princess

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

**BEFORE SHE LEFT**

Time: Moments before when Wulfric had addressed her before the curtain call
Location: Edin Theater
Interaction: @Silverpaw Wulfric

---

“Do you truly believe that she is weak?”

Alibeth's head turned to her son, interest piqued by his question. She studied him, absorbing his every word for a moment before speaking. "There is power in music. Power in honesty. Power in talent."

Her gaze sharpened, "But where is the power in crumbling before the very people who look to you for stability? Where is the strength in a royal symbol breaking down under the weight of her own emotions?" After a deliberate pause, she continued, "Anastasia may not be a ruler, not a warrior—but she is a representation of this family, a representation of you. A princess is not expected to lead, but she is expected to embody poise and dignity. What she displayed tonight was neither. You may call it moving; I call it a spectacle."

Her gaze flickered toward the audience before landing back on Wulfric, as if daring him to argue. "Yes, the people love passion. But more than that, they love certainty. They do not follow those who weep for them—they follow those who stand firm for them. You will do well to remember that."

Then, at last, her expression softened, but her point remained unwavering. "You defend her because you love her. But love will not shield her from the scrutiny of the Sultan if that Shehzade brings her home."

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Time: 12 noon
Location: The Edin Theater
Interactions: @JJ Doe Fritz and Morrigan @CitrusArms Stratya @Samreaper Kazumin @Silverpaw Wulfric @Helo Callum
Attire:Dress, Hair, Necklace, Headpiece

---

Anastasia sat up, still catching her breath as she took in the view of the audience. She didn’t turn to Stratya as the knight’s words met her ears. Instead, she let them settle, absorbing them. Her fingers curled loosely around the cello’s neck. When she finally spoke, her voice was soft but steady.

"I hear you, Captain," she said, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "But I don’t believe my message was lacking at all. I have no doubt I have reached them."

She smiled at her over her shoulders, "I did not come here to make anyone jitter in their shoes. I came to make sure Darryn was not forgotten. To make sure the people who never knew him would understand just how much he mattered." She lifted her chin slightly, her voice still warm, "And now, they do."

Then, the energy in the theater shifted. The murmurs in the audience began to swell, anticipation in the air. Light flooded the stage as the curtains swept open, revealing the grand finale in a breathtaking display of movement and color.

Dancers whirled across the stage, their bodies in perfect synchronization, and Anastasia’s heart swelled as she took in the sight. And then—there he was.

Fritz, slipping onto the stage effortlessly. Anastasia let out a quiet, amused breath, watching as he spun into the routine without missing a beat. His presence was fleeting, disappearing just as seamlessly as he had appeared, leaving the audience none the wiser.

She didn’t have long to admire the spectacle. The curtain call was upon them. She took one last breath, gathering her composure, before moving toward her mark. She caught sight of Kazumin, looking more than a little flustered. She raised an eyebrow at him, but Fritz had already whisked him into position, smoothing over the situation with the same effortless grace he always carried.

Then, the lights dimmed. And in the next heartbeat—flash! The mirrors vanished, the brilliant explosion of light and confetti revealing them all to the audience. Thunderous applause erupted, rolling over the stage like a crashing wave.

Anastasia’s breath caught as she looked out at the crowd, at the sheer emotion still lingering in the faces of the people. She bowed with the others, heart pounding, her body still buzzing with everything that had led up to this moment.

The cheers swelled again as Fritz spoke, and Anastasia clapped along, her smile bright despite the weight still lingering in her chest. The applause was deafening. She turned toward her fellow performers, giving them a soft, genuine look of gratitude. No matter what, today had been worth it.

Then, the spotlight swung upward, casting a golden glow over the royal box and Fritz called upon the royal family for their opinions, and for once Anastasia felt a little nervous.

Her gaze flickered toward Morrigan, who, to her delight, offered a sweet little kiss in approval. A soft smile graced Anastasia’s lips, and without thinking, she blew one right back.

But the moment was brief. As her gaze shifted, her breath caught as she had locked eyes with the King. It hadn’t been intentional, and yet, once her eyes found his, she couldn’t seem to look away. As Edin’s voice filled the theater, Anastasia held her breath. She had poured her heart into this night—not just for Darryn, not just for the people, but somewhere deep down, for him, too.

And yet, as he spoke, her name never came.

Then—Kazumin.

Edin’s entire demeanor shifted, his voice alight with interest and enthusiasm.

Still nothing.

Anastasia’s fingers curled subtly into the fabric of her gown. Her throat tightened, the weight of it pressing against her ribs, and for a moment, she felt her vision blur ever so slightly, barely registering her mother's brief statement and clapping with the crowd. However, as Wulfric had begun to give his opinions, he came down and approached her.

"Hi Wulfy," Anastasia greeted softly, her voice laced with warmth despite the tears still clinging to her lashes.

She accepted his hand without hesitation, allowing him to lead her back to the center of the stage. When he pulled her into a hug, she clung to him. "Of course it hurts," she murmured, voice barely above a whisper. "But I want it to. It means he’s still missed, and that’s a good thing."

Wulfric brushed a hand through her hair, his touch grounding her, and she let out a soft, breathy laugh. Pulling back just enough to meet his gaze, she gave his hands a firm squeeze. "And you're strong too, Wulfy!" she added with a small, adoring smile.

“You broke my heart with your words, and I love you for that. But what I loved even more? That everyone finally got to hear the beautiful melodies that have blessed the palace for as long as I can remember. Ana, I am so proud to call you family.”

She looked up to her brother, her eyes widening slightly in surprise before softening, the weight on her chest easing just a little. A small, wobbly smile broke across her lips as she blinked away the last remnants of unshed tears.

"Thank you, Cal."

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

FLASHBACK

Lottie & Cas

Part 10

Time: Sola 26th

Location: Rosegate

As they left the candlelit private dock behind, Cassius led Charlotte through the winding streets of Rosegate, his grip steady yet unhurried, guiding her deeper into the city’s embrace. The wine hummed through her veins, blurring the edges of her thoughts, but the warmth of his palm in hers was grounding.

The city had transformed under the moon’s glow. What had been a charming coastal town by day now pulsed with something more alluring, more secretive. The flickering lanterns cast long shadows against the cobblestone paths, their glow reflecting off the polished boots of elegantly dressed patrons weaving through the streets. The distant echo of music grew stronger with every step they took.

They turned a corner, and there it was.

The Crimson Veil.

Crimson drapes and ornate golden sconces framed its grand entrance and lined the exterior. The club's emblem, a single black rose entwined with crimson silk, was etched into the wood.

A doorman, dressed in fine black attire, gave Cassius a knowing nod before pushing the doors open. A rush of perfumed air washed over them, carrying the scent of expensive cologne, aged whiskey, and something sweetly intoxicating that she couldn’t quite place.

The moment they stepped inside, the world shifted.

The grand ballroom had chandeliers dripping with crystals that refracted the light like scattered stars. The ceiling arched high above, its gilded molding depicting scenes of gods and mortals intertwined in revelry. Deep red velvet curtains cascaded from the walls, framing intimate lounges where the city’s elite reclined on velvet couches, sipping from crystal glasses.

And then, there was the center of it all—the dance floor.

It was alive with movement. Figures, their bodies wrapped in silk and satin, swayed to the intoxicating melody that poured from the musicians on the balcony above. The music was unlike anything Charlotte had ever heard—haunting strings interwoven with a deep, pulsing rhythm that thrummed through the floor.

But it wasn’t just the dancers that held her attention.

Cages.

Gilded cages seemed to hang from the ceiling, lining the upper balconies. Women draped in sheer fabrics, adorned with jeweled chains that glimmered in the dim light, moved in slow, hypnotic rhythms behind the bars. Their eyes were lined, their lips painted in shades of crimson, their gazes lingering over the crowd like silent sirens watching for their next conquest.

Charlotte’s gaze flickered over the room, her breath catching slightly. The deep pulse of music vibrated through the floor, a sound she felt more than heard, and yet it did little to drown out the low murmurs and whispers that filled the air.

Her fingers twitched at her sides as her eyes swept over the crowd. A woman in a sheer gown leaned close to a man’s ear, her fingers tracing idle patterns over his chest as she whispered something that made him grin. Another man, older, ran a slow hand along the bare shoulder of a lady perched in his lap, his rings glinting in the light.

Then, from the corner of her vision, movement. Her eyes flicked toward a lounge draped in crimson, where a man draped in an open-collared silk shirt watched her from his place on the couch. He held a glass of amber liquor, swirling it idly as he studied her, head tilting slightly before smirking. And then, he winked.

Her lips parted just slightly before she caught herself. She dropped her gaze, heart tapping just a little too fast against her ribs. Luckily, the wine in her veins softened the edges of her discomfort, dulling the sharpness of her usual wariness.

Cassius barely had a chance to guide Charlotte further inside before a voice—smooth as aged whiskey and just as dangerous—cut through the revelry.

Cassius Vael."

He turned, a grin already playing at his lips as a familiar figure approached.

Luca D’Arcy; owner of the Crimson Veil.

A man who thrived in shadows but lived for excess, Luca was the kind of person who had a finger in everything—trade, secrets, pleasures money could buy and a few that it shouldn’t. Dressed in deep crimson, his dark hair slicked back, Luca carried himself with the kind of confidence only a gentleman with true gravitas could.

Luca’s sharp eyes flicked to Charlotte before his smile widened. "You didn't tell me you were bringing such exquisite company. Welcome, Lady Vikena. It’s a rare pleasure to have true nobility grace our little sanctuary."

Charlotte’s gaze locked on the man and she managed a smile, despite the glimmer of uncertainty behind her eyes. “Pleasure’s all mine, sir.” She greeted him politely.

"Pleasure as it may be, there's no need to advertise her arrival or make a mountain out of her nobility." Cassius kept his tone light, edged with his usual teasing lilt, but beneath it lay a note of intent. "We're just here to dance and enjoy our night. I trust I can count on your discretion, as I always have, old friend?"

Luca’s smirk deepened, his gaze flicking from Cassius to Charlotte with an air of intrigue that bordered on indulgence.

"But of course," he purred, lifting a hand in a gesture of easy reassurance. "After all, discretion is the foundation upon which the Veil thrives. No titles, no politics—only pleasures."

Despite his words, his eyes kept returning to Charlotte, studying her as if she were an enigma he was eager to unravel. She held his gaze, her expression composed, yet despite herself, the faintest hint of a glare flickered in her eyes.

Then, with a graceful turn, Luca extended a hand toward the club’s most exclusive table—tucked away in the perfect vantage point, where the view of the dance floor was unrivaled, yet just secluded enough to ensure privacy.

"Come," he beckoned smoothly and lead the two forward. "Even with discretion in mind, your arrival warrants only the finest hospitality. I’ve taken the liberty of reserving this for you—top-shelf spirits, the best seats in the house, and should you be in need of... other indulgences, I can procure whatever your hearts desire." His words were laced with an unmistakable implication, his tone a whisper of temptation.

“Other… indulgences…?” Charlotte echoed softly and glanced at Cassius, alarm widening her eyes.

Cassius exhaled sharply through his nose, his jaw tightening just slightly as he shot Luca a knowing look.

"We’re simply here to dance, D’Arcy" he reaffirmed, his voice carrying a hint of iron beneath the charm. "As was discussed this morning."

Luca chuckled, raising his hands in a mock display of surrender.

"As you wish." Taking a moment to offer Charlotte a slight, respectful bow, Luca stepped aside with a flourish and left , allowing them their privacy, though the glint in his eye made one thing certain—Luca D’Arcy never truly stopped watching.

Charlotte’s gaze flickered over the table before them only briefly before she looked at Cassius once more. Slowly a smile formed, and a light, airy laugh escaped her lips. “Cassius, this place is most peculiar...” Her eyes drifted past him, drawn upward to the cages above where the dancers swayed, slow and hypnotic. She tilted her head, studying them with fascination.

“Indeed it is, love. But it’s also supposedly the best there is.”Cas responded in kind.

“Tell me, do you suppose they are let out eventually or do they just… nest in there?” She giggled at her own joke, but her gaze lingered on the cages for just a moment too long, as if the sight unsettled her more than she cared to admit.

Cassius followed her gaze, the corners of his mouth tugging into a smirk at her jest, though he could see the way her amusement didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Oh, they nest, absolutely. Every morning the staff climbs up, feeds them the finest crackers in the kingdom, and gives their cages a good shake to make sure they’re still alive.” He teased right back.

Leaning in slightly, he let his lips hover near Charlotte’s ear, his voice dropping into something lower, meant just for her.

“You’re staring, love. Keep it up, and Luca might think you want a cage of your own.”

He pulled back just enough to catch her expression, his grin sharp with mischief.

Charlotte inhaled and whirled her head to catch his gaze. "I—" She exhaled sharply, pressing her palm lightly against her forehead. "No, I think I’d prefer to remain uncaged, thank you."

“As would I.” He jested in return. Reaching for one of the crystal tumblers on the table, he took a slow sip, letting the burn of fine whiskey settle in his throat before exhaling through his nose.

“And about him…sorry if he was a little…intense.” His eyes offered reassurance as he spoke. “He’s always a bit…well…whatever that is”. A subtle laugh escaped him as he offered the only explanation he knew how. “I had heard he’d cleaned up his act, but given his little offer, I’d say he still carries a few stains here and there. Regardless…I hope he didn’t offend you.”

Charlotte waved a hand dismissively, a tipsy smile tugging at her lips. “Oh, it’s alright,” she assured, though her words came a little too easily. Her gaze flickered back toward where Luca had disappeared, her fingers fidgeting idly with the stem of her glass before she lifted it to drink, warmth filling her body once more.

Then, as she moved, the ground shifted… Or at least, it certainly felt like it did. She let out a tiny squeak, her hands quickly gripping the back of the chair to steady herself.

Her eyes lifted to Cassius, her lips forming a little pout. "The floor is terribly unreliable,” she announced in a matter-of-fact manner. "We really must have a word with that Lucy fellow.”

For a moment, she swayed slightly, testing her own balance, then peeked up at him again with the most pitiful, sweet expression. "You’d certainly catch me if I fall right?” She bit her lip thoughtfully, tilting her head as she added in a slow muse, "You do look very sturdy…”

As if needing proof of this claim, she reached out, pressing her palm lightly against his chest. Her fingertips lingered just long enough before she gave the faintest, satisfied pat.

Then her lips curved into a satisfied smile as she informed him. "Mmm. Yes. Quite solid.”

He let out a low chuckle, his grip on her waist steady and sure.

“Oh, darlin’, I’m as solid as they come.” His voice was rich with amusement, but there was something else beneath it—something certain, something real. His fingers curled just slightly where they rested against her, anchoring her in place.

His gaze met hers then, storm-gray and unwavering.“And I’d never let you fall. Not now, not ever.” Those words caused warmth to rise to her cheeks and a small, fleeting smile followed—gentle, almost instinctive, as if pulled from her before she had the chance to think.

For a beat, he let the words settle between them, heavy with unspoken meaning. Then, his smirk returned, slow and teasing, as his attention flicked toward the dance floor.

“Shall we test that theory?” He tipped his head toward the music, his hand still lingering at her waist. “Let’s see if you can keep up, love.”

Cassius wasted no time leading Charlotte toward the dance floor. The music was quick, sultry, designed to pull bodies together in a rhythm that was equal parts skill and seduction. Cassius had never been the type to shy away from either.

With a hand still at the small of Charlotte’s back, he guided her through the crowd, his movements effortless, his grip firm but teasing. The flickering chandeliers cast shifting light over them as they moved through the steps, her dress catching the glow like something out of a dream. When he turned her, his palm skimmed over the curve of her waist, sliding to rest just at the dip of her hip, holding her steady.

The energy between them was heady, humming beneath the surface as he spun her—keeping her just at the edge of his reach before pulling her back in, closer this time. Close enough that the scent of her skin mixed with the heady perfume of the club. And this time, he didn’t let go so quickly. His hand remained splayed at her lower back, his thumb tracing a barely-there motion against the fabric.

He leaned in, voice a murmur just for her. "You’re keeping up well for a drunk girl, Lottie. This is quite different from our first dance, wouldn’t you say?" The teasing glint in his storm-gray eyes was unmistakable.

Charlotte’s nose scrunched as she playfully made a face at him, “Oh? And here I thought you just got better at leading.” She teased him.

Then, with a mischievous smile, she slipped from his hold enough to twirl on her own, her dress catching the light as she spun on her toes. For a brief moment, she looked as free as bird, her eyes bright and a smile painted on her face. With ease, she landed herself back in his arms and looked up at him with a cheeky smile.

They danced through a second song. Then a third. The room pulsed around them, but for all the decadence, Cassius found himself focused only on her. The way the wine had loosened her edges just enough, the way she met his movements without hesitation, the way their bodies moved as though they had always been in sync. It was a perfect moment, and yet… Somehow perfection was improved upon.

Suddenly, the music changed.

Cassius felt it before he even heard it.

The shift in tempo. The swell of strings. The delicate, unmistakable melody that curled into the air like something soft and sacred.

It was a song he had heard for the first time only recently. Something beautiful, something special.

Charlotte’s song.

Or rather—the song she had written and gifted to Drake. Cassius had asked Lord Edwards if he could copy it down first thing this morning, and when he had come here earlier, arranging the details of the night, he had handed it to Luca with an imperative request.

"Have your people play this piece. Have them play it as though it were the most important song in the world."

And now, it wasn’t just being played. It was being brought to life by an entire accompaniment. The Crimson Veil’s musicians had taken it, built upon it, woven it into something deeper—yet still so perfectly her song.

Charlotte stilled, her brows lifting in recognition as soon as the first few notes found her ears. Her lips parted with a quiet inhale and her gaze snapped to Cassius.

Cassius turned his attention back to Charlotte, gauging her reaction… leaning in—closer now, just enough that his breath brushed against her skin. His fingers tightened just slightly where they rested against her waist.

“Is that—” She slowed her movements, her eyes wandering the room until they found the musicians where they fixated in awe.

"Don’t stop dancing with me, Lottie."

This wasn’t like before. This wasn’t a teasing game or simple flirtation. This was something else entirely.

The melody swelled, wrapping around them, drawing them into a rhythm slower, deeper. The kind of dance that didn’t require intricate steps—just closeness, just feeling.

But even in their more than perfect moment, from his usual place at the owner’s balcony, Luca D’Arcy watched.

And he smiled.

However Charlotte hadn’t noticed him. Not this time.

A warmth had suddenly bloomed in her chest and spread throughout her body more intensely than she could have ever anticipated. His words echoed in her mind, their weight sinking deeper than she expected, lingering like a melody she wanted to hear again. Her lashes fluttered, breath catching ever so slightly, and without thinking, her fingers curled against his shoulder.

The world around them had seemed to blur, and without thinking, she shifted closer, her body molding into the space between them as though it had always belonged there.

And then she looked at him, and for a heartbeat, everything stopped.

For the briefest moment, her pupils widened, a flicker of something unspoken flashing in her blue eyes—something almost like wonder, like the quiet realization of stepping off a ledge and finding herself floating instead of falling. But then, the tension melted and her expression softened.

And then she gave him a tender smile that was different from all the others he had seen tonight.

The moment stretched between them, fragile yet electric, like the pause between lightning and thunder. The air around them was thick with something neither of them had dared name, and yet, it was there—woven between their bodies, in the heat of her fingertips curling against his shoulder, in the way she fit against him as though it would be a sin for them to part.

Cassius wasn’t sure if it was the wine or the music or the way she was looking at him now—like he was something worth seeing—but it did something to him.

Something reckless.

Something inevitable.

His fingers flexed where they rested at the small of her back, pulling her the slightest bit closer, just enough to feel the warmth of her against him, the rise and fall of her breath. His heart pounded harder than it should have, louder than the music that surrounded them.

He let his gaze trace her face—the delicate curve of her lips, the flush high on her cheeks, the wide, wondering blue of her eyes. Gods, she was beautiful. And it wasn’t just the way she looked, it was the way she felt—like poetry set to motion, like a song he wanted to learn by heart.

Cassius exhaled slowly, his voice dropping to something low, something meant just for her.

“You’re looking at me like I might disappear if you blink.”

His thumb brushed absently over the fabric at her waist, a slow, thoughtless caress, and she shivered beneath his touch.

“I promise, love… I’m right here.”

And then, because she was so close, because her lips were right there, because for the first time in his life he had no choice—he lifted a hand, fingers catching beneath her chin, tilting her face up ever so slightly. Her breath trembled, her pulse a flutter beneath her skin. Charlotte didn’t move, didn’t dare to—except for the way her lashes lowered, her lips just barely parting in the softest intake of breath.

Cassius hesitated just long enough to give her the chance to pull away, to stop this before it started. But she didn’t.

So he leaned in.

The moment their lips met, it was as if the rest of the world ceased to exist.

It wasn’t rushed, wasn’t hurried—it was slow, deliberate, a kiss that tasted of whiskey and something sweeter, something new. His lips moved against hers with aching precision, as though he were memorizing the shape of her, the feel of her, the way she fit against him so effortlessly.

And gods, she did.

A slow breath escaped through his nose as he deepened the kiss, his hand sliding to cradle the curve of her jaw, thumb stroking softly against her cheek. He had kissed plenty of women before, but nothing had ever felt like this—like the space between them had finally been bridged, like something long unspoken had finally found its voice.

For a moment, there was only warmth, only the press of her lips against his, the music fading into something distant, something inconsequential.

And then, as much as he didn’t want to, he pulled back—just slightly, just enough to meet her gaze.

His lips quirked into the barest of smirks, though his eyes—intense—betrayed something deeper, something real.

Charlotte’s lips were still tingling from the warmth he left behind, her pulse thrumming in her ears, and for a fleeting second, she swayed ever so slightly forward, as if drawn to the absence he had left behind. Her fingers twitched against his shoulder, her mind sluggish with wine and the dizzying aftermath of him. Then, just as the moment teetered on the edge of something unspoken, her brows knit together slightly, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Oh…” A soft, breathless sound, as if she were only now realizing what had happened. Her gaze flickered down to his lips once more before lifting back to his eyes, wonderstruck.

For the first time in what felt like forever, Cassius was at a loss for words.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Time: 12pm
Location: Edin Theater
Interaction: @Helo Callum @Silverpaw Wulfric
Mention: @FunnyGuy Lorenzo @Lava Alckon Drake/Farim @Samreaper Kazumin @JJ Doe Fritz

---

The applause still rang through the theater, yet Edin lounged in his chair like a king already bored of his court's adoration. His smirk stretched lazily across his face, as though the ovation were meant for him alone. Then Fritz addressed him and he shifted, wearing the kind of grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Ah, yes… the performances.” he drawled, voice thick with feigned nostalgia, like he was recalling some grand epic.

“Hmm… let’s see. There was the intriguing ostrich show...A daring choice. But I was certainly surprised ostriches could be so intelligent. I enjoyed it. ” He gave an appreciative nod. “Then the piano…” His hand flapped dismissively as if brushing away dust.

His smile widened as he proclaimed. “And, of course, Duke Vikena’s vulgar poetry. Charming, truly.” He chuckled under his breath.

Then, his entire demeanor shifted again as though struck by sudden inspiration. “Ah! But then there was Mr. Kazumin Nagasa!” Edin clapped once loudly and deliberately. “Sheer brilliance! My guards have already sent for him. I simply must meet the man behind such… raw talent.”

Meanwhile Queen Alibeth's gaze briefly swept over Count Hendrix with faint curiosity. One wonders why you were so eager to question us upon our opinion.

She raised her glass and politely said, “A well-done performance by all.”

The applause reignited like a flame as the monarchs finished giving their thoughts and Edin soaked it in as if it were the very air he breathed. He stood, arms spread wide, every much the king who thought himself a god among insects.

“And let us not forget,” he announced, voice booming, “All the proceeds from this marvelous evening will go to charity!” The applause roared up again momentarily.

As a silence followed for Callum and Wulfric to give their opinions, Alibeth rose from her seat.

“I will take my leave,” she announced simply, not bothering to make it a request.
Without another glance toward the stage or the lingering crowd, she turned and stepped away, her gown trailing behind her. A few of the guards instinctively fell into step beside her.

Edin, watching her go, let out a low, exaggerated sigh before shaking his head with an amused smirk. “Ah, there she goes! My dear wife, always the first to leave a good time.” He spread his hands in mock lament before chuckling to himself. “Well! I suppose not all of us have the stamina to enjoy an evening properly.” His smile widened at his own jest, eyes flicking toward the remaining members of the royal family.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

FLASHBACK

Lottie & Cas

Part 8

Time: Sola 26th

Location: Rosegate
Mention: @Tpartywithzombi Violet

“Charlotte,” Cas began, his voice lower now.

“Believe me, you’re not the only one drowning in unanswered questions. Ever since I set foot in Sorian, I’ve been wading through a mess I barely understand myself.” Setting his glass down on the table with a subtle thud, he continued as she frowned at him.

“I get it. You want to do right by your friend. You made a promise, and you think that means you owe it to her to unravel this whole mess yourself, no matter what it takes.” He exhaled, raking a hand through his hair. “But take it from me—there are some doors you don’t want to open. Some questions you’re better off not asking.”

He tapped a finger against the table, almost absentmindedly, as if weighing his next words. Then, after a beat, his lips quirked—not quite a smirk, not quite a frown. “That said… you’re not the type to let things like this go, are you?”

He leaned back again, rubbing his jaw as he studied her determined expression—not with the teasing amusement he so often carried, but with something heavier, something more cautious.

“Alright,” he conceded, tilting his head slightly.

“You want the truth? I don’t have it all either. But maybe I can fill in some of the blanks for you.” He glanced toward the flickering candlelight between them.

“But Lottie I…I’m going to need more information myself before I pry this door open that can’t be closed again.” With a slow shake of his head, he added, “If you’re dead set on digging into this, be careful. You’re playing a game with people who don’t like loose ends.”

His fingers curled around his glass again, but he hesitated before bringing it to his lips. Instead, his gaze flicked back to hers, something unreadable lurking behind his usual irreverence.

“...And I’d rather not see you become one…” For a fleeting moment, the roguish charm and easy confidence that usually clung to him like a second skin wavered. His storm-gray eyes, always guarded with sharp wit or veiled amusement, softened enough for her to see something raw beneath them. Concern. Fear, maybe. The kind that settled deep, unspoken, in the spaces between words. In that moment, those eyes looked the most vulnerable they ever had to her.

“So what’s all this about, love… What are you wrapped up in? Tell me what I’m missing and maybe I can do the same.”

Charlotte fell into silence, her gaze lowered, as if tracing the patterns on the tablecloth could help untangle the chaos that had consumed the past week of her life and put it into words. And yet, as the words left her lips, unraveling one by one, she realized just how tangled everything had truly become. And still, the strangest part wasn’t the secrets themselves. It wasn’t the threats, or the disappearances, or the eerie gaps in memory…

The strangest part was that, of all people, it was him—Calbert Damien’s son—who was the first to hear it all.

She first spoke of Lorenzo—how she had been trying to protect him since the ball, ever since he had accidentally insulted the sultan. How he had vanished that very night without a trace. How someone had threatened her, warning that if she hadn’t kept him inside…

Her voice wavered, but she pressed on.

That same night, a party had taken place—one hosted by the Black Rose. And yet, none of its guests had any recollection of it. And on that same night, Violet had been attacked, and some whispered that she had even been murdered. And from that moment forward, everything had continued to unravel.

Cassius listened in uncharacteristic silence, his fingers still curled around his glass. He didn’t interrupt, didn’t quip, didn’t deflect. Instead, he let her words settle, watching the way they weighed on her, the way they shaped the determined set of her jaw, the fire in her eyes.

A man lurking behind a tree who told her she needed to stop investigating when she had barely delved into anything. The detective group they had formed in secret. The way her friends had been threatened, as if invisible hands were tightening a noose around them all, even when still nothing of value had been yet uncovered.

At the mention of the man lurking behind the tree, Cas’s expression darkened. A warning before the game had even begun. That was no idle threat—it was a sign that someone, somewhere, was already keeping score.

And then, as she spoke, another truth surfaced—the one that had started it all.

For a year now, she had been grasping for something—anything—that could prove her mother’s suicide was not what it seemed. At first, this web of secrets had felt like an opportunity, a door opening to the answers she had long been denied. But now, standing in the midst of it all, she wondered if she had stepped into something far more dangerous than she ever could have anticipated.

Finally, she lifted her head and peered at Cassius through her lashes. “So you see, Cassius… whether by fate or design, I find myself a player in this game.” She exhaled slowly, her fingers now tracing the rim of her glass. “And when it comes to locked doors…” Her lips curled into a sad smile, her gaze meeting his directly as she told him with conviction, “I do not intend to stand before them and wonder. I will see them opened—each and every one, by whatever means necessary. I owe that to not just Violet, but to my stepfather, to my mother, and to everyone I’ve tangled into this web.”

Cassius didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he leaned forward, his fingers laced together as he pondered. Meanwhile, her gaze continued to linger on him for every second of silence. The flickering light from all the romantic candles that now lay half-melted after their dinner date, played across his features, deepening the furrow of his brow and accentuating the tension in his jaw. For a moment, he looked almost… impressed. Or maybe it was something closer to resignation.

“I won’t pretend to understand what that’s like. Losing her the way you did. But I do know what it means to be haunted by questions that won’t let you go. To feel like you owe it to the dead to tear the truth out of the world, no matter the cost.” He hesitated, then added, “And I know what it’s like to wonder if, in chasing those answers, you’re walking straight into something you can’t come back from.”

His thumb traced absently along the rim of his glass as he considered her for a long moment. “You said you’ve been searching for proof for a year.” His voice was careful now, measured. “That tells me you already know, deep down, that something isn’t right. And if that’s the case…” He let out a slow breath, shaking his head. “Then I don’t blame you for wanting to knock down each and every door in your way.”

A smirk curled at the corner of his lips, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Just promise me one thing, Lottie.” He tilted his head, his expression softer now, though still carrying that edge of warning. “When you do open them, make damn sure you’re ready for what’s on the other side.” His eyes narrowed slightly as the next words escaped.

“You mentioned the Black Rose.” He let the name settle between them. “Their roots run deep into the criminal underworld, to places even men like me dare not stray. I heard of them long before I ever stepped foot in Sorian. Trust me when I say…” he leaned in just a fraction, lowering his voice, “they are not an organization to be fucked with.”

He let that sink in before exhaling through his nose, shaking his head slightly. “If they’re involved in all of this… if you’ve caught even a whisper of their name in connection to whatever mess you’re untangling, then you’re playing a game where the stakes are higher than you can imagine. And once you start pulling on these threads, there’s no telling what kind of monster is waiting at the other end of the rope.”

He hesitated, his gaze searching hers for something—uncertainty, fear, anything that might make her reconsider her path.

“Pick your battles, Lottie.” His expression grew serious once more. “And for fuck’s sake, don’t play this game alone.”

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

FLASHBACK

Lottie & Cas

Part 6

Time: Sola 26th

Location: Rosegate
Mention: @Tpartywithzombi Violet

Cassius’s smirk faltered. His eyes fell away from hers.

The word hung in the air, heavier than it had any right to be. Kind. He had been called many things in his life—most of them curses, spat from the lips of men and women who had every reason to hate him. A bastard. A brute. A mercenary. Even scourge.

But kind.

It had been some time since anyone had used that word to describe him.

His fingers curled slightly against the stem of his wine glass. The instinct to deflect, to joke, to turn it into something lighter was there. But he let the moment breathe, let the weight of her words settle into the cracks of his carefully crafted armor.

Finally, he exhaled, his voice quieter than before.

“Not to everyone.” he admitted, meeting her gaze with something softer than his usual arrogance. “But I do make exceptions for those worth being kind to.” His words drew a brief exhale from Charlotte as a wide genuine smile crossed her face.

Grabbing his own fork, Cassius let his patented smile return and his eyes met hers once more. “Speaking of kind… I’ve decided to be a real gentleman and let you have the first taste of this—let’s be honest—perfect meal.“

Charlotte gasped as if she had been bestowed the highest honor of the land. “Really!” she breathed, her eyes twinkling with delight. A determined little furrow formed between her brows as she bit her lip, setting her sights on the prize before her.

With unnecessary enthusiasm, she carefully took up her knife and fork, cutting into the steak. Once she had a piece ready for the taking, she stabbed it and then lifted it triumphantly. Then perhaps, overdramatically, Charlotte placed it into her mouth. The moment the rich flavors hit her tongue, her expression softened into sheer bliss. Her eyes lit up and she swayed slightly in her seat, the fork lingering in her mouth. After a moment, she finally delivered a comment. “ Oh—Oh that’s simply unfair.” She giggled and held up a finger, “I may need a moment. This is a life-changing experience.”

As Charlotte savored her first bite, Cassius dug into his own meal with no less enthusiasm. And damn it all, she was right. It was a life-changing experience. The steak was cooked to perfection, rich and tender, bursting with flavors that paired sinfully well with the full-bodied wine that just kept on flowing.

They fell into an easy rhythm—forks cutting, glasses clinking, the air between them filled with warmth and quiet laughter. By the time the plates were cleared, and two had found themselves somewhere between their 3rd and 4th glass of wine, the tension of the day had unraveled entirely. The open-air was full with their conversation meandering as the drinks loosened their tongues and dulled the sharper edges of their worries. Cassius found himself right at home in this space, smack dab in the middle of a story.

"So, there I was, enjoying a peaceful night stroll—because, you know, I have such refined and cultured hobbies—when I found scraps of fabric on the ground. Now, most men would see that and keep walking, but I’m nothing if not a curious bastard, and it looked too much like a path leading to something less than savory. And wouldn’t you know it, I hear a scuffle just beyond the trees.”

Cassius, tipping his wine glass slightly, watching the deep red liquid swirl lazily, leaned forward, eyes gleaming as he recounted the moment.

“I slip in, silent as a shadow, and what do I find? A bleeding man standing over a woman—her face pale as death, but mouth smeared in blood. And the bastard was about to lay hands on her. Now, I’m no knight, but I don’t much like the sight of a man towering over a woman like he owns her. So, I did what any self-respecting hero would do.”

He grinned wickedly, gesturing vaguely with his hand.

“I pointed my axe at the bastard and told him to calm the fuck down—or else I’d color the rest of him with his own blood. Charming, I know. But here’s the kicker—while I’m making my grand entrance, the other fool comes running up saying something about guards taking down their men, and suddenly they realize their little kidnapping scheme is falling apart.”

Cassius exhaled sharply, shaking his head.

“Of course, being the intellectual giants they were, their master plan quickly devolved into ‘grab the girl and run.’ And that’s when the fun started. The guy with the sword thought he could outmatch me.” He scoffed.

“Poor fool didn’t last long. Broke his nose, dodged a few panicked swings, then cracked his skull open with my axe. Messy business, really. Meanwhile, the woman is out here clawing at the other one like a wild animal. She was quite the spectacle, Charlotte—a vicious little thing.”

His expression darkened slightly, his fingers drumming against the table in dramatic fashion.

“The last one—the ringleader—he got away. Dropped some ominous threats before vanishing into the night, but by then, I had more pressing matters to deal with.”

He leaned back, shaking his head in mock disbelief.

“And do you know the first the poor girl—whom I had just saved from some rather nasty thugs—said to me?” His lips curled into a smirk.

“Not 'thank you,' not 'who are you?' No, she looks me dead in the eye and says, ‘You should have let them kill me.’”

His eyes dropped to the swirling wine once again as he took a sip and pondered the weirdness of it all.

“What a hell of a way to meet my sister, eh?”

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

WARNING: This scene contains suggestive material, including references to sexual fantasies, objectification, and power dynamics in a sexualized context.

Time: 12pm by the end
Location: Edin Theater
Interaction: @Helo Callum @Silverpaw Wulfric @JJ Doe Morrigan
Mention: @FunnyGuy Lorenzo

---

Edin's laughter boomed through the banquet hall, loud and obnoxious as if Callum had just uttered the most profound wisdom ever spoken.

“Ah! Now that is a thought, boy!” he guffawed, slapping his meaty hand on the table hard enough to make some napkins fall on the floor. “A dancer and a jester, all in one! Entertaining and obedient! And people say you’re useless, Callum! Ha! Not today, not today!”

Meanwhile, Alibeth grimaced, her expression tightening. She had no interest in the so-called jester, nor did she appreciate Callum's amusement at the idea. “Must you encourage him?” she muttered under her breath

“I wonder how long this one can last before he lands himself on the execution block.”

Edin’s laughter faltered, his goblet pausing mid-air. His drunken amusement dimmed just slightly, a flicker of irritation flashing through his glazed-over eyes. For a brief moment, the air around him seemed to shift as if he might turn his ire toward Wulfric. But then, just as quickly, he scoffed and threw back the rest of his wine in a single, gluttonous gulp.

“Hah! You say that as if half this court isn’t already skating on thin ice,” he muttered, setting his goblet down with an audible clunk. His fingers drummed against the table, his amusement returning, “But I must admit, that would be an entertaining way to end the show. Imagine the grand finale—" he smirked and flicked his wrist theatrically, “a lovely little dance… right off the edge of the gallows!” He roared with laughter again, as if his own jest had brought him back to life.

Meanwhile, Alibeth’s lips pressed into a thin line, her expression momentarily unreadable.

As Lorenzo then took the stage, Edin let out a deep, exasperated sigh, already bracing himself for whatever nonsense was about to unfold. His fingers drummed against the armrest. “Oh, great. This idiot again,” he muttered, barely bothering to lower his voice. His patience for Lorenzo Vikena was thinner than the strings holding up Kazumin Nagasa’s puppet earlier.

At first, Edin was delighted as Lorenzo summoned an entire marching band from the audience. His eyes lit up, his grin stretching wide as he clapped his buttery fingers together. His amusement only grew as the ribbon dancers came on stage, and the poppy petals rained down upon Lorenzo like a self-proclaimed war hero.

Then he heard them.

The instant the trumpets blared, Edin’s fingers went rigid around his goblet, his knuckles whitening. His entire body stiffened, his breath caught mid-sip. It was as if the very walls of the theater had collapsed, and suddenly, he was not here.

Edin’s jaw clenched as his breathing grew shallower. His grip on the goblet tightened, then he slammed it down onto the armrest with a force that sent wine sloshing over the edges. Alibeth, already irritated by Lorenzo’s display, turned at the sound of his goblet slamming down.

“Edin?”

“...A Danrose does not flinch.” Edin exhaled sharply and shoved the handful of popcorn into his mouth with force, chewing with exaggerated enthusiasm. His jaw worked harder than necessary, his fingers drummed against the chair’s armrest.

However, he finally did turn his attention to his family with a look of fury. “Who in the hell allowed those damnable trumpets?! Who approved this?!” He began to rise, looming like a storm about to break. His body vibrated with unchecked fury, his nostrils flaring as his dark eyes burned with something nearly unhinged.

The trumpets still rang in his ears. “I will not sit here and be subjected to this assault on my ears! My court deserves better! My kingdom deserves better! I deserve—”

His hand lashed out, goblet nearly flying from his grip, but before he could send it crashing onto the floor below—

Alibeth’s hand shot out, gripping his wrist with surprising force. Her amber eyes burned into his, and her grip was firm.

For a moment, he looked at her as if he might fight it. But then, something in her expression made him hesitate. His chest heaved, his lip curled, but he did not pull away. Instead, he yanked his arm back with a huff, slamming himself against his seat.

“Damn trumpets,” he muttered under his breath, shoving a handful of popcorn into his mouth. Grumbling, he crossed his arms, shifting uncomfortably as the wretched music continued. Every time a trumpet sounded, he flinched slightly, his fingers tightening around the chair.

Finally, the infernal noise stopped. Edin exhaled, far too loudly, as if he had just survived an ordeal.

And then Lorenzo opened his mouth.

“‘The Duke of Vermillion is here!” Edin mocked under his breath, sneering. “Like anyone gives a damn.” His eyes flicked to Wulfric, as if seeking confirmation that he wasn’t the only one witnessing this absurd display. Then, Lorenzo dared to mock the Varians and Alidasht!

Edin’s eyes widened slightly before he barked out a short, humorless laugh. “Oh, this will go well,” he muttered. “Although… He’s right, for once. We are much better than them.”

“Does… Does he think this volunteer charity event is a competition?” Alibeth’s tone was light, almost amused—almost—but the slight tilt of her chin and the flicker of irritation in her amber eyes made it clear she was certainly anything but amused.

As soon as Lorenzo dared to summon Anastasia as though she were some common musician at his beck and call, Alibeth’s lips pressed into a thin line, her eyes narrowing into cold, piercing slits. “How dare he,” she murmured icily. Edin, still muttering about Lorenzo’s idiocy, seemed surprised by her sudden intensity.

Then, without looking at him, she spoke again, louder this time. “Anastasia is a princess, not some performer to be summoned at a fool’s whim.” She exhaled, though irritation flickered in her gaze as she scanned the stage.

“If she indulges him in front of everyone—” she shook her head, unwilling to finish the thought. The disgrace of it was unthinkable. Instead, she turned to Edin, her voice deceptively light yet laced with frost. “Tell me, Edin, how much longer must we tolerate this fool? Is it really all that necessary to keep the tradition of the Vikena family as members of the nobility considering the risk they present? ”

“Until he dies, I suppose.”

And then, right on cue, Anastasia took the stage. Alibeth exhaled slowly, her gaze darkening. “Of course she went up.” The words left her lips in a cold murmur, more to herself than anyone else.

Edin scoffed loudly before Lorenzo could even start his poem, leaning forward with a self-satisfied smirk. “Love? I’ll tell you what it is—expensive.” He gestured broadly, nearly knocking over his goblet again. “Costs a man his coin, his freedom, and if he’s really unlucky—his peace of mind.”

Then after the first few lines of Lorenzo’s poem, Edin spoke up once more, “Love this, love that—where’s the part where he trips over his own feet and makes this worth my time?” He lazily gestured toward the stage. “I say we speed things up. Someone toss a banana peel in his path.”

The king then let out a long, exaggerated yawn, stretching his arms dramatically before slumping further into his chair. “This is getting dreary. Someone wake me up if he starts making sense… or if he actually throws himself off the stage or something.”

As the words “wipes her juices from his chin” rang through the theater, Edin’s half-lidded eyes shot open. A slow, lecherous smirk crept onto his face, and he suddenly sat up straighter, one brow arching with interest.

“Well, well, well…” he murmured, his voice a deep purr as he leaned forward, fingers lazily tapping against his knee. His mind began to drift—no, plummet—into a vivid daydream, his expression shifting to something disturbingly pleased. The theater faded from his senses as a sultry haze overtook his mind, transporting him to his bed chamber filled with his adoring concubines.

In his vision, they surrounded him, their hands tracing over his body, their voices breathy and eager. “Oh, my King… our god among men,” one whispered breathlessly against his ear.

Another trailed fingers down his chest, tracing patterns through the remnants of oil smeared across his skin. “Your Majesty is perfection… untouchable… desired by all…” she purred.

Edin grinned lazily, arms stretching over the pillows beneath him, letting his women fawn over him. “Of course I am,” he murmured, licking his lips as one of them placed a grape between his teeth. “The greatest king who ever lived… the most powerful… the most needed.”

One of his favorites settled beside him, pressing a kiss to his temple. “No man could ever compare, Your Majesty.”

“Mmm… Say it again,” he groaned, his grip tightening in her hair as he tugged her closer.

“You are the only King… the only one we could ever love… ever serve,” she whispered.

This was where he belonged, where he deserved to be—adored, worshipped, exalted. Every sigh, every touch, every desperate murmur of devotion fed his insatiable hunger for admiration.

The women giggled, scrambling to please, hands smoothing oils into his skin, lips brushing along his knuckles, down his arms, over the slope of his belly. His head lolled back against the pillows, a satisfied chuckle escaping him as he basked in the overwhelming adulation.

“Yes, yes… that’s it…” he murmured.

But then a sharp voice through the haze. “Edin.” His eyes snapped open.

Edin groaned in frustration, rubbing his temples as reality crashed down. He shot a sour glance at his wife before huffing and slouching back into his chair, arms crossed over his chest like a spoiled child.

“Ridiculous poetry,” he muttered under his breath.

Alibeth, however, had been listening intently the entire time. The poetry itself was competent, perhaps even moving, but what truly fascinated her was what it revealed. Lorenzo’s so-called art was nothing more than a self-indulgent confession, a carefully veiled lament of a man who did not lose to love, but destroyed it. A man who had no control over his vices, no self-awareness, no accountability. And yet, he stood before them, holding power, speaking as if his suffering were profound rather than predictable.

Her fingers tapped idly against her glass. “A tragic tale,” she mused, voice cool, detached. “Though I wonder if the woman in it would agree.”

She took a slow sip of wine before continuing, her words precise, razor-sharp. “A Duke who romanticizes his own ruin. Who stands before his King and people, not only admitting to drowning in drink but reveling in it—as if self-destruction is something to be applauded.” Her gaze slid over them all and she presented a smile devoid of actual joy. “Forgive me if I don’t weep.”

Finally it was time for Anastasia to perform. Her voice carried through the theater with anything but the grace of a princess. Alibeth’s lips pressed into a thin line as she watched her bring up the Darryn dilemma. “In front of everyone,” she murmured.

Meanwhile, Edin, who had been half-lost in his own thoughts (and, perhaps, his daydreams), initially paid little mind to the performance. But as the music swelled, something strange happened. His chewing slowed, his expression shifting from vague amusement to something harder to define. He stared at the stage, and for the first time in a long while, he was silent.

She is just like her father—impulsive, indulgent, driven by whatever feeling seizes them in the moment.

Alibeth felt naive to have thought she might be impressed tonight, that perhaps Anastasia would at least wield her artistry with dignity. She was talented but what use was talent if it was wielded with such disgraceful abandon? She exhaled slowly, setting her glass down with measured grace.

“Weak,” she murmured to no one in particular, watching as her daughter let herself unravel for all of Sorian to see. “She makes herself look weak. And worse—she makes us look weak.”

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

FLASHBACK

Lottie & Cas

Part 5

Time: Sola 26th

Location: Rosegate

Upon arrival, the train gently slowed to a halt, and the conductor announced their destination. Cassius stood, offering his hand to Charlotte with a playful grin. "Shall we, princess?"

Charlotte smiled and took his hand, and then together, they stepped onto the platform and were greeted by the picturesque charm of Rosegate. The town's cobblestone streets wound through lush gardens, and elegant vacation homes of nobles dotted the landscape, all overlooking the serene coastline. The air was filled with the scent of sea salt and blooming flowers, creating an atmosphere both tranquil and inviting.

Cassius led Charlotte through the quaint streets, his demeanor casual yet buzzing with confidence and subtle anticipation. As they walked, the distant sound of waves grew closer, and the town's vibrant markets and cozy cafes gradually gave way to a more secluded path.

Rounding a bend, they emerged onto a secluded seaside clearing. Before them was an exquisite setup: a round table draped in crimson velvet awaited, its surface adorned with fine dishes, gleaming silverware, and the rich aroma of a gourmet feast. A grand bouquet of scarlet roses crowned the center, surrounded by a warm constellation of candles and gilded lanterns that cast soft, flickering light. Live musicians played gentle melodies, their notes dancing on the ocean breeze. A waiter stood attentively beside a makeshift bar, while a chef busied himself at a nearby station, preparing what promised to be a sumptuous meal.

It was evident that this was no ordinary restaurant but a meticulously orchestrated event, crafted by Cassius specifically for this occasion. The setting was intimate, the ambiance perfect, and the effort unmistakable.

Charlotte’s feet moved on her own accord, guided by her awe and disbelief. She stepped forward, her gaze sweeping over the table laden with food, the flickering candles, and the musicians softly playing in the background.

Even the waiter seemed to glide about the dock, unnoticed through the scene.

All of it was bathed in the magical glow of moonlight, as if it were a scene from a painting, and each detail felt more surreal than the last. Her eyes widened, and her lips parted in stunned silence as though the display before her was too grand for words.

Time seemed to stretch as she stood there, completely lost in the moment, until the warmth of Cassius’s breath stirred against her ear. “I know what you're thinking, Lottie...good looks, love sonnets, the best damn dance partner in Sorian, and I plan a date like no one else could. You’re right…truly, gods above, I am impressive."

“So close.” She paused and slowly turned around to face him, raising a brow with playful amusement, “I must admit, I was thinking, that perhaps with the way you’ve held yourself in such high regard tonight, this date—fit for a honeymoon, mind you—was set up more to seduce yourself than to impress me.” She met his gaze, her teasing smile barely concealing the laughter that threatened to bubble up. “Though, I suppose, you have been calling me ‘princess’ all night…”

With a soft sigh, she relented, her expression softening into something sweeter as she gazed at him with warm appreciation. “But truly, Cassius... I cannot thank you enough. I don’t know if anyone has ever done anything like this for me before.”

“Damn. Caught me.” He exhaled dramatically, shaking his head as though utterly betrayed by his own vanity. “Here I was, thinking I could dazzle you with moonlight and candlelit perfection, but alas—my true intentions laid bare. This was never about impressing you, was it?” He brought a hand to his chest in feigned woe, then grinned. “No, no. This was about seducing me.”

Charlotte giggled again as Cassius took a step back, as if truly taking in the scene with fresh eyes. His lips quirked upward, barely suppressing a chuckle. “And you know what? By the gods, it’s working.”

He let the teasing hang in the air for a moment before his expression softened. His gaze lingered on her, tracing the way the candlelight played against her features—the quiet awe still lingering in her eyes, the warmth in her voice when she spoke.

“But really, Lottie…” His voice dropped just a fraction, sincerity slipping through the cracks of his usual bravado. “If no one’s ever done anything like this for you before…” He lifted her hand to his lips, brushing a slow, deliberate kiss against her knuckles. “Then they’ve all been fools.”

With that, he pulled out her chair with an elegant flourish, the roguish glint in his eye never fading. “Now, before we get too lost in how incredibly charming I am, let’s sit before the food gets cold, shall we?”

Charlotte’s cheeks bloomed with a soft pink hue as she felt the warmth of his lips against her hand. The softness of his kiss, paired with the gentle sincerity in his eyes, made her feel like she was standing on the edge of something both thrilling and terrifying.

She had never been the recipient of many romantic gestures, or perhaps any at all… And this—this made her nerves dance. because it was unfamiliar, because he was so undeniably beautiful, and because, deep down, he was the son of her enemy.

No matter how effortlessly charming he was, how easy it felt to get lost in his gaze, she couldn’t let herself forget that part—not yet.

She took a deep breath and offered him a grateful smile. As she sat down gracefully, she adjusted her skirt, the fabric swirling around her. She turned her attention as the rich flavors wafted toward her on the sea breeze, stirring a quiet hum of appreciation from her lips.

As Charlotte settled into her seat, a moment of quiet stretched between them. The air was thick with something unspoken, charged yet oddly comfortable. Cassius lingered for a beat before following suit, lowering himself into his chair with his own effortless grace.

His fingers drummed idly against the table before he gestured toward the two wine glasses set before them. Without hesitation, she reached for the white wine. Her gaze lowered as she watched the pale liquid just enough to watch the way it clung to the sides as she swirled it around.

“I wasn’t sure if you preferred red or white, so I figured—why not both?” His lips curled into a roguish grin. “What’s the point of all this bloody Damien money if not to spend it on occasions like this?”

Before Charlotte could even respond, the waiter arrived, his movements precise and practiced as he lifted the gleaming silver cloche. A wave of warmth carried the rich, savory scent of seared meat and slow-roasted vegetables, wrapping around them like an embrace.

Centered on the plate was a perfectly seared filet mignon, its glistening surface etched with crisp grill marks, crowned with a sprig of fresh rosemary. Beside it, a swirl of creamy mashed potatoes pooled with rich brown gravy, dotted with herbs. Charred pearl onions and caramelized baby carrots flanked the dish, their golden hues catching the flicker of nearby candlelight.

The waiter stepped back, his subtle smile reflecting quiet confidence as he introduced the chef and detailed the careful artistry behind each element of the meal.

Cassius, for once, didn’t interrupt with a joke. Instead, he let the moment settle, watching Charlotte as she took in the sight before them. The candlelight softened the sharp angles of his face as he leaned in slightly, his voice smooth but sincere.

“So, princess…” His gaze lingered on hers, the usual teasing edge tempered by something more genuine. “I know we didn’t have the best start, but after everything… how am I holding up in your estimations?”

Charlotte’s eyes lit up, her smile blooming with warmth as she took in the beautifully arranged meal before her, the golden light casting an almost dreamlike glow across the table. She reached for her fork with eager anticipation but hesitated, her gaze flickering upward as Cassius’s voice caught her attention.

“Hmm… Hmm… well, I must admit, my opinion of you has improved considerably since the night we first met. That’s for certain.” A breathy, lilting giggle escaped her as she spoke, her posture softening. Her fingers curled beneath her chin as she leaned in slightly, regarding him with teasing amusement.

Cassius smirked, lifting his glass of sherry red to his lips but not drinking just yet. He had expected a playful remark, maybe even a sharp one, but the warmth in her eyes made him pause. Fair enough. He mused within his mind’s eye.

“A nobleman who has not lived as one, yet carries all the arrogance of one who has…” she mused playfully, “That is what you seem like at first glance.” With that, she leaned her chin in her hands with a warm smile.

Again, fair…very very fair. The thoughts crossed just as he went ahead and took that first, delectable sip of wine.

She let the thought hang between them, her gaze trailing over him as though she were committing some grand discovery to memory. “But upon closer inspection…” Charlotte exhaled softly as if revealing some great revelation. “I daresay that is not who you are at all. No, if I have learned anything in the time I have spent with you, Cassius, it is that beneath all that bravado… She deliberately paused before her voice dipped into something softer and sincere.

He half expected her to say something scathing, something biting yet playful. She would probably call him reckless. Foolish, perhaps. Maybe even dangerous. A scoundrel, the rake of all rakes, even. All things he had been called before, and all things that carried at least a sliver of truth.

“I believe you are kind.”

With that, she lifted her fork at last with brows raised in warning, as if to say: Do not let it go to your head.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

FLASHBACK

Lottie & Cas

Part 4

Time: Sola 26th

Location: The Train

Cassius watched her, his stormy eyes keen, attuned to every shift in her expression, every flicker of emotion that crossed her face. He had expected another jest, another deflection wrapped in her sweet brand of charm, but instead, she peeled back a layer of herself, revealing something tender and real. It was… unexpected.

He said nothing at first, merely studying her as the air between them grew quieter, heavier—not with discomfort, but with something unspoken, something fragile. His smirk had faded, replaced by a thoughtful intensity, his gaze tracing the way her fingers curled around the hidden locket, as if anchoring herself to something long past.

For all his teasing, for all his bravado, Cassius understood loss. He knew what it was to cling to ghosts.

Leaning forward slightly, he rested his forearms on the table, his voice losing its usual sharp edge. “You will.” The certainty in his tone left no room for doubt. “You’re not the sort to let go of what matters, princess. Not without a fight.”

His gaze dropped briefly to where her hand still lingered over the locket, then returned to meet her eyes with something softer—something absent of jest, absent of mockery. Just understanding.

“You know, I used to tell myself that remembering them too often made it worse.” His voice was quieter now, not hushed, but missing that usual boldness, as if he were testing the weight of the words before fully committing to them. “That it was better to keep moving, to keep drinking…fighting…anything to keep from looking back.”

A short, humorless chuckle escaped him, his eyes flickering up to hers. “Didn’t work, though. Turns out memories don’t give a damn about how fast you run.”

Then, as if sensing the moment teetering on the edge of something too raw, too deep, Cassius let a smirk cross the corner of his lips. He reached for his drink as the attendant returned, swirling the amber liquid in his glass before lifting it in an easy toast. “To the ones we hold close, then.” His eyes locked with hers, something unspoken passing between them. “And to making damn sure they stick around.” He tapped a finger idly against his glass before finally taking a sip, letting the burn of the alcohol settle in his throat.

Charlotte watched him, attuned not just to his words but to the spaces between them—the weight of what he wasn’t saying. For all of Cassius’s teasing and swagger, there was something different in his tone now, something almost… careful.

Careful.

The word lodged itself in her mind. Cassius did not seem like someone who usually moved with caution. Not in the way he spoke, not in the way he moved through life… And yet, here he was, speaking of memories like a man who had made a habit of burying them rather than carrying them.

Memories don’t give a damn about how fast you run.

The way he had said that had seemed almost resigned as if it was a truth he had learned the hard way, a truth that still chased him even as he ran, but could never outrun.

And suddenly, she saw him, just as quickly as he had seen her just moments ago.

Not the smirking playboy who lived for the thrill of the next drink, the next fight, the next fleeting pleasure…But a man who had spent years running, drowning, numbing….A man who had learned to treat ghosts not as something to hold close but as something to push away, before they could reach for him first.

And Charlotte Vikena knew what it was to run from ghosts, but she also knew what it was to be caught by them.

She exhaled before reaching for her own glass. With a tilt of her wrist, she mirrored his toast, lifting it high.

"To the ones we hold close," she echoed softly, Her gaze met his, lingering for just a moment longer than intended, before she added with a small smile, "And to making damn sure they never fade."

The crystal clinked between them and she took a slow sip, letting the burn of the drink warm her chest.

Then, almost absently, her gaze dropped, settling on the swirl of her champagne. Her fingers toyed with the stem of the glass as she spoke again. It was not as a grand revelation, not as something rehearsed, but as a truth that had long lived in the quiet corners of her heart.

"You know…” she murmured, her voice quieter now. She wasn’t even sure she wanted to say this aloud.

But she did.

" I’ve always thought that trying to push away the memories of the ones we lost…letting them slip through the cracks of time—" she exhaled, shaking her head lightly, "It’s almost like losing them all over again… A second death, in a way." Her gaze narrowed with sadness as she seemed to be honing her focus on the liquid of her drink. Then that hollow laugh of his echoed in her mind and she dared to meet his eyes finally.

You’re a lonely man…Aren’t you, Cassius Vael?

Cassius let the warmth of the drink settle in his chest, but it wasn’t just the alcohol that lingered. It was the way she looked at him—like she saw past the bravado, past the easy smiles and humor. Like she understood.

His fingers tapped once against his glass before stilling. “A second death,” he echoed. He tilted his head slightly, studying her, then huffed a small breath that wasn’t quite a laugh. “Damn, Charlotte. That’s one way to put it.”

There was no teasing in it. No deflection. Just an unguarded honesty that slipped through the cracks before he could stop it. His gaze flickered down for the briefest moment, and when he looked back at her, something in his eyes was different.

“Maybe that’s why I never stop moving.” A faint smirk tugged at his lips, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “If I stand still too long… I might start counting the graves.”

Charlotte’s expression softened as she let the warmth in her eyes speak for her. She then reached out, her fingers grazing his before resting gently over his hand. Holding his gaze, she murmured with gentle kindness, “If you’re not alone… you might not.”

For a moment, Cassius didn’t move. His fingers remained still beneath hers, as if uncertain whether to pull away or press closer. His lips parted slightly, a breath catching somewhere between a laugh and something else entirely. He glanced at her hand over his, then back up at her—blue eyes steady, unwavering.

“Suppose I’ll just have to stick around and test your theory, then.” His smirk returned, lazy and laced with something unreadable. His gaze flicked to the window, to the world rushing past, but his hand remained in the warmth of her touch. “But if you start making me sentimental, I’m holding you personally responsible.”

Charlotte’s lips curled, her fingers lightly tapping against his. “First it’s sentimentality, then suddenly you’re reciting love sonnets on horseback.” A giggle bubbled up as she added playfully, “Don’t worry, if it comes to that, I’ll make sure the horse spares us all and throws you off before the second verse.”

Cassius scoffed, his smirk deepening as he tilted his glass toward her in mock offense. “Now, now, don’t underestimate me, love.” His voice was smooth, edged with casual amusement. “I’m already the best in the world at everything I do…if I start adding love sonnets to the list, it’d be downright unfair. Imagine all the poor noble fools trying to woo their way into a fair maiden’s heart, only to realize they never stood a chance.”

He leaned in slightly, eyes gleaming with mischief. “It’d be cruel, really.”

She simply laughed and rolled her eyes at his arrogance as the train journeyed toward Rosegate, Cassius and Charlotte continued their conversation, the initial barriers between them gradually dissolving. Laughter intermingled with shared stories, and moments of silence spoke volumes as they found a comfortable rhythm in each other's company.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Charlotte Flashback

FLASHBACK

1723

The train rumbled through the countryside toward Veirmont, the setting sun streaking gold across the plush seats and polished wood.

Six-year-old Charlotte Vikena, perched on her knees on the seat, was peering determinedly over the edge of the window, her hands gripping the sill as her nose pressed against the glass. Her blue eyes sparkled as they darted over rolling hills and distant farmhouses, taking in every detail.

“I do believe we are going entirely too slow,” she proclaimed into the glass, her voice slightly muffled. With a huff, she twisted to face her father with indignation, “Papa, we must tell the conductor to go faster.”

Before anyone could reply, she sprang to her feet, fists clenched at her sides. “Buttercup is all alone! He’s probably so, soooo sad!” The defiance in her tone was only matched by the sheer heartbreak she imagined her beloved beagle was enduring in her absence.

Walter Vikena sat across from her, looking as rakish and amused as always. His hazel eyes sparkled with mischievous warmth as if they held the secret to every joke worth telling. Brown, tousled hair framed his face with an unruly elegance. “Ah, but my dearest Lottie,” He drawled dramatically, leaning forward as if he were about to reveal a grand secret, “Do you know what happens if a train goes too fast?”

Charlotte’s eyes widened, intrigued despite herself. “What?” she whispered.

Walter glanced around as if making sure no one was listening, then gasped dramatically. “It takes off.” He then gestured with both hands like a bird taking off, grinning ear to ear.

Charlotte blinked in disbelief and repeated, “Takes off?”

“Yes!” he exclaimed, sitting up suddenly and spreading his arms wide. “Straight into the sky! Pfft—like a bird! Off it goes! Whoosh! And then we shall be riding the train among the clouds, dodging wayward geese and sky pirates.” He waggled his brows. “I, for one, forgot my parachute, so I really must insist we keep it at a reasonable speed.”

Charlotte gasped, “Sky pirates?!”

“Indeed. I fought one once.” Walter sighed wistfully, shaking his head. “Lost a hat that day. Fine hat, too. Tragic.”

Charlotte narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously. He was lying. She knew it, but it was a good lie. “I want to fight sky pirates.” She crossed her arms defiantly.

“You?” Walter grinned. “Little Lottie versus the most feared sky pirate of the seven winds? Oh no, too dangerous.” He tsked, shaking his head.

“He would lose.” She declared matter of factly. Her brows rose as if she were challenging the man here and now, “Then I’d be the best sky pirate ever!” Charlotte tossed her dark curls back, sitting up tall.

Walter let out an overly dramatic gasp and grabbed his chest as if he’d just been mortally wounded.

Emina Vikena, sitting beside them with a gentle, knowing smile, turned the page of her book. “Walter, do try not to recruit our daughter into piracy before she’s even finished her elementary studies.”

Walter turned toward Emina with a mischievous grin, “Elementary studies are important, of course,” he said, leaning back in his seat with a flourish, “but imagine how impressive her resume will be with Sky Pirate Queen listed under her achievements. I’m just saying, it’s forward-thinking.”

Emina chuckled softly, closing her book for a moment to give him a pointed look. “And I’m just saying, perhaps we aim for something a bit more grounded first. Like arithmetic.”

Walter sighed dramatically, waving a hand. “Arithmetic, smarithmetic. Fractions won’t help when she’s fighting rogue airships.”

Emina rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide the affectionate smile tugging at her lips. “You’re impossible, Walter.”

“Impossible? No, no, my darling Emina.” Walter slid over to her side of the carriage with the grace of a man who could charm the moon from the sky. He knelt dramatically before her, taking her hand in his as if she were a queen being serenaded. “I am but a man... bound by fate, cursed with devastating charm, and… utterly helpless in the presence of your beauty.”

Emina’s laughter was soft but genuine as she tried to pull her hand back. “Walter, the children—”

“What about the children?” Charlotte piped up, clearly delighted by her parents’ exchange. She hopped down from her seat, placing her hands on her hips and looking between them with an exaggerated air of authority. “Mama, you should listen to him.”

Walter turned to Charlotte with an exaggerated look of gratitude. “Ah, my loyal first mate! Thank you for your support. Together, we’ll rule the skies!”

Emina sighed, shaking her head with exasperation, though the corners of her lips betrayed her amusement. “You’re both incorrigible…” She reached out, brushing a curl away from Charlotte’s face before turning to Walter with a small, knowing smile. Leaning over, she placed a soft kiss on his cheek and straightened his slightly askew cravat. “I am simply saying we should keep her grounded in reality. You’ll have her saying such things so often, that some might tell us to send her to the sanatorium.”

Walter stared as if betrayed and retorted with playful indignation, “Next, you’ll be suggesting we don’t let her design her own pirate flag!”

Charlotte’s face lit up. “A pirate flag! BLUE! And Buttercup’s face! So everyone knows it’s mine!” She raised her fists triumphantly in the air. “And everyone will know I’m coming! For ALL the gold! Even the biggest, shiniest ones!!”

Emina pressed a hand to her temple, laughing softly despite herself. “Walter, I swear, one of these days—”

But before she could finish, the compartment door slid open with a sudden clatter, and Gideon stumbled inside, his arms laden with a balanced pile of plates.

“Blueberry scones!” he announced triumphantly as he wobbled down the aisle. “And they’re still warm—Wally, you have to try one. They’re—”

His sentence was cut off as the train jolted, and he barely managed to steady himself, plates teetering in his grasp. Walter leaned back casually, one leg crossed over the other, and watched the scene unfold with amusement

“Oh Giddy! Bestow me a SCONE!” Walter’s voice took on a singsong quality as he had suddenly bellowed.

Charlotte, ever her father’s daughter, tilted her head and gave Gideon a sweet, overly innocent smile. “Uncle Gideon, did you bring Mama and I a plate too, or just Papa?”

Walter’s grin widened, “Clearly, Gideon’s here to profess his undying love for me through baked goods.” He leaned toward Gideon, fluttering his lashes exaggeratedly. “It’s alright, Gideon. You can admit it. We all know.”

Gideon groaned, rolling his eyes as he carefully set the plates down on the small table between them. “Walter, I hate to break your heart, but the scones aren’t for you.” He smirked and handed a plate to Charlotte. “They’re for your daughter. You know, the person who actually deserves them.”

Walter did another of his theatrical gasps, slamming his hands on the table, “Betrayed by my dearest friend! I thought we had something special. The stolen glances, the lingering moments—”

“Stolen glances?” Gideon interrupted with a raised brow, barely holding back his laughter. “Walter, the last time I looked at you for too long, it was because you had jam on your chin and refused to wipe it off.”

“Ah, yes,” Walter sighed. “That was a test of our bond, Giddy. And you failed.”

“You’re just upset because I’m taller.” Gideon shot back, wiping his hands on a napkin.

Walter scoffed. “Taller? By what, half an inch?”

“Two inches.”

“That’s debatable.”

“It’s really not.”

“I think the sun is warping my perception—”

“You’re just in denial.”

“Am not."

Gideon smirked. “Face it, Wally. Some men are just born to reach the top shelf, and some are destined to ask for help.”

Charlotte cackled, clapping her hands. “Uncle Giddy wins!”

Walter looked to Emina for support. “Do you see what I endure? This cruelty? This public humiliation?”

Emina, who had been quietly enjoying a scone, simply patted his arm. “Yes, dear. It’s tragic.”

Walter sighed, utterly defeated, while Gideon smirked in victory and reached for a scone.

Then the door slid open again, this time with a sharp thwack as Duchess Victoria stormed in, napkin in hand and fire in her eyes. “Gideon Edwards!” she snapped, pointing the napkin at him like a weapon. “You left me and the children alone with that insufferable Lord Smith! He tried to explain his damn hat collection to us for twenty minutes! ” She marched up to him and swatted his arm with the napkin. “And here you are, flirting with fucking Duke Vikena again!”

Walter barked out a laugh, leaning forward with both hands on his knees.

Charlotte tugged on Victoria’s skirt with a mischievous grin. “Don’t worry. If Papa marries Uncle Giddy, you can come with us to be sky pirates. We’ll need someone to boss around the geese!”

Even Emina couldn’t contain her laughter at that, covering her mouth with her hand as her shoulders shook. Victoria’s mouth opened and closed as if trying to form a response. Finally, she let out an exasperated huff and swatted Walter again with her napkin.

Before she could withdraw it, Walter leaned forward with unexpected speed, catching the corner of the napkin in his teeth. He let out an exaggerated growling noise, shaking his head like an unruly dog playing tug-of-war.

Victoria yelped in outrage, pulling back with no small amount of force, but the sheer ridiculousness of it caused even her resolve to falter. Her indignant glare softened ever so slightly as her lips twitched—whether in anger or reluctant amusement was unclear.

Across from her, Gideon’s expression was different. As the chaos unfolded, his lips curled into a quiet smile, subtle yet unmistakably warm. His eyes brightened ever so slightly as his gaze lingered. Just a second too long. A moment filled with something softer, something unspoken.

And then, as quickly as it had come, it was gone. Gideon’s usual composed demeanor returned as he shook his head and murmured under his breath, still smiling. “Idiot.”