally found love. Surely the end is nigh!'" He snickered with a self-mocking grin.

For all the joy he had to speak with her, something sat uneasy in his gut. "Do you want me to say something to your uncle, Mimi?" Askel asked with a worried expression. "I know it is improper to intrude upon family affairs, but as far as I am concerned, you're an irreplaceable friend. You should be busying yourself with finding someone that you fancy and having fun with my sisters, not feeling trapped."

Mina’s smile cracked, the last traces of teasing about balls and suitors dissolving as reality clawed its way back in. She stared into her tea, watching the leaves swirl and sink, her fingers tightening around the cup as if it might anchor her. "If you want to talk to him, Azzie, I won’t stop you," she said softly, her voice rough and low. "He’s always had a soft spot for you. Maybe you’ll get through to him, since I can’t seem to anymore."

She drew in a shaky breath, bracing herself for the confession she could no longer dodge. "His overprotectiveness isn’t just some passing fancy. There’s much going on, but there’s one thing that bothers him more than anything else. My fainting fits have gotten worse. Much worse. The doctors poke and prod and find nothing, as always. But my uncle finally admitted he’s been hiding something. There’s a secret, and it’s scared him enough to turn him into this obsessed watchdog."

Mina set her teacup down with a soft clink, then lifted her hands, fingers weaving through the air in a quick, practiced gesture. A shimmer bled from her touch, swelling outward until a translucent sphere snapped into place around them. The palace’s distant noise vanished, replaced by a thick, suffocating hush.

"For the next ten minutes, we are the only ones who can hear each other. To anyone else, we are just a muffled blur," she explained, her voice sounding strangely intimate in the contained space. "Forgive me if I’m a bit unsteady when this ends, the collapse of the spell often leaves me dizzy. I’ll also explain more about this," she gestured to the bit of magic she cast, "in a minute. But what I have to tell you cannot leave this circle."

She leaned in, her eyes searching his with a raw, tired honesty. "It’s the Blackwood legacy, Askel. Turns out, I come from a line of women who see the world differently. It’s not an illness, it's a sensitivity. My mind is being flooded with things I cannot shut out. Voices, echoes... the dead. I’ve seen them my whole life, but now? Now they speak to me. I can’t make them stop."

Her fingers shook as she clutched at her skirt, twisting the thick fabric so hard her knuckles blanched. "That’s why I faint. My body just gives out, crushed under everything I can’t shut out. Uncle Sebastian knows if the wrong people see me like muttering to ghosts or dropping to the floor, they won’t send for a doctor. They’ll send for a witch hunter."

Askel sat there silently as Mina shared her secrets with him, his eyes falling upon her knuckles turning white from the intensity of her grip. "...Then it appears I have failed you as well," The prince stated simply with a melancholic smile like it was a silent apology. He leaned back in his seat and that same dark haze from before clouded his eyes. "I had aspirations to share what I learned when I returned home in hopes to begin to change Varians views on magic, but, well, the way that Sophia died has made that rather difficult." He chuckled dryly.

His gaze shifted towards the late afternoon sky that painted the palace grounds outside of the window. No matter how beautiful, how grand, or exquisite their world appeared to be, it was all a sham. "Varian, Caesonia, Alidasht, our countries would not be in the state they are currently in if we stopped being afraid of our own shadows. If we embraced magic once again, then the Black Roses would lose much of their power, people afflicted by curses could be cured, magic itself could be better managed and regulated, and perhaps even you would be able to silence the voices or have those that would understand your plight. This system of pain can come to an end."

His gaze shifted back to her and leaned forward, his hands clasped together. One could see that his own knuckles were stark white from how tightly his fingers got into his skin. "It's not just compassion, but pragmatism that drives that belief. Mina, change is coming and it will come like a crushing wave. Whether we ride its current with it or are caught in its tide is up to us." He spoke with a great deal of weight as if it was something he himself would be crushed by this knowledge. "The resentment and fear of mages will boil over one day if this continues and that will be just one of many fronts we would have to face. As we grow to understand the world more, so will our capacity to invent great and terrible things. We must get ahead of it today."

Askel lowered his head and averted his gaze from Mina’s. "Though ideals and truths are as useful as the people behind them and I have availed you nothing."

Mina’s features softened, her own worries slipping away as she reached out and covered his hands with her own, steadying the tension in his grip. She looked at him, her voice quiet but unwavering. "You haven’t failed me, Askel. You didn’t fail your family, or Ambrose, or Varian. I know you’re telling yourself, when the world is quiet, that if you’d been there, maybe Sophia’s tragedy could have been avoided, Lucian spared his grief, and Ambrose could have kept his sister. But you’re not meant to see every path before it’s walked. You left to learn, to try and make things better, and you can’t hold yourself responsible for what you couldn’t have known."

She turned her gaze to the window, watching the sunlight spill across the floor, warm and bright, but unable to hide the festering wound beneath. "You say ideals only matter if the people behind them do? You’re the only one in all this gold and decay who’s looking at the storm and trying to pull people from the water. That means your ideals matter more than anything anyone else could ever say."

She looked back at him, her eyes shadowed with worry. "When they burned that man, I could feel it—the air was thick with insurrection. If the noose keeps tightening, Caesonia will tear itself apart. There will be a civil war. Maybe it isn’t supposed to be our problem in Varian, but we’re close enough to feel the pieces when they fall. People like me, the ones they call witches or worse, will need someone who sees us for who we are. Someone like you."

She gave his hand a gentle squeeze before letting go, a small, weary smile touching her lips. "You’ve given me hope, Azzie. If the world does break, I know there’s someone I’d want to stand beside when it’s over. That’s worth more than anything Varian or Caesonia or Alidasht could offer."

An exhale blew past his lips and lifted his head to face her; a small smile crept on his face. There was still a weight on his shoulders, almost unbearable, but if could bring her hope then who was he to take it away from her. "I'm glad that I can bring you some comfort then. You know I'm always going to be on your side."

Askel fell silent for a moment before he asked a question that burned within him. "Unrelated, but am I the first that you have spoken too? Of my family, I mean." He rubbed the back of his messy mop of auburn hair and said, "Sorry if that's out of the blue. I was just wondering if you had a chance to speak to Lucian at all. I spoke with him earlier, but I guess I wanted to get the perspective of someone else."

Mina’s heart gave a sharp, uncomfortable tug. For a second, the silence of the sphere felt like it was pressing in on her. Her mind flashed back to the guesthouse sitting room—the heavy weight of Lucian’s sword, the way he’d gasped Sophia’s name while pulling her down on top of him, and the sudden, shocking heat of him jumping her once the teasing had gone too far.

She opened her mouth, but the words felt like lead. She looked down, her eyes looking to the place on her arm where he had grabbed her. "I... yes. I ran into Lucian in the guesthouse sitting room," she started, her voice sounding thinner than she intended. She couldn't bring herself to meet Askel's eyes. "It was a strange, difficult meeting. He was exhausted, drifting between grief and... something else. We talked for a while about the things we’re both carrying."

She gripped her skirt, twisting the fabric as she felt the heat of the memory rise in her cheeks. "I think he is in a very volatile place, Askel. I tried to be a friend, to offer some levity, but it... things became intense very quickly." She trailed off, biting her lip hard enough to pale it. The "missing piece", the way he had hungrily sought her affection, felt like a betrayal of the safety she usually felt with the brothers. "Why do you ask? Did he say something about it?"

It had not escaped Askel's notice that her presence seemed to diminish when the subject of Lucian arose. He could have asked her what happened between her and his brother though if she really felt comfortable then she would have told him already. It was just something to keep in mind for later. "No, I wasn't aware that he had spoken to you yet." He began, his voice steady to hide his worry. No matter what, he tried to maintain a smile for her, to continue to be a source of comfort for her. "I ask because, well, I needed someone else's perspective. I'll be honest, my siblings are my blind spot; I trust them way too much even when I know I probably shouldn't so I sometimes can't see things objectively."

That smile slowly turned downwards; he could not hide the weight that he carried in his heart too. "I spoke to him too, things that I promised to keep secret as to not worry anyone, but seeing how you look I think there is cause for concern." A sigh escaped his lips, his fingers ran through his hair and his fingers dug into his scalp. "I'll be honest, I am worried about him. Not just for his grief, but... I know this will sound awful coming from me, but he's naive. What a thing to say about my brother and future king." He chuckled dryly, hating himself for even admitting such a thing to anyone. 

"I tried to explain what I saw during my journey, just a little bit. I tried to explain to him that those with wealth and power tend to not even think of those below them, in fact, they may think they deserve it. Do you know what he asked?" Askel let the question hang in the air. A smile that could not figure out if he should laugh or cry cracked along his lips. "He asked which restaurant. He thought I was talking about the restaurant that I went to with Sylvie and Ambrose."

Askel heaved a heavy sigh and propped his head up with his arm resting on the armrest of the plush chair, wearing a look of never-ending worry. One could only imagine what it is like to be the brother of a king and his knight. "Grief and naivety are such a dangerous thing when together hand-in-hand. Perhaps I'm wrong to go down this line of thinking, but I cannot help, but question why he came to Caesonia." The prince scowled, not at Mina, but for whatever reason Lucian decided to attend the courting season. "I'm not stupid, even I can tell when something is off. He loved Sophia, gods above he loved her since they were kids and I know he still does. So, the question remains."

Mina’s release a slow breath, her own worries slipping to the background beneath the heavy weight of Askel’s words. The mention of the "restaurant" unsettled her, a cold shiver running down her spine. It was more than a simple mistake; it revealed a troubling distance between him and the people he was meant to care for.

"It isn’t awful to say he’s naive, Askel. There’s a high chance that it’s the truth," she said softly, her voice regaining its steady, grounded tone. Her brows knit together as she processed the image of a future King who couldn't see past the silver platter in front of him. "But it’s a specific kind of naivety. I think he has spent his entire life looking at the stars while others cleared the thorns from his path. He doesn't see the reality of the world because he has never really had to, and now, without his heart to guide him, he seems to have lost his footing entirely."

She leaned forward, her features shadowed by the memory of her own encounter. "I think you might be right to worry. I didn't think much of it at the moment, but... when I found him, he was in the guesthouse, asleep on the sitting room sofa. I thought perhaps he’d been training with Ambrose and needed a moment to rest, but he was more than tired, Askel. He looked utterly spent, so much so that he couldn’t even make it to his own bed. At first, he was so disoriented he didn’t even recognize me."

She hesitated, her eyes searching Askel’s, reflecting the unsettling memory of Lucian’s grip. "He mistook me for Sophia when I was merely covering him with a blanket and picking up his sword off the floor." She shook her head, the confusion deepening the lines on her forehead. "It doesn't make sense. Why is he pushing himself to the point of collapse? I mean, I understand training to keep up your skills, but to that extent? What could possibly require that much preparation, that much sweat and blood, when he’s supposed to be here to find a wife? Why would a King need to train like he’s preparing for a war that hasn't been declared?"

Askel looked at her as if there were lobsters coming out of her ears. Why was his own brother training like was getting ready for war? Who the hell was training Lucian because he sure as hell was sure that Ambrose wasn't; they were barely on speaking terms, let alone friendly enough terms to receive training from the knight. Questions kept rushing in his head, but the single question that formed the foundation for each one was why.

He leaned forward with his hands held together and his elbows pressed against his legs. His eyes were cast down to the floor in contemplation. "I... I don't know." He said with a tremble in his voice. "I'm afraid that if I am honest with myself then I am not going to like the answer." It was an admission that he loathed to make because he truly believed it. There was only one reason why Lucian would train and it all boiled down to a single factor, or rather, a person: Sophia. Askel swallowed a lump that formed in his throat.

"I know I shouldn't think like this, but I regret not dragging him with me all those years ago." He said softly, his head lowered further with a heavy shame. "If he saw what I saw, grieved what I grieved, and found joy where I found joy then would things have been different? Would he be stronger, wiser? Or maybe I am just being hopeful." The prince chuckled bitterly, knowing that it was a pointless exercise in despair. 

"I believed that if I could experience the world and see it for what it was then maybe, just maybe I could have been a steady hand. Was I naive to believe that I could guide him?" He lifted the cup of tea to his lips and then looked down at it; there was no longer any steam. "It appears that our talk has chilled the tea." Askel joked with a dry amusement.

Mina’s gaze lingered on the way Askel’s shoulders seemed to fold in on themselves, burdened by the weight of all his unspoken what-ifs. There was a hollowness in his eyes as he stared down at the untouched cup before him, and in that moment, Mina found she could no longer remain a silent observer. Without another thought, she slipped from her seat and crossed the small space between them, kneeling before him and wrapping her arms around him in a gentle, steadying embrace.

"Stop it," she whispered, her voice thick with affection. "Stop trying to be the architect of everyone’s fate, Askel."

She eased back, just enough to rest her hands on his shoulders, her eyes searching his face for understanding. "You cannot carry the weight of the man he decided not to become. Maybe things would have changed if he had gone with you, or maybe they would not have. We could chase 'perhaps' until the sun forgets to rise, but it will not change what is. All it does is drain the strength you need to help him as he is now."

Her expression gentled, earnestness shining through. "It is not naive to want to guide him. You can, and perhaps you and Marnie and Sylvie are the only ones who truly can. But you must guide the man who stands before you now, not the shadow of who you wish he had become. If he is preparing for a battle that has not yet come, he is wandering in darkness. We only need to be the ones to bring him a little light. We can do that, together."

She gave his shoulders a final squeeze before laughing a little, her expression lightening as she glanced at his cup. "And as for the tea... if it’s chilled, it’s a sign. Usually, a cold cup means a secret is about to be revealed, but in our case, I think it just means we talk too much. I could try to reheat it with a flick of my wrist, but I’d probably just end up exploding the porcelain. We could instead find something stronger? I hear 'Edin's reserve' goes down much better when you're plotting a moral intervention."

"You mean you need a stiff drink after this kind of talk." He stated with a smirk. Askel knew she was right; there was no point in sinking into that thought process and he wasn't alone. He had Marnie, Sylvie, and her too. With a renewed sense of purpose, Askel stood up from his seat. "Well, normally I would be against plundering our hosts private reserves but given his 'generosity' I don't think I will mind just this once."

From his coat rack Askel grabbed his jacket and began to put his arms around his shoulders. He tilted his head back and with a playful grin said, "Not a word to Ambrose about this. If he finds out I will never hear the end of it."

A quiet, melodic laugh escaped Mina as she traced a final arc in the air, releasing the spell with a practiced grace. The shimmering boundary faded, and the muffled sounds of the palace pressed in once more, filling the room with a familiar, distant clamor. The sudden return of sound left her reeling, a sharp wave of vertigo washing over her. For a moment, the world tilted beneath her, and she reached out, steadying herself against the edge of the table until the sensation passed.

"Oof... right on cue," she murmured, blinking away the dancing spots in her vision. Once the room stopped spinning, she stood tall, a mischievous glint returning to her eyes as she smoothed her skirt.

"You have my word, not a peep," she promised, her grin softening into something a bit more complicated. "Besides, telling him would mean I’d actually have to speak to him, and I doubt he even really wants to see me." She waved the thought away with a practiced flick of her hand, refusing to let the shadow of her past with the knight dampen the mission at hand.

She moved past him toward the door, pausing just long enough to glance back with a glimmer of mischief in her eyes. "Now, come along. Since I am the one suggesting we rob our host, it is only fair that I lead the way to the cellar. I know precisely where the best of it is hidden, though I will not be explaining how I came by that knowledge." Her laughter lingered in the air as she guided him from the room, her steps light and sure.

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Sylvia & Askel

Ignis 6th

The lovely early afternoon sun hung above the great city of Sorian, its streets abuzz with life of its upper crust in the noble dining district. Specifically, Sweet Serenity Creperie and Café was abuzz with life; partners bringing their significant others, parents bringing their children, and in this case a particular royal pair of siblings sitting together by a window seat. 

They certainly had no trouble finding a table when they had informed the staff who they were though one could hardly call it a private luncheon. At the insistence of Ambrose a few personal guards were sent with them, some sitting inside at different tables to get a clean view and some that waited outside in shifts. Askel paid little attention to them though that was because he was a tad distracted by something else.

"Sylvie, I understand that you're excited. It's been a while since the two of us could go out like this, but I must ask... Why in the world am I dressed like this?" He motioned to his entire being. His typically fluffy messy mop of hair was combed to a painful level of neatness and his clothes fit for a valiant Varian knight and prince all handpicked by his sister of course, completely unaware of his dear sister's intentions. Askel felt a bit overdressed for the occasion, but as her older brother he felt obliged to spoil her every so often, especially given the amount of time that he had spent apart from her and everyone else. 

”This only happens to be the newest and most popular cafe in all of Sorian! I couldn’t have you looking anything LESS than your best if we were to take advantage of…certain opportunities!” The bright smile on her lips might have seemed innocent to all that didn’t know her. Her vibrant blue eyes glancing towards each table as she made mental notes of unattached partners meeting specific qualifications only she knew. It was only then that her hands picked up the menu laid on the table before them. ”Oooh they have a triple chocolate cake, Askie! That’s THREE times the chocolate!” Sylvia barely kept her voice contained as she excitedly bounced in her seat.

Truth be told she hadn’t ACTUALLY gone in herself just yet. She had merely overheard some of the castle maids talking about a new cafe that was just opened and receiving great attention from a certain demographic she had been keeping a very careful eye on. Sylvia was just killing a few birds with one big stone. 
A soft laugh parsed his way through his lips. Askel could never see through his sister's schemes, so when he saw her excitement, he only saw an excited girl that wanted to try the trendiest and newest places with great enthusiasm. Sylvia was so fortunate that he was so gullible when it came to family. "Only you would come to a creperie and look for cake." The prince said with a light chuckle. 

A waiter was quick to approach them to take their order. "Buy whatever you want, it's on me today." Askel offered with a smile full of brotherly love for this precocious little creature that he called a sister. Once they were done giving their orders they were once again left alone. 

Askel felt strangely awkward around her to no fault of her own. It really had been a long time since he had spent any time with her alone. It was easier when they were all together; they could all bounce off each other and talk normally, but now it was just them. Did the years he spent apart from her put a rift between them? Were they more like strangers than brother and sister? Those were the kinds of thoughts that ran through his head.
He cleared his throat and tentatively asked, "So, how have you been enjoying yourself? With the trip, I mean. It's not every day you get to leave Varian for such an extensive amount of time. Have you been making friends?"

”Thanks, you’re the best Askie!” Unlike some, she didn’t even pretend to resist the generous offer and took it in stride. Her eyes darted quickly through the menu, mostly as a show, before she placed her order. Slices of strawberry, velvet, and of course that triple chocolate cake were ordered. Sylvia, in a show of petty spite, ordered a single mixed berry crepe along with some herbal green tea with some honey. 
The prince had been more conservative with his order; an order of mushroom crepes and a latte that stood in stark contrast to his sister's order. While he appreciated his sweets, Askel could never understand how she could tolerate eating so much cake.  

Sylvia’s expression had yet to dim once since they had met up, only offering varying degrees of smiles. Her gaze had been flicking between the other customers, looking at their order as she considered what to get next time. Aske’s question managed to bring her attention back to him. ”Hmm, I would say it’s been pretty fun so far…” She adopted a thoughtful expression as she held a finger on her cheek. ”There’s been so much to see! As for friends…” Syvlia shrugged at this. ”I have gotten to know some of the maids, they told me about this place, remember?”

Askel blinked as he processed what she just said. Had she not met anyone yet? "Oh, right," he said to cover up his faux pas. Now he was worried for another reason. 

Her smile brightened once more as her tea was set in front of her. She didn’t waste time and brought the steaming mug to her lips and instantly flinched at its scalding heat. Sylvia gingerly set the cup back down as she looked back at Askel. ”How about you Askie? This hasn’t been too much on you, right?”

Askel had a grin that radiated ease and shook his head in response to her question. "Oh no, on the contrary I've gained some acquaintances." He lifted the dainty cup of espresso and took of a sip of the scalding liquid though it appeared that his tongue was as calloused as his hands; the heat failed to faze him in the slightest. Delicately placing the cup down without so much as a clink, her brother continued.   
With each finger he listed his limited number of encounters off. There's Knight Captain Stratya Durmand who I had an excellent spar with and then kindly treated me to lunch. She's also quite the baker, you'd like her. Then I met Olivia, that fiery lass fighting some nobles that were bullying some poor girl. I had to step in and scare them off, but long story short I'm training Olivia to use a sword so she doesn't die in an alley when she decides to become a vigilante again."

His face lit up as he remembered something very important and, well, indeed it was. "Oh, Mina dropped by my room to have tea and play cards the other day! It was so nice to catch up with her after all these years. Gods, I missed her, just as much as I missed all of you." The cogs in his head began to turn and that warm in his eyes faded away as he squinted at his sister; he knew what kind of machinations she had in store. Pointing an accusatory finger at her, Askel said, "Don't you dare even get any ideas with her, or any of them for that matter. They are off limits for your matchmaking schemes, okay?"

Sylvia’s smile and eyes grew wider with every mention of his new group of friends. She was barely holding back bouncing in her seat as she was so excited at the news. ”That is unacceptable, AS-KIE!” Her hand had slammed into the table before her as she stood up, only hard enough to make the table slightly shake without spilling anything. ”Three! Three wonderful, beautiful encounters with lovely maidens and you want to tell me they are off limits!” There were no restraints in her volume use as she expressed the closest thing to righteous fury.

She began to make a very short loop as she paced back and forth by her chair. ”A lady knight sparred with you and then took you to lunch? That’s basically courting for you! And you’re going to train some girl after you have saved her?!?” The frustration only escalated despite her somehow managing to keep from outright yelling. ”Best of all, you had a woman in your room! It’s…it’s….well scandalous!” The nerve of her brother for trying to stop her when there were three prime opportunities for him to find his wife was unbelievable.

Sylvia let out a small huff of her annoyance at him out as she sat back down, smoothing her dress out. ”Although…maybe it is best that I let the situations progress naturally. Something you’re doing is working to pull three women into your orbit like this….” The temper that had been swirling in her head cooled down as she thought it through. She smacked a balled fist into her open hand.  ”Alright, very well Askie. I shall not construct any schemes to pull them….I shall just support you as a younger sister should!”

People were staring at the two siblings though Askel really could not blame them: his dear sister had made quite a scene and now his love life or lack thereof was now on public display. The only reason he suspected that they were not being asked to leave was because they were Varian royalty. A tired laugh passed by his lips at his sister's proclamation. "I do appreciate the fact that you care about my wellbeing, but you do realize that we have very different views on love, don't you?" His eyes cast down to his plate as he finally began to tuck into his crepe.

"They're all wonderful women, but my brain and heart are not in alignment." The prince admitted before he took a bite, his mouth filled with an herbaceous mushroom cream sauce. Taking his time to chew and swallow while he gathered his thoughts, he continued. "Romance between soldiers is frowned upon for good reason and Stratya is a Caesonian knight and I am a Varian knight. It wouldn't work even if we had feelings for each other; the compromises would be too much for both of us. I could never ask that of anyone." Askel dissected whatever fanciful ideas of romance that were in his sister's head.

However, he was not done just yet. "Olivia for all intents and purposes is a student. While she may not be my squire, she is someone who is trusting me and I am in a position of power and authority. I would not want to abuse either." He stated matter of factly. "And Mina is my best friend. The sort of love you're thinking is not what I want from her, and I know that's not what she wants from me either." Besides, he knew what kind of trouble Mina was going through and the last thing she needed was him to suddenly develop feelings for her. 

"It would be easy to be infatuated with someone and call it love, but that would only lead to pain and I'm against hurting people." For a second, for just the briefest moments there was a faraway look in his eyes with something indiscernible, but it was just a flash in the pan. A grin spread along his face and he pointed his fork at her. "Besides, I am not so arrogant to assume that they would see me as a future husband. There are other more qualified bachelors than I."

Sylvia shook her head as she wagged a finger at her brother, tsking at his wonderful counter argument only to flop on his face at the finish line. ”You nearly produced a perfect counter, my dear brother, but I must vehemently dismiss your final statement. Thus I will disregard everything else as well.” While her voice still carried plenty of energy, Sylvia had reduced her volume to a proper level. The imperious look held only for a brief moment before her eyes softened and her smile relaxed.

”I merely jest. I hear what you are saying brother and I will not press them if this is how you truly feel.’ Sylvia let out a sigh as she leaned her chin on her hand. ”I actually do admire your thoughtfulness, stubborn as it can be at times.” There was a brief melancholic look as her thought drifted somewhere else for just a moment before a small shrug returned her typical, bright smile back to her lips.

”You are the brother of the most beautiful, talented, charming, and of course humble little sister. It is only a matter of time until the right one wises up.” She stated with complete confidence placing a hand on her upper chest, then dropped it shortly with a content sigh. ”I am glad we have gotten this chance to talk before the ball.” Sylviva uttered the simple statement with pure honesty. In truth, she felt out of all their siblings she was the most nervous to attend.

"I'm glad we were able to too." Askel gave Sylvia an appreciative smile and fought back the urge to reach over the table to lay a large hand on her head and ruffle her hair. It was always tough to be in a new place; people and customs that you don't know abound and there was very little familiar to find relief in. That was something he experienced with every new place he found himself in constantly adjusting and learning while making sure to not step on eggshells, so he of all people understood what it was like. 

"Speaking of my 'beautiful, talented, charming, and humble little sister,' I hope that you are able to pull your focus away from my life and onto yours. I am willing to bet that you'll be catching the eye of many suitors." He chuckled and with a teasing grin for he knew how she was going to react with what he was about to say. For all of her talk of love and romance for others, whenever it was brought up for herself, she deflected it better than any well-placed strike. "And before you say it, Ambrose and I will not duel them. You'll never marry then."

His eyes narrowed as he focused on her face for a moment. "Hold on you've got some cake on..." He pointed to a bit of cake on the corner of her mouth. "Ah, let me get it." Disregarding propriety and her own protests, Askel reached over the table napkin in hand and began to wipe her face with the delicacy of someone trying to polish a sword to pristine condition. In other words, he was not very gentle.

Askel’s words seemed to perk Syvila up further and she used the brief pause in the conversation to eat more of her cake. Her expression shifted to varying degrees of delight from each bite. She became lost in the rich sweetness that when Askel spoke again she was in the middle of savoring another bite. The moment he mentioned suitors she swallowed quickly and not all went down the correct pipe. Sylvia coughed a few times slapping her upper chest as a rosy blush colored her cheeks. ”That is…I will not….”

Syliva found herself unable to find the right words when she furrowed her brows with a pout at his sudden change in subject. ”What cake? Askie what are you…” Her words shifted as she felt like her face was being molded like clay instead. Sylvia lightly slapped his hand away as she pulled her head backwards. ”Askie, stop! I am not a child. I can get it myself.” She took hold of the napkin next to her in a quick, pointed grab and dabbed the corners of her lips and cheeks. 

”I do hope you intend to sleep with one eye open dear brother. I shall not forgive this offense.” Sylvia huffed and crossed her arms, her tone leaving whether or not she would follow through a mystery. A frown appeared on her face at the sparse holdovers of treats on the table. It seemed they, or she, had really gone through them fast. She did eat faster when she was nervous. 

Seeing the discontent on her face, Askel realized that he perhaps went a step too far. He smiled at her apologetically though there was a strange tint of regret. "Sorry, sorry. I sometimes forget that you're not my little rambunctious sister with crumbs on her face, clinging to my side anymore. You're a grown woman and you have become a wonderful lady. I do hope you know that." There was so much that he had missed when he went off to see the world, so much time with her and their sister, their brother, their parents, and their friends. Seeing her like this, this girl that had grown into this graceful and beautiful woman, did make his heart ache and yet, he remained smiling because he was there with her now.

"But even as we get older, I will always be your brother, and I will always be there to lend an unjudgmental ear when there is something worrying you." He leaned forward with his elbow on the table and rest his head on his hand in a matter that was least regal. A smirk played upon his lips. "Such as your aversion to your own love life though I will not push on the matter further. Just know that if you ever feel ready to talk about it, I'm here for you now."

He leaned back into a proper position, knowing that his manners were relatively poor. "Or you could tell me what sort of ideas you had getting me gussied up like this." His hand gestured towards the outfit she picked out once again.

Sylvia let her arms fall back onto her lap at Askel’s heartfelt apology and couldn’t help the light blush that colored her cheeks. She was incredibly proud of all her siblings, but one fact she could never admit was that her image of a princely knight coming to her rescue largely came from Askel. Her hands were clasped in her lap as he continued and tilted her head as he leaned on the table. She fidgeted a little as he brought up her shyness around the topic again.

”That should be obvious, brother. I was certain you’d be approached by all kinds of wonderful, pretty girls by now…” She hummed tapping a finger to her lips though the mischievous tint to her words were lacking as she looked at him with fondness. ”I am really grateful to have you as a brother, Askie.” Sylvia paused and her lips opened and shut a few times as she tried to come up with what to say next. ”One day, I will. I just….it is…” There was a brief darkness, a weight in her eyes for a moment. [color=#F09A99]”We should really have another outing like this, but I promise it will just be for fun and no [i]other] reasons.”[/color] Syvlia quickly received with a giggle, a smile once again adorning her lips. 

"Oh give yourself some credit; I am having fun," Askel reassured with a smile. "But I would appreciate it if I chose my attire next time." He half-joked; the outfit was actually a lot warmer than he anticipated and he was drinking hot coffee. 
One day, he hoped that Sylvia could tell him what was on her mind, but the heart is such a fickle thing. It can carry an unbearable weight, but should a helping hand come to share the load then it may never take it. Askel could only hope that one day she could.

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Time: Evening of Ignis 5
Location:  Edwards Estate

The dining room wore Victoria’s taste like a crown. Every corner was gilded with gold,  and tall windows darkened by the night beyond. It was a lot to take in for anyone, especially one not used to her taste.

Gideon Edwards waited at the head of a table that looked fit for a royal procession rather than a family meal yet the food itself was modest in comparison, the sort of comfort he preferred when he had any say: a roast carved, buttery vegetables, bread still steaming beneath a cloth, and a baked dish set to the side that smelled richly of cheese. He stood in a dark, well-tailored evening coat, smoothing his cuff once too often.

When he turned and noticed Sir Nikolai had finally arrived, Gideon’s expression brightened into ease.

“Sir Nikolai,” he said, offering his hand with gratitude that didn’t feel performative. “I’m so glad you arrived safely… I won’t pretend this is a light commission, but I am sincerely relieved to have you in my household. My staff is arranging your chamber as we speak—everything you require will be seen to, and if anything is missing, you need only say so.”

It would become clear to Nikolai that the man loved to talk veryquickly as he hadn’t even let the man first reply before he continued. However, Nik was fairly accustomed to shows of wealth, his grandfather loved to flaunt it, but the Edwards estate was truly something else entirely. From first glance, it seemed to put his own family’s obsession with wealth and power to shame. He had to relax his expression once he noticed his host. His face shifted very quickly from mild disappointment to a welcoming smile. He put on his best charismatic smile and walked over to Gideon, his steps as sure as his confidence. 

The outfit he’d chosen had been intentional too. Strong but flexible dark brown leather, form fitted and well-worn. The fabric went down to his wrists, hiding the scratches he’d been getting in his sleep. He looked down to earth and practical with a sword strapped to his side. He left the sword at the side of the door, all while feeling the weight of the small dagger he had hidden on his person. The weight of it kept him feeling grounded, stable. The dagger in his boot helped too.

”Duke Edwards! A pleasure, sir.” He replied, matching Gideon’s cadence. He reached his hand out to shake his, the gesture entirely performative.
“We’ll have plenty of time to talk tonight; however, I’ll be plain with you while it’s just us two: my daughter has a habit of walking where she shouldn’t, alone when she ought not. After what happened—after the… incident in the tavern last night—I will not gamble on luck or appearances. You have full authority to keep her within sight when she is outside these walls, and if she attempts to dismiss you, I expect you to follow anyway. If trouble finds her, I want you between it and her. Always send word to me immediately, no matter the hour.” Gideon’s smile held, but the weight behind his glassy eyes revealed how worried he truly was for that girl. 

He then eased his breath out; it was a needed release—as if saying all this aloud turned his fear into something more manageable. “Ariella should be down shortly,” he informed him. “As a fair warning, she’s… independent, and she dislikes feeling managed.” Gideon glanced toward the stairs, listening for approaching steps, then returned his attention to Nikolai with a small, apologetic chuckle. “And for the sake of clarity, my wife is out this evening with friends. Tonight, it will be just the three of us.”

Nikolai listened as Gideon spoke, keeping his hands clasped at his back as he looked around. He kept the same relaxed smile on his face, but inside he was absolutely cringing. 

It was clear to him that the girl must be strong-willed considering her father felt the need to word-vomit all this information before she had come down. He kept his smile, nodding at points he felt he should nod. ”Of course, sir.” He replied with another nod. 

Damn pampered Princess…

He would never admit his jealousy or how much he wished he’d had a father like Gideon. 
Independent, huh? You don’t say…

Nik chuckled lightly at Gideon’s words. ”I won’t let that stop me from keeping her safety a top priority, sir.” He promised, giving him a practiced smile. He nodded at the comment about his wife, curious where that had come from but grateful for the information nonetheless. 

His gaze shifted to the stairs as he heard footsteps, his curiosity for whom he’d be guarding very much real.

“That is precisely what I hoped to hear, Sir Nikolai,” Gideon replied and gave him a satisfied nod. “You have my thanks.”

Ariella paused at the top of the staircase, fingers curled around the banister as if it were the only solid thing in the house.

The light below was too bright. Not painfully so but just enough to press behind her eyes, a deep, bruised pressure that made her blink and steady her breathing. She waited a moment before moving, letting the brief wash of dizziness pass. Pushing through it would only make it worse. She knew that now.

She took the first step down.

Her body felt heavy, each movement delayed as though she were wading through thick water. By the third step, she could feel the faint tremor in her hands again, subtle but persistent, especially when she tried to adjust her grip. Annoying. Unavoidable. She loosened her fingers, forcing them to behave, and continued.

Halfway down, the noise from below reached her all at once. She could hear voices, the crackle of the hearth, the soft echo of footsteps in another room. Too much. Her senses bristled, light and sound pressing in until she focused on the rhythm of her steps instead. One. Then another.

Her head throbbed when she moved too quickly. Not sharp like it had been after the tavern, but deep and heavy, like a bruise she kept pressing by accident. She slowed again, lips parting as she breathed through it.

You’re fine, she told herself.

The fog was the worst part. Thoughts arrived a heartbeat late, drifting in and out like they weren’t quite hers. She rehearsed what she meant to say when she reached the bottom but lost it halfway through, her mind going blank in an irritating, hollow way. Her jaw tightened. She started over.

By the time her foot touched the final step, her stomach gave a soft, unpleasant roll. Tea and bread would have helped. She made a mental note to find some after, if she remembered.

She straightened, smoothing her dress with hands that weren’t entirely steady, and lifted her chin. The motion sent a brief spike of pain behind her eyes, sharp enough to warn her not to try anything clever. Magic lingered at the edge of her awareness, tempting and dangerous. Even brushing against it made the world tilt.

So she didn’t.

Ariella stood there instead, holding herself together by sheer restraint. She drew a slow breath, steadying the hollow weakness in her limbs, and stepped forward to greet the evening as though nothing in her bones felt tired, as though her thoughts weren’t moving just a fraction too slowly.

If she focused, if she stayed still enough, she could pass for whole.

The echo of her bare feet hitting the marble floors bounced through the lobby with careful and deliberate steps as her hands attempted to steady her balance with each movement. Finally arriving in the dining room, a rather poorly looking woman appeared. 

Adorned with her fire-red hair, Ari’s eyes were dark as if she hadn’t slept for days. Thanks to her maids, her appearance was at least passable, but her eyes gave it away. 

” Good afternoon, father.” Her voice broke into a soft-spoken greeting as if she had just woken up. 

Gideon’s attention snapped toward the sound of bare feet against marble before Ariella even appeared. The moment she did, his expression changed so quickly it betrayed him. The easy charm drained into a paternal of concern. “Ariella—” he said at once, his voice gentle. His gaze searched her face, taking in the darkened hollows beneath her eyes, the sluggishness she tried to disguise, and the fragility behind her posture. The sleepiness in her voice could be because she had just woken up for a nap—but what explained the rest?

“Sit down, my darling… Please.” He moved to pull out her chair himself, hovering perhaps too close. “Good evening,” he returned,lightly correcting her, and then he gestured toward the darkened windows. 

“...Have you… eaten today, sweetheart?” He hesitantly asked, still wearing a tender smile. 

Ari shuffled towards the chair, sitting down slowly as a breath of relief escaped her. Shaking her head wearily before smiling softly.

” No, not yet, but this all smells amazing.” Her stomach slightly turned at the scent, but her father was right; she did need to eat something. Her eyes glanced up at the guest before looking back to her father ” I’m sorry, I didn’t realize we had a guest.”

Nikolai had been keeping himself quiet at the exchange. Another brief flare of jealousy spiked as he watched the two. There was also a small part of him that was absolutely pissed that she hadn’t even acknowledged his existence yet. He knew he was normally the sort that commanded at least some sort of attention when he entered a room. But to be so totally invisible to this little girl? When he was finally acknowledged by the girl, he smiled gently. 

”Good evening, Ms. Edwards.” He greeted her, as warmly as he could manage. ”If that’s the case,” He started, in reference to her hunger, ”Why don’t we skip introductions for now and head straight to the food? I don’t mind being introduced once she’s had a little time to get something on her stomach.”

Nik’s tone was warm, a practiced cadence, but his words were absolutely meant more for the Duke than his daughter. 

 “Ah, yes, very well then,” Gideon agreed , then inclined his head toward the table.   “Please, let us not allow it to cool. I find matters settle more easily when taken alongside good food.”

The three of them seated themselves, the clink of cutlery and the warmth of the room filling the space where conversation had not yet found its footing. Gideon ate little, though he made a point of encouraging the others, his attention drifting more than once to Ariella to ensure she was managing the evening.

As the meal drew toward its end, he cleared his throat and said, “Ariella, my dear,” he said gently, turning his gaze to her before inclining his head toward their guest, “allow me to make proper introductions. This is Sir Nikolai Dragos Berova, who has very kindly agreed to lend his vigilance to our household.”

Ariella sat poised at the dinner table, her posture graceful despite the lingering weight in her limbs. The soft glow of candlelight caught in her emerald gaze as she lifted her eyes to the gentleman across from her. He was tall, dark-haired, and undeniably handsome by society’s standards. A man sculpted for admiration. Yet it was the way he carried himself, relaxed but deliberate, that drew her closer attention. A charmer, she decided, and likely well aware of it.

She offered a polite smile as she inclined her head slightly from her seat, fingers resting lightly against the edge of her plate.

“I apologise, Sir Berova, for not being my normal self this morn—”
 She paused, catching herself with a soft breath and a faint shake of her head.
“—evening. I am feeling a bit under the weather.”

Her gaze drifted briefly toward her father at the head of the table, searching his expression for reassurance before returning to Sir Berova. There was a subtle tightening around her eyes as the meaning of his presence began to settle in.

“Vigilance to our household?” Ariella repeated, the question gentle but edged with curiosity. She shifted slightly in her chair, smoothing her skirts as if to ground herself.
“So… you will be staying with us then?”

Her attention returned fully to the gentleman, studying him.

“I imagine you might also be partaking in this year’s courting season then.” Oblivious as to why they would need his presence other than the courting season itself. 

Nikolai kept the same polite smile on his face as she spoke. It was clear to him why her father wanted protection for her. She wasn’t all there right now to begin with. Maybe she’s just airheaded and doesn’t want to admit it,  he thought dryly to himself. Regardless, he was here for a job and he would do it well. As well as a skirt-chaser of his nature could, anyway. 

”No apologies needed, Lady Edwards.” He returned politely, his tone even. He paused at her questions and a realization dawned on him. He hadn’t told her yet. Had he really saved this moment for when he was being introduced to her for the first time? He had sudden empathy for her. She must feel so blind-sided by this,  he thought to himself. Perhaps the most selfless thought he’d had all day. 

He turned from her to the Duke and back again, as if waiting to see if the Duke would help dig him out of this hole the Duke had seemingly thrown him into. Help me, you damned fool, he thought bitterly.

Gideon offered Nikolai a brief, apologetic glance before turning fully to his daughter. “With the Queen’s condition weighing so heavily upon the city,” he began, “the people of Sorian have grown rather… unsettled. Fear makes tempers quick and judgment poor, and it has rendered the streets far less forgiving than they once were.”

He paused, as though choosing each word with her in mind.“Add to that the activity of the hunters, and—” his mouth tightened into a line,“—the regrettable incident at the tavern last evening, and I find myself unwilling to trust circumstance with your safety.”

His tone softened, once again paternal. “Sir Nikolai’s primary charge will be to keep watch over you when you are beyond these walls. Not to confine you, nor to command you—but to ensure that, should danger arise, it does not reach you first.”

Ariella listened in silence as her father spoke, her expression carefully composed. Yet beneath the calm exterior, something bristled. Anger. Frustrations. Fear…Her fingers curled slightly against the linen of her napkin, knuckles whitening before she consciously loosened them again. Protection. Watchfulness. All reasonable words for some, until they brushed too closely against confinement.

She lifted her gaze, emerald eyes steady now, clearer than they had been moments before. When she spoke, her tone was polite, but unmistakably firm.

“I understand your concern, Father.”

 A pause.Measured, intentional.

“Truly, I do.”

Her eyes flicked briefly to Sir Nikolai before returning to her father, chin lifting just a fraction. Here we go… Nik thought dryly as he waited for the little lady to continue. His face kept the same measured expression as before.

“But I would be remiss if I did not say this plainly.”

Her fingers smoothed her skirts again, not from nerves this time, but resolve.

“I will not be escorted as though I am a prisoner in my own life.”

“If Sir Nikolai’s role is to walk beside me when I choose to leave these walls, then I will have to accept it.”

Her gaze sharpened slightly.

“If it is his purpose to decide when or where I may do so… then we will have an issue.”

She turned her attention fully to Nikolai now, studying him not as a potential suitor, but as a variable in her freedom. An enemy

“I value my independence, Sir Berova.”

A faint, knowing smile touched her lips. Nikolai resisted the incredibly strong desire to roll his eyes at her.

“You will find I am cooperative when it's respected and exceedingly difficult when it's not.”

Only then did she lean back slightly in her chair, shoulders still relaxed, voice softer but no less resolute.

“I will not be caged by fear, father, I’d rather die at the hands of someone being free than being paraded around in a cage.”

Despite himself, Nik respected her bravado. He respected her willingness to at least try to fight the hand she was being dealt. It was far more than he had ever done. His letter back to his grandfather had been another measured calculation. Appease him for long enough and he would eventually die. And then Nik wouldn’t need to deal with him or get his hands dirty. He tried not to think about how deep a cut it was that his grandfather saw him more as a pawn than anything.

Nik stayed rather quiet as he waited for Gideon’s response. It wasn’t quite his place yet to respond to her tantrums. Lord knows, however, how much he wanted to. She sounded naive and, worst of all, stupid. Accept it, embrace it, use it. If she knew how to do that, she’d be much better off. 

Gideon did not flinch at her tone, though his expression fell apart as she proclaimed she’d rather die. He stared at her with a heavy sadness, wishing he could be a shield he could place between her and the world. “You are not a prisoner in this house, Ariella,” he said, gently, doing little this time to conceal the emotions from his face, “And I will not have you treated like one.”

He let that settle before continuing, “Sir Nikolai is not here to decide your life for you. He is here because there are villains outside these walls who will try to decide it for you, if given the chance.” His brows furrowed, restrained anger kept behind manners. “None of this is because you have done wrong.”

Nik glanced from Gideon to Ariella, wondering how she would take what he was saying. It sounded grounded and reasonable to him, he could only hope the girl was reasonable too.

There was a pause, and then Gideon gave his daughter a gentle, reassuring smile. “So this is what will be true: you will choose where you go. You will choose what you do. All within reason. And he will walk beside you—near enough to reach you, far enough that you do not feel paraded.” Gideon’s eyes flicked briefly to Nikolai with the kind of glance that carried instruction. The knight offered Gideon a small nod in understanding, trying not to let his annoyance show.  “He answers to me, and his charge is protection—not governance.”

He looked back at Ariella. “But hear me, my dear: if danger shows its face, pride is not permitted to outrank your life. If Sir Nikolai must pull you back from the edge of something vicious, he will do so—and you may be furious with me afterward, in the comfort of your own home, with all your freedom intact. Let us call it what it is: a temporary inconvenience in exchange for your continued existence.”

Nik’s jaw clenched momentarily as he killed a laugh that threatened to bubble up his throat and kill his composure. What a fucking line… He thought to himself. He cleared his throat as quietly as he could manage, trying to maintain his calm and charming appearance. His mind filled with thoughts of the look on her face if he did drag her out of a bad situation.

Ariella’s jaw set as the meaning finally settled in.

All within reason.
All within his control.

The words echoed like iron bars disguised as silk. No matter how gently they were spoken, no matter how carefully they were dressed, the truth remained the same. The decision had already been made. Her consent was an illusion, granted only so long as it aligned with her father’s will.

A cage, neatly wrapped in pretty words.

Her gaze lowered, not in defeat, but in the quiet, burning realization that fighting this would only tighten the strings. Her father held them. And this stranger was simply another extension of that control, meant to follow her shadow into every corner of her life.

When she spoke again, her voice was steady. Too steady.

“I understand,” she said. Not I agree, or I accept. Just understanding.

Her fingers curled slowly at her sides, nails pressing into her palms as she grounded herself.“I won’t apologise for what I did,” she continued, lifting her eyes once more. “I would make the same choice again. Every time.”

Drake’s face flickered in her mind. Blood, fear, the weight of knowing that if she hadn’t acted, the cost would have been far worse.

“If protecting my brother is a crime,” she said quietly, “then this is a punishment I'll accept…sorry”she corrected herself ”...a temporary inconvenience in exchange for my continued existence.” she echoed, clearly unhappy. 

“I would never ask you to apologize for protecting your brother,” Gideon clarified with a concerned look.  “And I’m not trying to punish you.”

Sweetheart, he literally just said you hadn’t done anything wrong, Nik thought to himself, his gaze now fixed on the idiotic girl in front of him. Was she picking and choosing what she heard? If anything, this should delight her if whatever she’d done had been to protect her brother. Who wouldn’t want more protection? How’s she to know he wouldn’t just join her side instead of pulling her back? Of course if hunters were coming after her…

He took in a breath that was sharper than he had meant to and released it quietly, evenly. He was going to have his work cut out for him, wasn’t he? He was beginning to understand why his grandfather hadn’t elaborated on his assignment here. Just another gilded cage to try and test his only heir. Perfect. Lovely. Thanks Gramps. Fuck you.

Even as these thoughts crossed his mind, Nikolai kept an even face, looking from Ariella and back to Gideon. It still wasn’t quite his place to speak up. If it were just him and her, though.

Ari glanced at the knight, his face betraying him as he sat silent. Frankly she didn't care what he thought, he was just as bad as her father but he got paid to be so.

”Well speak up..”, she snapped, “clearly you have a lot to say about my situation too, your smug expression gives it away.” 

He turned his gaze to the girl, a brow raised as she spoke to him. So now she chose to acknowledge him. He tried to keep his expression even keeled. As he listened to her.

He smiled brightly as she finished, a smile she could likely tell was not genuine. 

"Lady Edwards, I look forward to serving you." He replied deliberately. She would not get a rise of of him, certainly not with her father present. He'd never hear the end of it with his grandfather.

Great…he's spineless.

Sighing heavily Ariella leaned back in her chair. She had to admit defeat, there simply was no winning this battle. 

Gideon suddenly rose from his seat.  “…Why don’t I leave you two to get to know each other? “ He offered, and before either could protest he was already half-way through the archway.  “I’ll be over in the drawing room… You two play nice now; I’ll have the servants bring in a course of dessert.” 

Nik let out a breath as the Duke left. His gaze glanced to Ariella as he waited for the old man to be further out of earshot. Once he was sure he was, Nikolai relaxed. He leaned back against the seat, let his legs spread out a bit more, and watched the girl carefully. Now that he had a chance to say whatever he wanted, he found himself at a loss for words. 

”Look, let me level with you, sweetheart.” He started, ”This is as much a cage for me as it is for you. I think we could potentially come to an agreement to scratch each other’s backs.”

Nik shifted a bit, rolling his shoulder blades calmly. ”I’ll keep my distance so you won’t even know I’m there. And I won’t step in unless absolutely necessary. In return…” He explained, his voice low and quiet, ”You tell daddy dearest over there how wonderfully I protect you.” He pointed towards where Gideon had left with a head tilt. 

”Do we have a deal?”

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Hidden 4 mos ago Post by Remram

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In the Garden

Nora & Nolan

Ignis 4th

Nora had been in the country for a day now, having settled into her quarters rather comfortably. It felt better than her bed at home for reasons she wasn’t sure she wanted to voice. Her brother had come to her that morning with his shirt, a small tear on one of the seams. She’d rolled her eyes at him, but took it with a smile and a soft, ‘You’ll owe me for this.’

It had taken her a few hours, but she did eventually find the gardens she’d been promised existed. The gardens were beautiful and she smiled cheerfully as she wandered inside. It would be a wonderful place to work on her brother’s shirt and maybe read a few chapters of her latest novel. It had the added benefit of being quiet and a place no one would really look for her. 

Her bag hooked with the crook of her arm, she searched around for a nice spot to sit. Something out of the way would be perfect… A few moments later, she had stuck her head around the corner of a hedge to find a bench with a little birdbath nearby. It was out of sight and mostly out of mind. 

Once she was set with her things where she wanted them, she got to work on Magnus’ shirt, humming cheerfully. Her familiar, Nox, curled himself under the bench, content to nap in the shade.

The pounding of footsteps would catch Nora's ears, very irritated sounding footsteps and the sound of...clicking? Whatever was going on, they were getting closer. No less than she could begin to wonder what they were from the answer that would soon enter the clearing; a young man wearing an unbuttoned fawn colored morning coat over a white collared shirt, a pair of dark brown trousers, and shoes shined to perfection. Held between the pit of his arm was a book with a leather cover. His face was partially obscured by his ochre brown hair and was somewhat facing away from her although one could see the scowl he wore on his face though one could surmise why he was so annoyed. 

In his hand he held a silver lighter, and it just kept clicking without making a spark, and in his other an unlit cigarette. The man heaved a sigh and with frustration coloring his voice he said, "Come on, work. Work you stupid bloody fu-!" However, he stopped himself when he sensed he was not alone. He lifted his head up and looked in Nora's direction, his green eyes finding her own, and froze like a deer that encountered a random hiker.

The young man must have realized he looked like a right fool; he cleared his throat and tried to play off as if he was not about to curse a storm. "I, uh, my apologies. I had no idea that the gardens were occupied."

Nora watched him enter the little space she’d found for herself, her head tilted just slightly in confusion. Her gaze shifted from the silver object in his hand and could work out that was he frustrated that it wasn’t working. A.. lighter? 

The look on his face when he noticed her was one she recognized all too well. She lowered her needlework and gave him a small smile. ”I don’t think they have an occupation limit.” She replied as she looked him over. He looked clean, wealthy, and frazzled. And if the look in his eye told her anything, he was also anxious about other people. ”Let me look at that?” She asked, motioning towards his lighter. She wasn’t entirely sure she would be able to help, but her father had a lighter and she’d played with it a time or two. False confidence had her believing that she might be able to get it to work. 

Nox lifted his head to look at the intruder, but didn’t seem too fussed and set his head back down again. 

The young man looked down at the lighter and then at Nora. Well, he had already made himself look like quite a fool already, but if he rejected her then it would just look even worse. It was already awkward enough for him anyway, so he'd take this chance to appear somewhat normal. "If you'd like." He approached her and held out the lighter to her though he was careful not to touch her.

Nora smiled, happy that he’d decided to trust her with his lighter. For most people, Nora was guarded, a bundle of nerves always worried that the person she was speaking to would be offended, but after seeing him react that way, she didn’t feel as much fear. 

She took the lighter and turned it over in her hands carefully. It looked fairly similar to the one her father had… She took a few minutes to poke and prod at the device, looking for things she knew about her father’s before trying to click the ignition source. 

It lighted instantly and her face lit up along with it. ”Look! Look! I did it!” She grinned, lifting it for him to see. A proud feeling filled her chest as she looked back up at him. 

The young man slowly blinked at the little flicker of flame licking the air from the lighter that he so desperately tried to light many times. A chuff blew past his lips, his face read an equal measure of annoyance and amused at just how easy she made it. "Took me several bloody tries and you just needed one. Just not my day I suppose."

He gingerly took the lighter from her and lit the end of his cigarette, placing it between his lips. Nora would watch as the cigarette began to burn down as this man took the longest drag before resting it between his fingers. Carefully, he pointed his head upwards and exhaled a cloud of gray fumes that rose upwards like ethereal tendrils grabbing the air. It sounded like he really was holding that sigh in for gods know how long.

He closed his eyes a moment to collect himself though when they opened, there was readable relief. That was for a moment before he looked at Nora and realized that once again, his manners were lacking. "Oh, um, sorry. Thank you very much for your help, Ms..." He studied her and realized that he had never seen this woman before in Sorian or any part of Soralia for that matter. And she was in the castle gardens. Oh.   

"It just occurred to me that you're a guest. Please pardon my behavior as a representative of Soralia" The man bowed with a slight bent from the hip and placed a hand on his heart. "Nolan Edwards, youngest son of Duke Gideon Edwards and Duchess Victoria Edwards."

Nora watched him, her mind reading in a little too deeply into the annoyed lines in his face. She twisted her fingers into the hem of her dress, trying to ignore the nagging feeling in the back of her head. He looked nice and she didn’t want to upset him. She tried to remind herself that he wasn’t yelling at her, he was just… frustrated. 

With some effort, she relaxed, smoothing out her dress with a practiced poise. She watched him take a long drag, his eyes closed. She couldn’t help her own curiosity. What had happened to make him that pent up? She could tell he’d needed it and there was a small giddiness in her at having been the one to help him. Her lips pressed together to try and keep her smile controlled. 

”Oh-” She started, opening her mouth to let him know her name. It closed as he continued and she floundered a bit as he bowed. ”Oh, I’m hardly deserving of that..” She replied quickly, her brows raised in mild surprise. ”Nora Pawonska, daughter of Count Pawonska.” She replied, trying her best to offer as he had. 

”And I just…” She started, suddenly incredibly worried that he wouldn’t like that she was here. ”I was just trying to… She started again, struggling to find the words, the words that might placate him into letting her stay. ”I just wanted a quiet place… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude or…” She trailed off, turning to start to gather her things, already assuming he wouldn’t want her to stay. 

"Enough of that." Nolan curtly said, his arms crossed while the cigarette between his fingers lingered with smoke. The lord's brows were furrowed though this time it was because she assumed so little of him that he would kick her out for whatever strange reason she had concocted in her head. Was his presence so disagreeable that she just assumed that he wanted her away? 

The anxiousness on her face was apparent. Perhaps he was at fault after all; his earlier behavior would have warranted a scolding from his mother and father. Nolan took a deep breath to calm his nerves and said, "If I did anything to suggest the contrary, it was not my intention to give you any impression that you are unwelcomed here. You said it yourself; the garden doesn't have an occupation limit. You are just as free to use it as you wish as I am." He motioned to the garden cigarette in hand. 

"I would be remiss if I were to chase you away. You are a guest to this kingdom and right now I am merely one of your hosts. It is I who should be of service to you, not the other way around." Nolan placed the cigarette back in his mouth and took another huff. 

She froze at his words, eyes widening as she looked up at him. Slowly, she lowered the needlework she had been trying to put away, her head dipping down ever so slightly. She’d heard those words before and they brought back terrible memories. She had to remind herself to stay present. 

She lifted her head only as he repeated her words back to him. She offered him a smile, but he’d likely be able to tell it wasn’t quite genuine. He was cold but not in an abrasive way. If anything, he seemed more akin to parchment paper that was neatly folded, but singed at the ends by smoke. 

”Thank you.” Nora replied simply, looking from him to his cigarette and back. She didn’t much like the way it seemed as though the only reason she was not chased away was keeping face, but who was she to complain? And besides, if he was going to offer her his service, why shouldn’t she take it? 

”May I ask what brought you here?” She asked, now looking up at him fully.

Who did she think she was trying to fool with that smile? He could see that it was something well-rehearsed to pull out for moments like these. Then again, he was not one to talk. Nolan didn't return her smile, but he did not scowl at her either; a coldness that was hard to get a read on, except there was a crack. He looked down at her and what she saw in his green eyes were plain and simple worry, but it was only a flash. His gaze just as quickly averted from hers.

With another drag of his cigarette, he puffed another cloud of smoke and watched it dance away into the ether. "I just...needed some space from everyone, I guess. To clear my head, I mean, " admitted Nolan though he never looked Nora in the eye, but she could see a regret etched along his face. "I had just arrived back in Sorian right after an incident occurred with my brother and sister. They're fine, more or less. Not that it does much to ease my mind." He chuckled dryly though the anger in his voice was just as palpable as his fear. One could only imagine what he was thinking at the moment.

"So, I hoped to catch up on my reading, have a smoke, and take in the quiet. Maybe the last bit before the Courting Season ramps up again." Nolan looked back at her and then trailed down to the sewing box and the shirt she was sewing, a man's shirt. "What about you?"

A flash, nothing more, nothing less. It was gone in an instant. But there was flash of something in his eyes before he began to respond to her. Was it… pity? Warmth? Compassion? She couldn’t really tell, it was gone before she’d even had time to process that it had happened. And then, he wasn’t looking at her again. His eyes had drifted, off to the side of her, the trees, the flowers, anything but her. Nora’s brows furrowed slightly. 

They smoothed the moment she listened to him speak again. He sounded genuine and she could understand the desire to get away, put distance between yourself and everyone else. After all, for her, it was in this little bubble that she felt truly safe. Even now, she felt her walls. They’d gone back up the moment he’d entered this space. 

”Oh no…” She muttered, her voice soft as she lifted a hand to her mouth. Her siblings were her everything, even imagining something happening to them… The bond she shared with them was greater than any force she’d ever experienced, even them.

From the sound of things, it seemed like he was doing something similar to her and there was a part of her that liked that. It made him seem gentle and kind. Or maybe she was just projecting, who knows. 

”Well, my brother tore his shirt the other day and,” She started, trailing off a bit as she reached for her book. ”Um… And.. My sister.. sent me to pick up her novel… She lied, suddenly embarrassed as she remembered the book she’d been reading. ‘Dark Mistress.’ There was no way she was going to admit to that. She slid it under her dress as best she could as quickly as she could. 

”Triplets..” She offered, hoping it would keep him from asking her about the book. ”Dad only ever wanted one child so imagine his surprise when three popped out all at once.” She explained, perhaps a bit too animatedly. 

Had she not tried to hide the book from him Nolan would have most likely not even noticed or even have cared. Nolan looked at her as if he thought she was kidding him with that performance, but he decided not to press it. If she felt embarrassed enough that she needed to lie, then he felt no obligation to make her even more uncomfortable for trivial reasons. He responded to her little fun fact with a shrug. "Well, I think in that regard we have something in common; I was definitely an unexpected child. I'm not related to my siblings, or my parents for that matter."

Nolan took another puff from his cigarette though he could see it was already almost a bud. He pulled a case from his pocket and opened it, pressing it down to extinguish and dispose of later. "Nothing scandalous I assure you." He continued nonchalantly. "It's no secret that Duke Edwards picked me off the streets when I was a child though I suppose it's better to hear it from me before the usual gossip and rumors spread around again. Always happens when I'm around."

A tired scowl painted his face at the very notion of people talking about him or his family behind his back. It was inevitable. He would have preferred to just hide out in his study and delve into the mysteries of the world or grade papers instead of being something to talk about, but alas, family obligations.

The cigarette case clicked shut and he shoved it back into his pocket. "But family is family and I am lucky to have them." His eyes fell down to where she hid the book before finding her face again. "I'm sure you feel the same way. I am very certain that you wouldn't want your sister to feel embarrassed for reading certain books. You like what you like and if someone shames you for it then give them a whack to the back of the head. Your sister, I mean." He corrected himself before she could.

”Adopted?” She asked, watching him put out the cigarette he’d been smoking. She continued to listen, fidgeting with her needlework as she did. She could understand rumors and wanting to quash them. Though, her rumors were… a lot more serious. 

She nodded, a sad sort of smile on her face. ”Family is family..” She mimicked quietly under her breath. Not all family felt like family, not for Nora. Some family were family. Others were more like monsters in her eyes. There was a flash of anger that crossed her face. 

”Wh-” She started, her cheek flushing red. She moved her hand a bit too quickly to try and make sure the book was covered and pricked her finger with her needle. ”Ow.. “ She gasped at the sharp feeling and she felt Nox jolt under the seat. He stepped out from under the bench, sending a yellow-eyed glance at Nolan very briefly before sitting down to look up at Nora. She shook her head at him, but he remained, unmoving. 

”Sorry… yes. Wack them to the back of the head…” She repeated after him, clutching at her finger with her dress. 

"Oh bloody hell," muttered Nolan with a furrowed brow. He knelt down on a knee to get a closer look at her hand. Being close to her made his heart drop to his stomach, but he felt responsible for whatever just happened. "Come on, let's see the damage." He urged her with a gruff tone.

Nora kept her hand close to herself, watching him. She wanted to scream at the panic that threatened to bubble up. He wasn’t even trying to do anything and she still… It drove her mad, her own body. Her own mind. 

She thought for a moment, watching his face again, her brows furrowed. Slowly, she reached her hand out, the small tremors in her hand betraying her own emotions. She could only hope he’d think it was because it hurt and not because every fiber of her body was screaming at how close this stranger was to her. 

Should I deal with him?

She ignored Nox for the moment, her eyes locked onto Nolan. No.. She thought, her response to Nox. ”It’s really not that bad. Just a little prick…” She mumbled. She dealt with much worse from far scarier people but his concern made her feel… seen.

"And it doesn't change the fact it hurts. Our hands and fingers have a high abundance of blood vessels and nerves so even a prick can be painful and bloody." It was a very hard to tell if he was saying that because he knew that she was afraid of him or if he really just was explaining away the pain; his expression was as still as a statue and indiscernible. His hands rummaged around his coat pockets until he pulled out a white handkerchief and wrapped it around her finger.

"Just apply some pressure to it and it will stop bleeding " Strangely enough, he himself looked a bit off color. 

Nora listened and watched quietly, glancing from him to her finger as he wrapped the handkerchief around it. It was a small gesture and probably meant nothing to him, but for Nora it felt… bigger than that. It all at once warmed her and made her wary. 

”Are you okay?” She asked after glancing back up at his face. She shifted a bit in her seat absentmindedly as she reached her other hand to squeeze the handkerchief to her finger. It really was mild compared to things she’d been through before, so it barely felt like anything at all to her. It just shocked her. 

However, his concern and explanation made her curious about him. Was he always this kind? Did he always look that pale and off-color talking to other people? What was he like with other people? What was he like behind closed doors? The thoughts fired off like a storm, her mind racing even as she waited for his reply. 

Nolan stood back up and took a step back away from her, wiping a bead of sweat from his brow with his hand. "Oh, um yeah, I am, uh, I'm just... bad with blood," he lied and prayed to whichever god that would listen to him that she would believe him. Blood was something that he was used to, blood, bruises, and broken bones. It was one of the things that he lived with for so long that the sight of it alone would never make him flinch let alone nauseas, but better to be thought to have a weak stomached than anxious around the opposite sex.

Nora frowned, a flash of pity crossing her face. At least he probably didn’t have to be around much blood. 

"I'll be fine in a minute. And, uh, don't worry about the handkerchief." He brushed her concern off with a wave of his hand. Fiddling with the silver case, he pulled a cigarette out and this time his lighter clicked and lit the damned thing this time. The cigarette tremored between his fingers before he took another drag. 

He looked at her and held the case towards her. "You smoke?" Nolan asked in hopes of changing the subject.

She had opened her mouth to protest about the handkerchief, but closed it when he asked her a question. She blinked a moment, watching him as if trying to consider what she wanted to say. ”No, but my dad does.” She replied. Her curiosity remained, but he seemed… flighty. She could understand the signs as someone who was rather flighty herself. 

”Does it help?” She asked. Maybe smoking helped nerves… She wouldn’t exactly say no to trying it if he offered. 

He glanced down at her and saw the innocent expression on her face, a genuine desire to know why he would do this to himself. Nolan crossed his arms and his eyes peered up at the sky in thought. "Well, smoking itself doesn't. It's more like the ritual, the routine, that’s calming though it doesn't have to be a cigarette. Could be anything really, but I suppose that's my one vice."

Ritual? she repeated in her head, her mind trying to wrap around the concept. A routine that brought calm, something to do that helped you through… Maybe it was like breathing exercises? The ones her brother had walked her through. 

For the first time in this conversation, his lips curled upwards and a light chuckle escaped from his voice like light breaking through a cloud. "I wouldn't recommend it though; these things will probably kill me if I don't quit eventually." He said with a macabre amusement as he examined the little tubes of death between his fingers.

Nora’s expression shifted when she saw his smile. She felt the flicker of butterflies in her chest, watching him. A glimpse of something wonderful, like sunlight after long weeks of rain and clouds. But as soon as it came, she felt the crushing weight of his words on her heart. Her brows furrowed as an ache tore at her heart. 

She glanced down at Nox, who by now had turned to crawl back under the bench. 

”I…” she started, her voice faltering as emotions choked at her throat. ”I know I don’t have any right to say this.” She looked up at him, her gaze pleading with an honesty she could only hope he saw. ”Please consider quitting soon. Don’t shorten your life, especially if there are other options, other routines.” It was the most she had spoken all at once with anyone other than her siblings in a long time. 

”Please.”

For the life of him, Nolan could not figure out what was going through her head. Why did she sound like she was going to cry for him? Why did she sound so choked up with emotions? He was disarmed by her, and it showed; that icy exterior had switched to panic as to what to do. Quickly, he pressed the cigarette against the case to put it out leaving a bit of smoldering ash. "Hey, hey I'm okay. See? I put it out." Nolan said while he held the extinguished cigarette in front of her in an attempt to try his best to reassure her.

He sighed and forced a practice smile though for as a natural as it looked, it felt different than the one prior. It was in the eyes; they lacked a certain luster. "Come on, don't get worked up on my account." Nolan chided gingerly. "I'm not worth it, Lady Pawonska. We're just strangers and when this Courting Season is over the odds that we'll meet again are slim, so don't look at me like that."

With no word of warning Nolan sat on the ground, leaning back to look at the sky with his hands keeping him propped up. "Just do what you were doing before and I'll do what I planned to do, sans smoking. It's too lovely a day to get caught up in the details." He said as he finally pulled the book he held between his armpit onto his lap. 

The details… Strangers who would never see each other again. Her frown remained, an empty look in her eyes. Yes, what good were the details? If anything, he just wouldn’t smoke in front of her. There was no reason for him to listen to her, she held no sway, no power. 

Nora managed a soft hum in agreement, her gaze dropping back down to the handkerchief wrapped around her finger. Don’t get caught up in the details. She supposed there might be a certain truth to that. With a gentle sigh, she unwrapped her finger, checking the prick before setting the fabric to the side. She picked her needlework back up and got back to work on her brother’s shirt. 

Still, there was a part of her that, even if she never met him again, would carry with her the notion that he was actively shortening his life. He may not remember her, but she feared he would be on her mind for quite some time. 

Nolan cracked open his book and typically he would have been absorbed by the ink on the pages. However, for some reason even if it was a sunny, gorgeous day in a garden it felt like a cloud was hanging over his head like a pall cast upon him. And he could feel the source of it right by his side. Closing his book with a loud, he looked up at her with a knitted brow and said, "Lady Pawonska, if you have something to say then just say it." It was one thing to hold herself back out of politeness, but he detested it when someone had something to say, but held their tongues.

She started when he spoke, very nearly pricking her finger again. She shot him a glance, her brows furrowed in mild annoyance. 

”I believe you made it perfectly clear that you did not want me to say what was on my mind.” She snipped, a rather rare thing coming from the usually mousy girl. ”Besides, you made a good point.” She added after a moment, her posture sinking back down a little. 

”There’s no sense in getting all worked up over it. It was silly of me to do so.” She added quietly. Nora took in a deep breath and turned her head to look at him again. ”It is a lovely day. Enjoy your book, Mr. Edwards. Don’t let me ruin that for you. I’m not worth it.” She told him, a little bit of a bite to her words.

Nolan grimaced when his own words were used against him. For a rather meek looking girl she sure knew how to fight back. As much as he wanted to meet her with the same energy as she was giving him, a part of him knew that he was at fault. "In all due respect, I said no such thing. You were always free to say what was on your mind." He stated with an even handedness to temper her anger.

He placed his book to his side on the grass and stood back up. The lord said softly, "What did you want me to say? How am I supposed to react when you look at me like that, pleading so earnestly?" He asked not to shift the blame, but because he truly had no idea what he was supposed to do. Gods above, the look that she gave him would have gotten lesser men to go on a mountainous pilgrimage on their knees.  

There was no anger in his words or in his face, just regret. "Lady Pawonska, you had pinned me into a corner, and my only concern was for you not to worry about me. I only wished to spare you of whatever unpleasantness you were experiencing for me. It appears I have failed in that regard." He admitted to her and himself, taking fault for where he had stumbled.

Her lips pressed together in a tight frown, more because he wasn’t entirely wrong and he was taking responsibility for his own actions. Biting back any more felt mean and uncalled for at this point. But it wasn’t like she could tell him the honest truth about why she had reacted so poignantly to his statement about smoking. She felt Nox bristle underneath her.

”I was a little too intense and for that, I apologize.” She started, taking in a deep breath to steady herself a bit. She leaned forward as she spoke, her needlework laid out on her lap. ”You cannot spare me the unpleasantness of my own feelings. I feel them and they will remain regardless. If you do not wish to quit smoking, then simply do not.” She tried to explain, her own voice sounding oddly foreign to her. 

”When there are people out there with no hope of living past a certain year, it pains me to know that someone would willingly shorten their life. I hadn’t really considered it with my father, but I suppose I shall have to admonish him too when I return.” She continued. She looked up at him again, this time with eyes that held a bit more compassion once again. 

”You have not failed in any regard, Lord Edwards.” She added after a moment. After all, who was to say they would ever meet again after the courting season. She kept that last thought to herself, for fear of sounding petty again. 

The lord furrowed his brow when he was once again called Lord Edwards. "Nolan, just call me Nolan. Being called 'Lord Edwards' makes me feel like you're talking to my brother." He asked simply. Well, at least this was all out in the open now. At least he knew where she stood, which was better than where they had ended up before which at this point was the bottom of a cavern. 

Nolan.. She thought to herself. Nora took in a soft breath, trying to slip that switch in her mind. She knew it sounded too formal and thinking about it more, she hadn’t even realized she had started. She wouldn’t realize that she was subtly putting up her walls again. 

Nolan tried to smile, at least something to bring some brevity to this conversation. "I lived an entirely different life before this one," he stated. "A miserable one where I expected to die on the streets like a dog with mange. Nearly did." He added with a chuckle though there was no humor in it. His green eyes found hers that asked her for some sort of understanding that she could levy his way. "You don't get to walk away from it, even if by some miracle your life changes for the better. You hold onto that even when you don't and that manifests in many ways and you cope with that in whatever way you can."

Nora tried to temper her expressions. Based on his reaction before, she didn’t think allowing him to see how sad his story had made her was a good idea. He didn’t seem like someone who wanted pity and there was a part of her that was starting to understand why he had reacted the way he did. Everyone had their stories. There was a part of her that could understand his pain, his suffering. While hers was not the same, she had similar means of coping and protecting herself. 

He let his words hang in the air before he continued. "Just as you said, these feelings are my own to manage and so are my habits... But I suppose you have given me something to consider," Nolan conceded with a nod.

She tried her best to unfurrow her brows, trying to hide her worry and failing. She did not want him to see her looking at him like he was a lost puppy, but she couldn’t help it. ”That’s more than I can ask… Nolan.” She offered. 

”And thank you for giving me that context.” She added. She felt a little foolish now, having gotten so angry with him. ”But still! If I see you with that lighter and a cigarette, don’t blame me if I snatch it away from you!” She huffed, puffing her chest up a bit and wagging her finger at him. 

”You deserve to live a long life for having survived to this point.” She added with a soft smile.  

"Well, I can appreciate the sentiment... Thank you very much." He replied with a smile though it was awkward and stiff. It was never his intention to share a bit of his own past with her, but with someone like her it seemed to be the only way to get through to her. Hopefully this does not become a common occurrence on the off chance they should meet again.

But a smirk grew along his lips at the idea of this mousey girl trying to take him anything.  "But you sure are confident. If you think you can snatch anything from me then I welcome you to try." Nolan chuckled at the notion. It was sweet but amusing that she thought that she could do something like that to him of all people. 

Nora’s lips pressed together in a pout at his challenge. 

"There's a reason why I survived as long as I did and it sure wasn't because I could talk my way out of a problem." As if he pulled it out of the air, the book that Nora was hiding was suddenly held in front of her. He took his time to examine the back and front with an unreadable expression. "'Dark Mistress.'" He read aloud with a neutral inflection. It was certainly a book that fell far outside his interests if he were to go by the name alone. 

She could feel her heart drop into her stomach as he held the book in front of her. When had he- She swirled, her gaze dropping to her side where she had tucked her book under the fabric of her dress. Her eyes went wide when she realized it wasn’t there. 

"As I said, I'm not one to judge what a person chooses to read." Nolan held out the book for her to take. "But if your 'sister' wishes to talk about it, I have a friend that loves to read too who would be open to meeting her."

Nora reached for the book, heat flushing her features. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, pressing the book to her lap as if doing so could erase the book’s title from his memory. ”I’ll still try.” She mumbled after a moment, her eyes kept firmly on the ground beneath him. 

”Because-” She started, huffing a bit. ”Well, because I want to.” She straightened a bit, as if sitting taller would give her more confidence. She knew, based on what he’d just done that she didn’t stand a chance in actually taking it from him, but she was still determined to try. Even if just to show him her determination. 

Well, it turns out that she had a little fire in her after all. He met her determination with a smirk that challenged her to make good on her promise. "You are very much welcome to try." Nolan sat back down on the grass and cracked his book open again. Without pulling his eyes away from the pages he asked Nora, "By the way, is that a no on introducing your 'sister' to my friend or...?" The question was left hanging in the air.

Her pout resurfaced at his repeated challenge. She would show him. Nora Pawonska was a woman to be reckoned with! When she wasn’t busy cowering in the corner… She felt Nox snicker underneath her and swatted her foot at him. 

”Who is the friend?” She asked, curious. 

His eyes were still glued to the book even when she had asked him a question. Without lifting his head to look at her he said, "Charlotte Vikena, the Duke of Vermillion's daughter. She's the only other person I know that likes to read as much as I do, but your sister would probably feel more comfortable talking to her about that book than with a man."

For a moment he pulled his gaze away from the pages and scratched his chin thoughtfully. "She's a bit more guarded these days, but if I am the one to introduce her then it should be fine."

Nora thought for a moment, staring at her hands. She wouldn’t hate more friends, especially if they could talk about books together. Her fingers gripped the page as she bit the inside of her lip. Trust was something she had very little of, but she knew if she never tried she’d be stuck in her home with her parents forever. 

”Okay.” She replied rather firmly, lifting her head to look over at him. ”Introduce us.” Her words were more a command than she’d intended them to be.

Nolan simply nodded in response. He didn't look at her, but she could see a smile curl along his lips. "Then I shall make it so." Well, he said it himself; he was at her service after all.

She felt her heart do a little flip at his words. Half flustered, half embarrassed. It suddenly occurred to her that she had said ’us’ instead of her and she could feel her face heating up again. She wanted to disappear, vanish. 

”Thank you… Nolan.” She managed quietly, trying to hide her face from him now. She cleared her throat after a short moment, trying to think of a way to change the subject again. ”What are you reading?” She asked. She set her book to the side and began working on her brother’s shirt again. While she had wanted to disappear, she also didn’t want to be alone. 

Nolan glanced up from the book back up at Nora who was definitely a bit redder in the face though he decided that he already gave her enough grief. "From Eromora to the Moon," he stated.  "It's about two gun clubs trying to send a rocket to the moon before the other does. A rather novel concept I think." He flipped through the pages and held it upwards to her and, well, there was definitely text on those pages, but those weren't words: those were mathematical formulas.

Nora’s eyes went wide with excitement. The moon?! She straightened almost immediately, eyes darting over to him. She blinked at the pages, not even entirely sure what she was looking at but her mind raced with thoughts of what it might be like on the moon. While the pages of his book were scientific in nature, Nora’s thoughts were fantasy, driven by an innate love for the way the moon made her feel. 

"The author even added some calculations though I do question their validity. I'd check myself, but if I have to check over the work of someone else one more time, I may off myself." He said with a tired smile as if his brain had been wracked with numerical problems. "I work at the University as a teacher's assistant for the programs, but when school's out I tutor. You'd be amazed to learn that most nobles have slugs for brains." It was the explanation he offered though he looked quite young for such a job.

Her mind was still swimming with ideas even as he continued and she nodded a little too quickly. ”That’s amazing… She mumbled, suddenly looking at him with renewed interest. ”Do you think it’s possible? Going to the moon? What would it be like?” She shot out questions at a lightning speed, pure passion behind her eyes. 

This was the most excited that he had seen her, or at least excited with positive energy directed towards him. Now, he could tell her that it was possible, but the trials and tribulations to pull such a feat would be beyond their lifetime or the brutal environment of space, though perhaps for now he could just let her dream. "Well, mathematically speaking there is no reason as for why we couldn't, but I imagine that it will be a miracle in engineering, mathematics, and technological advancements." Nolan placed a bookmark in the page he left off and closed it before looking up at the sky.

"The gravity of the moon would be different than ours. Maybe we'd be able to jump a little higher and fall slowly down like a feather. The view would definitely be amazing; imagine being able to see Eromora from a distance? Just a blue marble that we could hold between our fingers." Nolan lifted his hand up and held the sun between his fingers, imagining what it would look like to stand on the surface of the moon and hold Eromora just like that.

Nora felt her heart swell as Nolan continued, answering her question. She couldn’t even imagine what that might look like and the idea of it left her feeling a strange giddiness. ”I love watching the moon…” She mumbled, turning her head up to look at the sky as well. ”It always makes me feel so small. As if I am small, then that means my troubles are small. There’s this whole big space out there and I’m barely a blip in it.” She admitted absentmindedly, probably sharing more than she really meant to. But the dam had broken and there was no stopping her now. 

”There’s something really nice about that thought, I think. I used to tell myself that often when I was-” She stopped mid-sentence, her voice dying in her throat as she realized what she was about to say. ”when I was younger.”

Her sudden loss of energy had not escaped his notice, but there was no need to delve into it. "I like it too" he murmured with a smile, his eyes soft and wistful. "Especially when it's a snowy night. It reminds me of, well, of a different time." There was something complicated in his tone; there was a sadness and longing for something that had long passed and yet, there was a fondness and love. He exhaled and closed his eyes, enjoying the breeze that carried the scent of flowers and the warm rays of light. 

Nora turned her head to look at Nolan, glancing over his figure. There was a certain tinge to his tone that made her feel a sense of… connection? Empathy? She couldn’t put her finger on what it was, but she knew that he was someone who likely understood her far more than others. There was comfort in that, but also a sense of danger. Getting close to people always hurt. 

”Do you like the cold?” She asked without thinking. 

A restricted chuckle escaped as a puff of air and hid his mouth with his hand to hide the amused smile on his face. "I have a complicated relationship with it," Nolan stated, resting his head on his hand with a propped knee. "On one hand, it's indiscriminate and doesn't care if you are able to dress warmly or are huddled in an alley between barrels trying to stay out of the blizzards."

After all these years he could still remember those nights trying to maintain a modicum of warmth, hiding in whatever scrapped together shelters and stolen rags for clothes to protect. The times where he shivered, hugging himself while feeling his stomach groan with dissatisfaction. If one were to ask him how many nights he went to sleep like that, he would have told them he lost count. 

Those were trying times, but the cold paradoxically filled him with warmth. "But when I can't sleep, I like to open the window and let the winter wind in." He murmured. Nolan looked up at her and asked, "Do you?"

Nora listened, intrigued by his answer. A complicated relationship… So, he liked it but didn’t like it. An odd sort of paradox she hadn’t considered. She tried to think of anything that she both liked and hated, but the only term that came to mind was something she would rather die than admit to enjoying. 

”The cold…?” She asked, more reminding herself than anything. She sat for a moment, as if trying to think, before she shook her head. ”I prefer it over summer, but I also don’t really care for it too much. Though…” She paused, looking up to the sky. ”I do feel like the moon and snow go somewhat hand in hand.”

Nolan lifted his brow curiously and asked, "How so?"

She hummed thoughtfully, taking in a soft breath as she thought. ”Because they both feel lonely?” She attempted, pursing her lips as if she weren’t quite satisfied with her answer. ”Though I’m not sure that’s the entire answer. I feel like… it’s somewhat sufficient.” She nodded.

”They are both white, if we want to consider superficial reasons. They are both beautiful.” She paused, glancing over to Nolan. ”But more than that I think they just complement each other.”

What a strange answer. He never once thought that the snow and the moon were lonely things though perhaps that was because she was right, they complimented each other. One could hardly imagine a cold wintery night without the shine of the moon on fields of white. "I suppose that's a fair enough reason." Nolan stood back up and brushed himself off whatever dirt and grass that was attached to his pants and jacket.

"Well, Lady- I mean, Nora, your company has been pleasant, but I am afraid that I should return to my family." He turned back to her and with his hand laid on his heart he gave her a polite bow. "I enjoyed our impromptu meeting, bumpy as it was. I hope that you find the rest of your day to be agreeable."

Nora stood as Nolan got up, setting her needle and Magnus’ shirt to the side. [colo=tan]”I have enjoyed it as well, Nolan. Please enjoy the rest of your day. I look forward to meeting again hopefully.”[/color] She returned, giving him a gentle smile. She didn’t want his earlier comment about never seeing each other again to turn true…

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Alibeth’s Trial

Ignis 10th Morning

It began in the hours when Sorian was still dark, when the streets were empty enough for sound to travel without interruption. The bells started before sunrise.

In the lower ward, ash still clung to doorframes. Some marks were neat, carefully smeared with fingertips. Others were uneven, dragged across wood in haste. It was not subtle that certain districts bore more ash than others. It was not subtle that the households with the least influence were the ones most publicly “corrected.”

Lanterns hung at crossroads where they had been placed the night before. Their glass glowed faintly even in the gray morning. Wardens had instructed families this week in the early mornings to keep a lamp burning so Zivitas could “see who does not hide.” The phrase was written to sound like faith.

Confession stations had been erected in many areas of the city and left behind their evidence. Names had been written into registers under the language of mercy, but with the mechanics of surveillance. Some people had gone willingly because they believed confession would shield them. Others had gone because refusing would be remembered. That difference mattered less than the fact that the registers existed.

Broadsheets had been posted everywhere, then replaced by cleaner copies before dawn, stamped with Church seals so no one could argue the words were rumor rather than doctrine:

Protocol of Distance.
 Confession is mercy.
 Rumor is a vector.

The city did not need to be told what those lines meant. It had heard versions of them before. It had inherited the shape of them from the Dark Period, from plague decades, from the era when fear and holiness had fused into the same public reflex. Even those born long after the Witch Hunts began had grown up with stories of marked doors and sanctioned removals.

By midmorning, the temple of the Tenfold Light and its attached Hall of Imperis were surrounded.

Two rings formed outside exactly the way they had been described in the Privy Council Chamber. The outer ring belonged to the Crown. Enforcers blocked streets, checked summonses, redirected carriages, and made a performance of removing coverings from faces. Scarves were lowered. Hoods were pulled back. Veils were lifted just enough for identification. The stated reason was public safety. The effect was a public reminder that anonymity itself was now suspect.

Inside that, the inner ring belonged to the Church.

Lantern Wardens moved through the courtyard with staffs topped by glass lamps and tokens of authority pinned to their sashes. They walked in disciplined lines and spoke quietly, almost gently, as if the rules were a form of care rather than control.

Stand here.
 Keep distance.
 Hands visible.
 Voices low.
 No hoods.
 No masks.
 No congregating.

A hymn began when the crowd grew restless, not because anyone believed the song would cleanse them, but because singing kept mouths busy and made dissent harder to organize. 

People joined in partly from faith and partly because refusal was now legible. The Wardens watched who sang and who did not. The Church clerked the city the same way it clerked paper: with attention to patterns.

When the great doors finally opened, the Hall of Imperis did not welcome anyone.

The air inside was cold. Gaslamps burned along the walls, their light dulled by incense, incense the Church insisted upon whenever it wanted a space to feel doctrinal rather than political. Clerks stood everywhere. The bureaucracy was visible by design. 

The Synod bench rose at the far end of the hall, elevated and severe. Below it sat the Crown bench, placed slightly lower, close enough that no one could mistake the monarchy’s presence, but positioned so the Church’s hierarchy remained visually dominant.

King Edin Danrose sat where the entire hall could see him. He wore Caesonian colors and enough finery to ensure no one forgot he was the axis of the state. His crown was set perfectly. He watched the movement of faces. He watched the Church’s section the way a man watches a knife that is being held too close to his throat. The tribunal had been locked on Ignis 3, but that did not mean he enjoyed the shape of it now. 

He did not enjoy the way the Church’s machinery could make a king look like a guest in his own crisis. But he did enjoy that the city was looking where he wanted it to look.

Edin’s gaze shifted briefly toward Alexander Deacon, seated where a royal advisor should sit, unobtrusive and perfectly placed. 

Prince Auguste sat with the stillness of a legalist. He did not share his father’s appetite for spectacle. Though he did share his father’s understanding that stability was built by systems. That was the problem: the system was now pointed at their own blood, and Auguste could not unsee the precedent being established.

Prince Wulfric entered without flourish, but the hall registered him anyway. He acknowledged all with the respect optics required, then his father with the exact amount of courtesy needed to avoid scandal.  Wulfric’s eyes passed the empty space where a queen would normally sit.

He did not let his face react. He did not give the Church a moment it could turn into doctrine. Inside, he carried anger that had nowhere safe to go. He understood the logic of the tribunal. He also understood what it was doing.

Princess Anastasia was brought in after the opening procedures had already begun, dressed in all white and her hair tied back neatly. She was escorted, guided into place without being allowed to speak to anyone beyond her handler. Anastasia’s hands then folded neatly in her lap because she forced them to. Her eyes kept drifting, despite herself, toward the accused platform.

At the tenth bell inside the hall, the Synod entered.

High Justicar Marrowe walked with the pace of a man who did not need to hurry. “This court convenes under Imperis,” Marrowe said, his tone flat. “We gather for discernment, not entertainment.”

Then the accused was brought in.

Chains hung from her wrists. An iron band circled her throat, heavy enough to force everyone to notice it. Her dress was plain, stripped of royal luxury. Her head was veiled. 

No one touched her barehanded.

Alibeth stopped on the accused platform and lifted her chin.

A veiled woman stepped forward with the Oath Book of Imperis in her gloved hands. “Before Imperis,” she said, “you will speak only what is true.” And Alibeth quietly swore on it.

Subsequently, she looked at the Synod bench without flinching. “Proceed,” Alibeth said simply.

Outside the hall, the courtyard crowd waited,  singing when directed. Inside, the first witnesses were brought in, one at a time, escorted to the lectern, sworn, spoken, removed immediately. 

A woman named Elspeth Crane spoke first, shaking with fear, her voice breaking on details, her mind snagging on images rather than sequence. She described an attack in the streets, panic spreading through taverns, the feeling that something unnatural was moving under ordinary life. The specifics did not matter as much as the tone. The tone was what the Church needed.

Father Mathieu translated her fear into doctrine with practiced gentleness. “Fear is not shameful,” Cresson told her softly. “Fear is the body recognizing threat. And a realm must learn to recognize threat before it becomes collapse.”

Then Duke Laurent Petit was called. Laurent placed a hand over the symbol of Zivitas at his collar, posture reverent.

“Your Majesty. High Justicar. Fathers and sisters of the Synod,” Laurent began, and his voice carried easily without needing to push. “I witnessed the reveal at the banquet.”

“Caesonia’s legitimacy rests on purity,” Laurent said after a pause. “The people obey because they believe the Crown was chosen. They endure hardship because they believe their endurance has divine meaning. When the street believes the Crown hides contamination, the realm becomes ungovernable without terror.”

Laurent’s gaze moved toward Alibeth, and the shift was careful. “Magic is not merely danger,” Laurent continued. “It is a moral philosophy that belongs to the underworld’s principles: deception, pride, self-interest that consumes community. It flatters the mortal ego into thinking it may rewrite what the Gods have written.”

He looked then, briefly, toward Edin. “The Danrose line is revered as chosen,” Laurent said. “And that belief must be preserved.”
Laurent concluded without flourish. “Mercy can be cruelty when it allows rot to remain,” he said quietly. “And correction can be mercy when it prevents wider collapse.” He returned to his seat, expression unchanged. He did not look satisfied. 

Wulfric rose when it was his turn. “This is not a domestic scandal,” Wulfric said, gaze fixed on his mother.  “It is structural. If the Crown is permitted to be stained, then everyone is permitted. If the Queen may treat heresy as a private tool, then the street will treat it as precedent.”

“I will not ask for spectacle,” he said. “But the kingdom will not accept a conclusion that looks evasive. A clean story will be enforced whether we want it or not. I would rather that story be controlled than improvised by the crowd.”

Auguste rose after, and his tone was different. “If you execute her publicly,” Auguste said, “you satisfy the congregation. But you also announce that Danrose blood can be cut away. That invites questions you will not be able to control and danger to my siblings.” The soft prince’s gaze grew sharp.   “That is not something I will ever accept.”

Then Alibeth spoke. When she lifted her head, it was not defiance meant to impress the crowd outside. “Erase me,” Alibeth said simply. “And you keep what remains.”

Alibeth let the pause exist. 

“I will not insult Imperis by pretending I am blameless,” she continued, and the phrasing was careful. “I used magic once. A minor alteration of color. ”Her gaze flicked, briefly, toward Wulfric. “I did it so my son would understand what he is inheriting,” she said evenly. “Not as a temptation. As a warning. In decades of marriage and governance, it was the first spell I have cast in years. I do not regret it, because ignorance is how evil breeds.”

“My father is a witch hunter,” Alibeth went on, eliciting gasps from the crowd. “I was raised under the same premise you claim for yourselves: magic is not a toy, not a badge, not a philosophy. It is a hazard that is only handled in dire circumstance, under containment, with consequence understood.”

Her chin lifted. “Your hunters do not pretend the world can be purified by refusing to name what exists,” she said. “I did the same while acknowledging that contradiction lies within these actions.”

She turned her focus back to Marrowe.“You can preach purity until your throat bleeds,” she said, “but it will not stop rot that has learned to wear manners.”

“If you execute me,” she continued, “you give the city closure. Then you blind yourselves.” Her chin lifted and her eyes flashed with intensity. 

“I am the custodian of the archive you are actually trying to seize,” Alibeth said. “Shipping manifests tied to false charities. Rental records tied to storage sites. Ledger notations that appear harmless until you know how the symbols are nested. Names that mean nothing until they are cross-referenced against guild rosters, apothecary purchases, receipts, printer orders, and the routes that move ‘donations’ through the city.”

She let the list exist long enough for the Synod to feel the scope. “You know this because you have already begun to learn it,” she added. “You have glimpsed fragments. You have not touched the structure.”

It was only now did she look toward Edin. “And since we are in a hall that claims truth,” she said, “I will not varnish the obvious. The King did not build that structure. ”

“I did,” she said simply. “I have been the one handling the magical threat in this kingdom for years. I have been the one containing what your doctrines cannot contain with sermons. I have been the one preventing bodies.”

Then she delivered the line that turned her from condemned woman to logistical problem. “This is not a bargain made in defiance,” she said, her eyes steady on Marrowe. “It is a chain-of-custody problem.” Her voice sharpened. “If you want the archive to remain lawful, it must remain intelligible. Records without the mind that built them become superstition. And superstition is exactly what Imperis claims to correct.”

Hawthorne’s pen stilled again, as if the archivist could not help but respect the phrasing. And Alibeth did not waste the opening. “If you keep me,” she continued, “you do not need to trust me. You only need to control me.”

“I did not embrace deceit, pride, or appetite,” she added, and now her argument braided directly into the Primitus frame. “I did not kneel to the Underworld’s principles. I acted under necessity and containment.”

Alibeth stayed upright in her chains. “If you execute me,” she finished, voice calm enough to be terrifying, “you will spend the next year chasing ghosts with sermons and pyres while the living threat reorganizes under your blind spot.”

Her eyes held Marrowe’s.

A ripple of reaction tried to move through the gallery. Marrowe spoke again, and his voice remained the same: cold certainty framed as doctrine. “This court has heard what it must,” Marrowe said.

“Alibeth Danrose,” Marrowe pronounced, “you are guilty.”

Hawthorne lifted the seal and brought it down on vellum. “By sealed decree,” Hawthorne said, his tone administrative. “Alibeth Danrose’s time on Eromora will cease today.”

Marrowe’s gaze lifted, and his voice carried toward the hall’s doors, toward the steps outside, toward the crowd. He continued without softness. “The taint will be removed from the realm.”

“Caesonia will endure,” Edin said as he rose, loud enough to be repeated. “Order will endure.”

“Mother…” Anastasia whispered as tears fell from her eyes. This time, however, there was no outburst from the princess. 

As the hall began to empty under controlled routes, Alibeth remained upright in chains.

Two Hours Later

The Execution

The courtyard did not feel like an open-air square anymore. It felt like a chamber with its roof torn off, every street funneled toward the temple steps.

Lantern Wardens stood in a inner ring, their lanterns held high as if light itself was a blade. Beyond them, the crown’s enforcers made a harder perimeter, checking faces, hands, hoods, pulling people back the moment they leaned too far forward. Broadsheets had been pasted along the posts again, the ink still sharp enough to smell when the wind shifted.

Incense drifted in thick veils, sweet at first and then sour, settling on tongues and throats until everyone’s breath tasted like a church.

Up on the cathedral balcony, behind a gauze screen, the royal silhouettes held still. Enough to remind the crowd who owned the day, not enough to invite anyone to measure their faces for doubt.

King Edin stood like a statue carved from fatigue and authority.

“Begin,” he said, and the word traveled even without volume, the way command does when the city has been trained to hear it.

The bell answered. Then a second toll that settled into bones and stayed there.

Below, a man stepped onto the platform at the base of the steps. “You are not here to witness cruelty,” he told them. “You are here to witness correction. The realm survives by order, and order survives by purity.”

The platform cleared. Ash Marshal Voss moved first, signaling with minimal gestures. The Lantern Wardens’ chant started low.

Then the condemned emerged. She was wrapped in a veil so dark it swallowed the afternoon light. Her hands were bound. Two attendants guided her with gloved hands that never quite touched her skin, as if the air around her was already sick. At first, she was just a shape under cloth.

Then the wind betrayed her. A strand of hair slipped loose from beneath the veil and caught the lantern glow as she stepped forward. Brown. Another lock followed, and the crowd reacted to it like blood in water. People leaned in, desperate for any proof that the figure was real, that the story they’d been told had a body.

The attendants did not tuck it back. They let it hang there, visible, swaying with each careful step. A terrible little mercy for the crowd: something to latch onto.

On the balcony above, Princess Anastasia made a sound that was far too human for court.

It started as an inhale, then broke into a strangled cry as she surged forward against the gauze, hands clutching at the screen like she could tear through it by will alone. “Mother!”

The word was loud enough to slip through the chanting. Heads tilted. Faces turned. The crowd’s attention jumped like a sparked fuse.

Someone near the front murmured, “That’s her,” and the murmur spread, delighted and horrified at once. The condemned’s brown hair swayed again as if answering them.

Anastasia’s next sound wasn’t a word. She slammed her palms against the railing, shoulders shaking, then tried to push past the guards posted near the balcony entrance. They caught her immediately. She fought them in panicked, undignified bursts, gasping and sobbing.“Let me go! Let me go—please—PLEASE!”

A hand closed on her arm from behind tightly, firm and unyielding. “Enough.”  Anastasia froze, staring at her father. Tears streaked down her face in bright, humiliating lines.

“You can’t—You can’t do this,” she choked, voice splintering. “Not her. Not—”

“If you scream again, you will make them hunger for it,” Edin said quietly. “You will feed them.”

Anastasia’s lips trembled. When she looked down again, the condemned was being guided to the center of the platform.

Wulfric’s silhouette did not move. But the tension in him was visible anyway, held in the set of his shoulders, in the rigid angle of his jaw. Auguste stood slightly behind and to the side, gaze fixed not on the condemned but on the Church’s mechanism: the Wardens’ formation, the Ash Marshal’s hand signals.

The pyre waited at the platform’s center.
The condemned stood at the edge of the pyre, veil shifting with her breathing. The brown hair hung loose now, visible down her shoulder. The attendants guided her up onto the pyre’s platform.

Anastasia’s hands flew to her mouth. She made a broken sound behind her fingers, eyes wide, wild, fixed on that swaying brown hair.
The Canon Advocate read the proclamation. Then an attendant stepped forward with a lantern. The flame inside it was small and almost polite. He lowered it to the resin bundle at the base of the pyre.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then the pitch caught with a wet, greedy sound.
Flame surged fast, brighter than it had any right to be in daylight, crawling up the resin-soaked timber in hungry tongues. Heat rolled outward in a sudden wave, pushing sweat to foreheads and forcing people to blink hard against the sting of smoke.

The condemned flinched, and though it was small but it was enough to make the crowd react. A gasp rippled through them like a thrill. The brown hair caught the flame first.

It happened so quickly it felt unreal. One instant it was a loose strand glinting in lantern light. The next it was a bright, vicious flare, the hair shrinking, blackening, curling into itself. The smell hit immediately. 

Anastasia let out a sound that was half scream and half sob. “STOP! PLEASE—STOP!” The guards tightened around her. She fought them again, clawing at sleeves, trying to wrench free. Her voice cracked as she screamed down into the courtyard, words tumbling over each other with no dignity left in them. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry—Mama, please—”

Edin did not look at her. His gaze stayed forward, fixed on the platform like he could force the city to obey by staring hard enough.

Below, the fire climbed. The veil began to burn in patches, the fabric shrinking and tightening. The condemned’s shoulders jerked as the heat swallowed the space around her. A muffled cry came from beneath the cloth.

The Lantern Wardens raised their chant again, louder now, a wall of sound meant to smother anything human in the moment.

The condemned staggered, knees bending under the shifting structure as the wood began to give. The pitch-fed flames wrapped upward, turning the veil into a collapsing, burning shroud. Heat distortion made the air shimmer around her, blurring outlines, turning her into a moving silhouette of flame and cloth.

Her scream changed as the smoke thickened. It became harsher, strangled, and then broke into coughing, desperate bursts. Each breath sounded like it scraped.

Anastasia was sobbing openly now, face blotched and wet, shaking so hard her jewelry rattled.

Below, the pyre collapsed inward with a groan of timber. The condemned lurched, then dropped out of clear sight behind the highest surge of flame. The smell grew worse as the fire did its work, thick and clinging, a scent that sat in the back of the throat and refused to leave. People covered their noses, but didn’t look away.

“Primitus sees,” he declared. “Imperis records. Aquena washes. Zivitas restores.”
The bell rang again.

One toll for the end.
One toll for the ash.

The crowd began to move, flowing outward in controlled lines, the way a city moves when it has been taught that obedience is virtue. Broadsheets were already being handed into their hands like absolution.

THE TAINT IS REMOVED.
 THE DYNASTY ENDURES.
 PURITY IS RESTORED.

On the balcony, Anastasia sagged in the guards’ grip, trembling, her face buried in her hands as if she could hide from what she had just watched. Auguste moved to hug his sister close.

Alibeth was gone.

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Time: Evening
Date:Ignis 10

Interaction:@Remram@HylianRose@Chrys@Redking0380@Tae@ReusableSword@Conscripts@Potter@Tpartywithzombi@samreaper@FunnyGuy@Lava Alckon@CitrusArms@Oso@Apex Sunburn@Infinite Cosmos@AuthenticTomb

Good evening! It's now 6pm on Ignis 10th. 

Regarding any unfinished business for Ignis 2 evening, please be clear that you are writing in for that time, and/or mark it as a flashback.
Please feel free to continue any collabs from Ignis 3rd to Ignis 10th day time. Make sure they're marked clearly as flashbacks and dated. 

The ball will be open posting. Please try to have two posts between your posts; do not spam post!

Queen Alibeth’s tribunal concluded this morning with a guilty verdict. The execution followed shortly after.

The city spent the afternoon under a heavy hush but as evening approached, the mood was redirected on purpose. King Edin is forcing the narrative forward, pushing Sorian toward anticipation for tonight's ball.

✦ THE STARRY NIGHT BALL ✦

“A night to remember. A day the city is told to forget.”

Rumors & Guests:

Varian’s King & Queen are rumored to attend.
New Alidasht guests are expected.
Count Emil Schmidt is in town and may attend.
The Petits are returning home and will not attend.

Tone & Stakes:

The city is unsettled — but the palace is determined to look unshaken.
This is not just a ball. It’s a reset, a performance of stability, and a test of who follows the script.
Expect eyes on your behavior.

Main page
World Info
Sorian Info
Caesonia Info

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The doors to the grand ballroom opened to music, and the night swallowed the day like it had never happened. Above, the ceiling had been turned into the night sky, lights catching on blue drapery and gold filigree until the whole hall felt suspended inside a dream. At the far end, beneath a crescent-moon centerpiece, King Edin was already seated upon his throne. His offspring flanked him.

Along both sides of the room, banquet tables stretched in lavish rows, overflowing with food drawn from every kingdom—Caesonian elegance, Varian heartiness, Alidashti spice—as if diplomacy could be eaten and swallowed whole. Copper pots steamed; carved roasts and glazed mains shone under candelabras; platters of breads, pickles, and fruit were arranged. And then dessert tables glittered with layered cakes, berry-topped confections, sugared pastries, and tiny jeweled bites set in gold trays.

Staff moved through it all gracefully, weaving between couples and courtiers with silver trays. Appetizers arrived in perfect rounds, offering to guests as they mingled, followed by circulating cocktails. Tables with chairs were positioned in the corners of the room and there was an entrance to a grand outdoor balcony. Laughter came easier than it should have after what had happened that day, carried on strings and chandeliers and the insistence of a court determined to celebrate on schedule.

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The king had been prepared long before the first carriages arrived, and Edin took his seat as if it were the most natural place in the world for him to be.

He wore a midnight velvet suit so dark it read nearly black beneath the chandeliers. It broadened at the shoulders with a disciplined, military line. Gold filigree embroidered his coat in patterns that caught the candlelight each time he shifted, and the front was fastened with a row of  buttons set with tiny moonstones. A long sash of deep royal blue crossed his chest, pinned at the shoulder. Rings sat on nearly every finger. And the crown, of course, was set perfectly. His offspring flanked him on either side.

Prince Wulfric sat at Edin’s right, placed where an heir was meant to be seen. Prince Auguste sat at his left, equally composed. Two other seats framed the set—one meant for Princess Anastasia, one meant for Prince Callum—and both were empty. Princess Anastasia had yet to arrive, but Prince Callum's arrival was certainly not expected.

From the throne, Edin tracked the small choices people made when they entered: who bowed immediately and who delayed, who smiled too broadly, who refused to meet his eyes, who searched for foreign guests, who lingered near the banquet tables instead of stepping into the open center of the floor. Servants weaved through the crowd with trays of appetizers and cocktails, and the effect was exactly what he wanted: hands busy, mouths occupied, bodies distracted. 

When the first song ended, he rose without haste. He lifted one hand and waited until the room actually gave him its attention, until the last murmurs thinned into silence. 

“Good evening.” Edin’s voice carried through the hall. “Tonight, Sorian looks to its future.” His gaze traveled over the breadth of the ballroom. “We welcome our honored guests, and we honor the traditions that keep this kingdom enduring: order, discipline, and unity.” He did not raise his voice, and he did not soften it, either. “ Tonight is for Caesonia, for Varian, and for the Alidasht!” A roar of applause followed his words.

His eyes flicked once toward his children, a reminder as much as a reassurance. Then he returned his attention to the crowd. “So dance,” he said simply. “Eat! Represent your houses with dignity, and represent this city as the capital it is.” He lowered his hand in a small signal. “Let the Starry Night Ball begin!”

Edin sat again as the musicians resumed, and as the court began to move. Conversations restarted as if they had never stopped. And from the throne, he watched it all.

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Nik & Ari

FLASHBACK

Location: Edwards Estate Time: Ignis 5 Evening

Nik let out a breath as the Duke left. His gaze glanced to Ariella as he waited for the old man to be further out of earshot. Once he was sure he was, Nikolai relaxed. He leaned back against the seat, let his legs spread out a bit more, and watched the girl carefully. Now that he had a chance to say whatever he wanted, he found himself at a loss for words.  

”Look, let me level with you, sweetheart.” He started, ”This is as much a cage for me as it is for you. I think we could potentially come to an agreement to scratch each other’s backs.”

Nik shifted a bit, rolling his shoulder blades calmly. ”I’ll keep my distance so you won’t even know I’m there. And I won’t step in unless absolutely necessary. In return…” He explained, his voice low and quiet, ”You tell daddy dearest over there how wonderfully I protect you.” He pointed towards where Gideon had left with a head tilt.  

”Do we have a deal?”

Ari sat stunned for a moment, her mouth slightly opening as if she meant to say something, but instead she caught herself. Her mind was still foggy as she attempted to form some words.  

She sat back in her seat, studying him for a moment.  

”Deal.” As those words left her, suddenly she seemed to relax. Her shoulders dropped slightly as a breath of relief left her. She hoped that he really would hold his word.  

Looking around awkwardly at the food, she grabbed a few things onto her plate—some bread, cheese, and a few pieces of vegetables. She wasn’t sure how much her stomach could handle after last night.  

” Did my father tell you…” Her eyes flicked up at him before looking back at her plate. ”..what happened last night? Or why has he employed you?”

Well at least she’d seemed to relax. He hadn’t entirely expected her to agree, if he was being honest with himself, but he was happy she had. That would at least allow him the chance to watch her without her trying to do anything stupid. She seemed stupid, but not rock bottom.  

His eyes glanced over her as she grabbed more food. She seemed like she wasn’t entirely all there, like she was up in space somewhere sometimes. It worried him, but he’d just have to pay more attention to her.  

Nikolai lifted a hand to scratch at his neck as she spoke. ”Nope. I have been left blissfully in the dark about all of this.” He replied, deciding that he would be honest with her as much as he possibly could. If he hoped to actually protect her, he needed her to trust his judgement.  

”Care to share why Hunters would be a problem for you?” He asked, his head tilting ever so slightly.  

Poking at her food, she managed to pull some bread from her plate, tearing a piece off as her hand slowly raised to her mouth. The shake in her hand was evident as she ate a piece. Mindful of her stomach, she swallowed it carefully.  

” My brother and I were at an event last night when a group of hooligans broke into the tavern. They took all of us hostage…” She took a breath as the smell of her brothers' burning flesh hit her nose. She brought her napkin to her nose as she tried to keep the bread down.  

Nik’s brow furrowed. She looked like she was going to be sick from just the memory. His head started a dull throb as familiarity surfaced before fading away. His furrowed brows turned into something of a scowl, though certainly not at her.  

” They tied him to a post and burned him with a hot poker over and over, forcing us to drink. I was so drunk already, I don't remember too much. I only remember the smell of his skin burning, the pain…” She paused to take a drink of her water.  

Unknowingly, Nik sucked in a breath at her words, cringing at the thought of it. He’d seen rather horrible things, to be sure, but that never made it any easier to hear or deal with. In fact, it made it somewhat worse, knowing the smell she’d described.  

” I ran towards him and shielded him from the next branding but…” She paused, glancing to look up at him, her face expression slightly hollow. The words sat at the tip of her tongue. ” I used a powerful dark magic spell that casted a pulse. A large one. I don’t know exactly what happened after because I passed out. I don't remember much else.”

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t shocked, but he liked to think he hid it well. His arms had crossed while she spoke and his eyes narrowed for a moment before he looked down at the table in front of him. ”So, your father wants me to protect you from Hunters because of what you’d shown publicly, then?” He asked, his tone somewhat matter-of-fact. His expression, however, was one of sympathy.  

Nodding, she managed to take another small piece of bread. ” Yes…there is more, but for now, that I am sure is his biggest worry. The hunters could have been in the tavern for all I know. The last one paraded a woman on a long iron chain.” She took in a breath, sitting back against her chair as her eyes met his.  

” Needless to say, it is a threat that they take seriously. However, when it comes to my brothers, I would rather burn at the stake than watch that again.” She said without remorse.  

He’d be lying if he said he understood her sentiment. There wasn’t a soul in this realm that Nik would burn for. Not a single one. But, he understood enough to know that this was a little tidbit that meant something to her and that he could use that. If it came to keeping her out of harms way, keeping her brother out of it was just as important.  

He nodded solemnly. ”I’ll keep that in mind and consider him someone to protect as well.” He offered her an honest statement, even if his motives were dubious at best. At least she was opening up to him. Considering how much she’d just protested with her father, he was expecting more of a fight. Though, if he was honest, he’d probably only placated her for a time. Eventually, he would have to step in to actually protect her and he doubted she would like that. Especially if it came to either her or her brother. He could only hope he’d never have to make that choice.  

Finishing the roll, she took another sip of water. ” I imagine my father would be very happy to hear that.” She was surprised at his lack of shock or concern with her admission of magic use.  

” What is your story?” Her eyes glanced outside the dining room before returning to him. ” How did you get into all of this? In truth, she needed the distraction to keep focus off her twisting stomach as she continued to eat slowly.  

He took a moment to think on her question. He wasn’t entirely sure how much he wanted to reveal. While she had been very forthcoming with him, he wasn’t known for opening up to others. He was more laughs and charm than heart-to-hearts. But, he knew that if he didn’t sound sincere right now, she might not trust him. Trust was hard to earn and easily lost. He knew that much.  

”I’m not sure there’s much to tell.” He started, his voice low. He shifted again, this time letting one leg stretch out farther to the side. His gaze lowered to his hands as he tried to consider very carefully what to reveal. ”I want to be a force of good.” He finally spoke, his voice much softer than it had been, but clearly determined. He cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable and sat up a bit more straight.  

”I also have a lot to prove and my own cage to break out of, so.” He continued, his lips pressed together as a way to suppress something akin to anger, but not quite as heated. Disappointment? Disdain? None of the words seemed to fit. ”While this is a cage, it’s my only shot at getting out of it. I have to let him think I’m trapped.” He admitted, his gaze shifting from his hands back up to her to see her reaction.  

Ari didn’t speak right away. She let the silence stretch, his words settling between them like something fragile that shouldn’t be handled too roughly. Her gaze lingered on him, thoughtful, unreadable, before drifting down to the table.  

Without ceremony, she reached out and nudged one of the plates toward him, the simple gesture carrying more meaning than any reassurance she might have offered.  

“You should eat,” She said quietly. “If you’re going to be staying here, you might as well make yourself at home.” She smiled softly before eating more herself.  

“So.” She interrupted the silence, trying to change the subject to something more light-hearted. “What things do you enjoy?” She let a small laugh out nervously. “Sorry, I've never had a guard before…I don’t know what I am doing or what might be appropriate…”

He felt worry spread over him, thick like tar and he hated it. Hated the feeling of the silence that sat between them after he spoke. He hated the way it made him feel and the anxiety that bubbled up. Nik was a man who was always sure of himself, never let himself feel this way, worried about how others viewed him. But he needed her to trust him so... here he was.  

His gaze flickered from the offered plate to her and back again. Well, that was a good sign. He glanced up at her again as she spoke. A smile, that was a great sign, considering what he'd seen earlier.  

He let the feeling of that victory relax him, knowing that his discomfort was worth something. He grabbed at a piece of bread and dipped it into some of the food before taking a rather large bite himself. He glanced up again as she spoke, her question not necessarily surprising him. He took a moment to chew and swallow before answering her.  

"Just treat me like a friend and we'll be just fine." He started, flashing her a smile, "Things that shouldn't enter the ears of a pretty little noble lady such as yourself." Nik took another bite and chewed for a moment, watching her reaction.  

She blinked, her curiosity piqued. “Pretty little noble lady?” A brow raised as she held back a laugh. “If you want me to treat you like a friend, then you can’t treat me like a pretty little noble lady”. She pulled apart another piece of bread.  

“So...What is it that you enjoy?” She offered him a grin as she seemed very interested now.  

He cleared his throat at her reaction. Not exactly what he was hoping for, but what could he expect? Innocent little noble girl who doesn't want to know all the juicy details? Right. He couldn't even argue her point either. He had told her to treat him like a friend. Damn smartass bit-  

He stopped himself before he let the thought continue. He needed to placate, earn trust, build something with her enough so that she'd trust his calls. He just had to keep telling himself that. Though, he wasn't sure she would enjoy an honest answer. Doesn't mean he wouldn't enjoy teasing her. Nikolai leaned in closer, elbows firmly on the table as he watched her.  

"Women, mainly." He replied simply, a stupid smirk on his face and a glimmer of mischief in his eyes.  

She could feel her cheeks brighten against her already pale complexion. women. She reached for her glass of water as she felt his intense look from across the table.  

"I see... well.." Her eyes glanced over to the side of the parlor while taking a sip of her water. "I enjoy...the company of men as well." She stated rather matter of factly, but the tone gave her away. She wasn't confident in the way she spoke; her words were hollow and untrue. Though she continued her attempt at lying when in truth she had little experience with men. She really had only ever kissed Callum, but she wasn't going to let him think she was some prudish lady of the court.  

"How- many? Women.. that is..have you entertained yourself with?" Her face still rather red.  

This time, he didn’t stop the snort that bubbled up at her response. He cleared his throat, a sly smile still on his face. Leaning back, Nik watched her for a moment, amber eyes looking over her features. He wondered how much it would take to get her to crack. Should he be doing this, having this conversation with her at all? No. He shouldn’t be humoring this line of conversation. But at the moment, Nik was having fun and that’s all he cared about.  

”Guess.”

”Ten,” She blurted out without much thought. Surely that was a lot.  

Nik’s laughter filled the dining room they were in, loud and full of life. ”Ten?!” He laughed some more, his smile widening. He lifted a hand up to her as he tried to stop, ”Sorry, sorry. Just…”

”It’s quite a bit more than ten, sweetheart.” He told her, amusement still clear on his face. ”But, that’s a pretty good guess.” He added with another small laugh. He was even more certain that she hadn’t been with any man, much less the plural ‘men’ she claimed.  

Her eyes glanced back towards the hall before looking back at Nik, his laughter caught her off guard but also sent a shock of embarrassment. ”Fifty?” She countered, strangely interested now to know the answer.  

He laughed again, shaking his head at her. ”Closer.”

”Closer?” She echoed, surprised.  

The word closer landed heavier than she expected, stirring in her a mix of disbelief but also nerves in her chest. She sat back in her seat, just lifting her chin a fraction as if fixing her posture would steady her. Her fingers curled into her gown under the table.  

”Closer…” She repeated again as if it would save her from embarrassment.  

”Seventy-five?” As the number left her lips she suddenly realized just how different the two were. She had kissed 1…1 man. While he—  

She swallowed hard as a nervous smile followed her next guess.  

He watched her tousle with the idea, enjoyed the look on her face as she tried to consider just how many people that was. He tapped his finger against the arm of his chair.  

”Much closer.” He chuckled. He had to wonder what she would think of that, knowing just how many women he had slept with or that he had actually mostly kept track of them. His number might be a little fudged, considering there were a few nights with some Alidasht women he didn’t remember very well. He couldn’t be sure how many bodies had been present for those, if he was honest.  

”A hundred?” Her jaw was nearly on the table by this point.  

Another laugh as he shook his head. ”About 83. I think. I might have lost count and some of the memories are hazy…” He replied, mumbling a bit as he trailed off. He offered her a smile. ”What about you, Pretty Little Noble Lady?” He asked with a smirk.  

”A lady never tells” She deflected, attempting to cover her story. ”Not 83 but…I have some.” She cleared her throat before taking a sip of water. Nik raised a brow, clearly not believing her in the slightest.  

After a long silence she slumped slightly in her chair.  

”I’m lying, I don't even know why I'm trying to pretend.” She sighed heavily at her lack of suitors. ”I hate balls, I hate the courting season…I hate wearing heels, ball gowns, having my hair fussed over…It doesn’t leave much room for…fun.”

Suddenly, Ari word-vomited, ”Do you think I'm attractive?” She paused as the color in her face disappeared as she realized she just allowed her thoughts to slip from her mouth. ”I’m not ugly? I don't think? I know I'm a bit weird and now this magic situation I'm sure doesn’t help but…Am I really that hopeless.” The words erupted like a panicked thought.  

She glanced up at the man. ”Actually..just forget I even asked.”

He listened as she rambled. His eyes went wide as she asked him if she was attractive. He was reaching dangerous territory here. It set his nerves on edge like he was two steps from walking into a trap he wouldn’t be able to easily get himself out of. His mind started racing with ways he could get out of this conversation now.  

Nik looked down at the silver rings on his fingers for a moment before he finally looked back up at her. ”Have you had enough to eat?” He asked. He’d pulled the mask back on—the practiced expressions, the measured responses. He needed the distance and he needed it several sentences ago.  

”Oh…” She looked down at the plate of half eaten food.  

She pushed the plate away from herself. ”Yes, I suppose I have. Have you?” She shifted the conversation, aware that she had clearly embarrassed herself.  

He paused for a moment, looking down at her food. She’d barely touched her food and he could hear her father yelling at him now. Or at least firmly scolding him. He took in a breath very slowly, trying not to make it noticeable, and let it out just as slowly. He sat back down just as quickly as he’d stood up.  

”Sorry. I should have noticed the state of your plate.” He spoke, his voice a little lower, like he was already kicking himself for what he’d done. ”Does it hurt your stomach?” He asked, a genuine flash of concern crossing his features.  

”Yes…I’m not feeling quite myself today. This is all I managed to eat today.”

”And for what’s it worth… If you weren’t the Duke’s daughter, I wouldn’t have thought twice about taking you to bed.” He offered as he twisted one of the rings on his finger, ”So, no. You aren’t ugly and your magic doesn’t scare me. If anything, it would make you more intriguing. The only thing I find hard to swallow is that I am your guard.”

She bit back a smile, attempting to hide it. It wasn’t that she wanted to take the man to bed, but the validation from clearly a very sought after and objectively handsome man did put a smile on her face.  

”And as my guard…” She said, still biting back her smile. ”These conversations are strictly confidential.”

A soft sigh left his lips as Nik got up from his chair and walked over to the other side of the table. He reached for her chair and leaned down just long enough to whisper, ”As you wish.” The hairs on her neck rose, starting to understand why his list was so long.  

He tugged her chair out for her, helping her up. He’d have to see if he could get the cooks to make something that would settle on her stomach a bit easier. Maybe some broth? His mother made a mean vegetable broth maybe he could…  

She stumbled out of the chair, falling into the table as the sudden rush to her head sent the room spinning. Nik jerked, his hand reaching for her to help her back up.  

”Sorry…” She whispered as she straightened herself. After a moment the room seemed to settle, but her legs continued to feel as if she had walked for two days straight.  

He thought for a moment, his eyes looking her over as he did. Picking her up felt like the wrong choice, since she seemed to care so much about agency. Asking felt like the move and if she said no, well—he’d just carry her up anyway. At least he tried asking first.  

”Come. I’ll carry you back to your room.” He told her. It didn’t sound too much like a question like he’d intended it to be, but at least he didn’t go with his gut which was just pick her up without saying anything.  

She wanted to argue, to laugh in his face, but instead just nodded weakly. ”Okay..” She was in no place to argue. ”Or maybe.. the top of the stairs” She tried to compromise. At least then she could show him where he would be staying.  

”Of course.” He replied, having every intention of not letting her down until she was in her room. He could probably be convinced to let her down early, but with how she was looking and sounding, he was admittedly worried about her. And himself. Just imagining the angry letter from his grandfather if the girl died on the first day from falling down the stairs gave him enough pause to not want to let her down.  

He lifted her with ease, rough hands calloused from hard work scratching against the fabric of her dress. She was light and easy to carry, nothing he hadn’t expected. ”Hold on.” He told her as soft grunts of pain escaped her.  

Once he was sure that she wasn’t going anywhere, he started carrying her towards the door. ”You may have to direct me. I don’t really know my way around.” He spoke once he was in the doorway. He spotted a set of stairs nearby. ”Those stairs?” He asked, looking down at her.  

She nodded, looking at just how large the stairs were. She felt grateful for his help. ”Yes, then to the right down the hall…I made sure I was on the opposite side of my parents…”

He raised a brow at her comment as he walked over to the stairs. ”I’ve wanted to ask. I know a lot of people have issues with their parents for various reasons,” He started, ascending the stairs carefully, ”but what have yours done to you?” He thought back to her father and how thoughtful he had been; nothing he had said had seemed unreasonable to Nikolai. If anything, he’d have killed to have a father like that.  

Glancing up at him, she stayed silent.  

”I don't think you’re ready for that one.” She laughed slightly. ”Meet my Mother, then perhaps we can have that conversation.”

He smiled briefly, nodding at her reply. ”Fair enough,” He returned. He could understand not wanting to talk about it. Though there was a part of him that wished she’d give him more to go on. He didn’t much like surprises and the more he knew, the better equipped he felt.  

It didn’t take him terribly long to get to the top of the stairs, where instead of letting her down, he turned to the right. His boots echoed quietly in the dimly lit hallway.  

Her mind continued to go in and out; the soft rocking against his warm body made her eyes heavy as her body hung limply in his arms. She hadn’t even noticed until they started approaching her door.  

The floors were covered in ornate carpet; vases and expensive paintings hung on the wall. The decorations spared no expense but to some would lack any taste. The door stood out amongst the pristine hallway. At the end of the hallway was a door, handpainted with strokes of white, blues, purples, and greens. As they drew closer the details of the flowers grew clearer—wild vines painted up and along the frame, favoring the right as if it were naturally growing from the ground. Small petals intricately placed into the design as if it were raining petals. The strokes of paint were wild yet measured.  

”Hey…I said I would walk.” She said half consciously, swatting the air with her hand as if she were even close to hitting him.  

”Did you? My bad.” He returned, as if he hadn’t heard her to begin with. He did, however, move to set her down now that they were at her door. He eyed the art on her door. An artist, huh? He wondered if she’d done that or if they paid someone.  

”Go get settled for bed. I’ll be back in a few moments, okay?” He told her, offering her a small smile.

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