princess

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Time: Evening
Location: Carriage → Ballroom
Attire: Outfit
Interaction: @FunnyGuy Lorenzo @Potter Olivia @Oso Cassius

---

“Ya, Lottie! Ana hoonaaa… Oh!”

Charlotte’s gaze whirled toward the open carriage door the moment it swung wide, and the cool night air rushed in. Lorenzo filled the frame as if he was in a painted portrait that had decided to speak, the night quiet and stars twinkling behind him.

“You look… dangerous!”

Dangerous.

The word lit a match in her and she couldn’t stop the smile that crept up on her features. “Dangerous,” she repeated, as if tasting it. “I like the sound of that.” She liked it much more than being compared to a porcelain doll, that was for certain. It made her sound capable, strong and not to be underestimated.

“...I like it! I prefer the pretty mermaid, but the alluring siren is nice too!”

Her eyes dipped to her gown, to the way it caught what little moonlight poured through the window. Then Charlotte laughed weightlessly. “Lorenzo, you look absolutely amazing,” she said, and the sincerity in it was bright enough to make her eyes shine as she leaned forward to give him a brief hug. When she pulled away, she clasped her fingers together. “Truly.”

She then smoothed the front of her skirt with both palms. “I think I look rather splendid too…” Lottie said with a pleasant smile. “It’s a starry-night theme, after all,” she continued. “So dark blue and sparkly felt like the only choice.”

The carriage jolted as the horses started galloping forward, that familiar bouncing motion present beneath them. Charlotte leaned back with a sigh that sounded, for once, like contentment.

And then her attention slid back to Lorenzo’s outfit, deciding it was best to tell him earlier rather than later. “However,” she began casually, as if she were about to comment on the weather, “I did reconsider this whole wearing Alidasht garb situation, to be honest.”

She hadn’t protested properly at dinner the other night. She hadn’t even truly thought about it… at least not in the moment, not with all the nerves of wondering if he knew about the numerous chaotic events she had been involved with. But as the hours passed, it lingered in her mind and she realized the stupendous amount of issues that could arise with his decision. With each minute, the dread of approaching him grew. The last thing Charlotte wanted was for Lorenzo to endure yet another humiliation, but lately he had been stubbornly unreceptive to feedback.

Now that fear wasn’t sitting on her chest the way it usually did, it was easier to see the simple truth: she only needed to frame it in a way Lorenzo would actually hear. Perhaps on any other day she might have bristled at the idea, might have even called it manipulative. But tonight, it didn’t even occur to her to feel guilty. Her intent was to protect him, and she was determined to do so. If the method got them safely to the same outcome, then the method did not matter.

She turned toward him, the corners of her mouth still lifted. “And I’ve decided we should expect that some bored noble with a vile personality might try to spin this idea that you are mocking the Alidasht,” she said simply. “Not because it would be true—obviously it would not—but because they adore inventing drama the way toddlers adore throwing food.” Lottie made an exasperated motion with her hand, as if she could toss away this vile noble she invented right here and now.

“You remember last few times,” she added, her tone light, “They misunderstand one little thing and suddenly everyone starts acting as though you’d personally declared war..” Charlotte shifted closer, shoulder nudging his,“And I will not spend my evening watching you get mistreated. Whether or not you choose to change your clothes. ” she said, softly and firmly “Not when the entire point is for you to be admired for the great Duke you are..”

Then she reached for a small box that had been almost hidden in the darkness beside her and subsequently opened it in her lap. “So,” she announced, “I brought you an escape route.”

Inside was the spare suit Delilah had packed: dark blue, and sparkly, just like her dress.

Charlotte looked up at him, her nose scrunching with her delighted smile. “If you decide you’d rather not give anyone the satisfaction of whispering nonsense,” she said lightly, “you may change.” Her smile sharpened in a way that it was as if only for a moment, father was revived through her. “And if you do not… then I will spend the entire night smiling sweetly while I ruin every single person who tries to accuse you of anything… And..” Her shoulders slumped. “ It’s blue and sparkly like mine,” she finished, patting the box with satisfaction. “We’d match.”

Before he could answer, she hovered a finger by his lips. “Just… Think about it. It’s simply a suggestion!” To her surprise, as long as he didn’t have to wear makeup, he seemed to bite the hook.

The rest of the ride, Charlotte had spent blabbing—a lot. She told him she was going to start jogging in the mornings, and that she had started learning some self-defense. She told him how she had conquered Kazumin in a breakfast-eating contest and then poker-faced the brutal tummy ache afterward. She told him she was excited to see Nolan Edwards, because she’d heard he was finally back around, and she told him how Olivia had already gone ahead—and wasn’t late like they were.

But this wasn’t a candor spell after all, so she never told him about the witch hunter who had come to her door, nor the magic book… nor the fact she had been kissing Lord Cassius Damien at various moments over the course of the season. He did not need to know about those situations.

---

It wasn’t long before the two stood before the massive ballroom doors.

“Ladies first.” Charlotte teased him softly, as the guards opened the doors, revealing the ballroom in all its glory: a radiant gilded room with splashes of blue and stars dangling from the ceiling. The air was thick with perfume, music permeating through the as the whole room shimmered with the movement of expensive gowns.

Lottie stepped in as if the room belonged to her as of the very first step.. Her hair cascaded down her back in thick loose waves that was purposeful and elegant, rather than wild. She wore a deep wine lip and a soft smoky eye that intensified her gaze just the way she wanted it. The midnight gown she wore clung to her skin and hugged her waist, shimmering ever so subtly only when the light cast upon it. The bodice had a jeweled pattern that drew the eye down the center, and sheer lace sleeves draped from the off the shoulder sleeves. And then there was the thigh slit that was impossible to ignore.

Her gaze did not snag on any one person; it swept the room in an unhurried manner as the herald called her name. And as eyes turned—some from curiosity, some from shock, some from the simple instinct to look when something wasn't per usual. Charlotte felt that same thrill travel through her just as it did earlier. She inhaled subtly, lips parting just slightly as the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. Her eyes slid over the crowd, taking in their expressions.

She knew she looked different tonight, like another woman compared to the girl who came to events with a pretty ribbon tying back her hair. Charlotte had seen this woman in the mirror and, for once, there had been no second-guessing: she looked beautiful—but more than that: untouchable…

...Powerful.

The kind of powerful that ensnared people the longer they stared. And she knew that those who took a gander at her would see that; there was no point in pretending any differently as she made her way into that room, chin lifted. But the attention didn’t make her flinch this time.

Her parted lips slowly formed a pleased smile. Her shoulders settled back, and the way she walked gained a dangerous certainty, each step indulgent and deliberate. The smallest sway of her hips wasn’t a performance so much as the natural consequence of her not trying to disappear. The spell made it feel effortless, like she had been holding her breath her whole life and only now remembered she was allowed to breathe.

Someone in particular looked rather enchanted, staring at her as if they’d forgotten their own conversation mid-sentence. Charlotte met the gaze without blinking, sweet as she was with her friends, and gave them a small wave.

A few reactions stood out to her. For once, Calbert actually looked unmistakably shocked as he stared at her. His wife, however, did not look nearly as surprised as she smiled kindly upon the eye contact. She noticed Gideon Edwards cover his mouth, probably to bite at his sleeve as she recalled he would whenever father would do something, well, insane.

She thought perhaps she’d look over her shoulder to reunite with Lorenzo, to make sure he was right behind her, but then her gaze snagged on Cassius. Olivia hovered at the edge of her vision, positively a dream of beauty, but Charlotte could not drag her eyes away from the handsome son of Calbert Damien.

For a man new to nobility, he wore the most divine clothing and held himself as if he had been born and raised in this world. The gray streak in his hair caught the light first, then those storm-eyes of his, the lashes she had noticed far too many times, and finally his lips—the very lips she could recall the taste of, the very lips that were always plaguing her waking mind and her dreams.

Something about tonight was like seeing him for the first time all over again. Even if she had just seen him the other day, even if she had been thinking about him day in and day out… She was completely enraptured by his ethereal gaze, by the way he was looking at her in that very moment.

But she had learned a lot about Lord Cassius Damien the last few weeks, about the precious parts of him that seemed to only be hers. Even as others whispered whatever nonsense they wished, Charlotte knew much more than they did. She knew the gentleness hidden beneath all that charm, the innocent kindness, he tried so poorly to disguise, the soul-deep pain he thought no one saw. It felt like a secret tucked safely beneath her ribs, one that belonged only to her. Even if they would never be quite sensible together, Charlotte could not help feeling that some part of him would always be hers. And some part of her, even if it terrified her, was already his.

Charlotte didn’t even bother pretending she cared who noticed as she started toward him. Calbert Damien could choke on it.

Simply, she closed the space between them like it belonged to her.

“Hi, Cassius.” she greeted him, her voice breathy. Her smile was genuinely kind and her defenses were nonexistent as she stood before him.

Her eyes lifted back to his, and she stepped close enough that their noses nearly brushed, close enough to make the air between them feel charged and closer than she ever had to him in public. Then, ever so gently, she reached up and wiped a single crumb from the corner of his lips, as if she had every right to.

Her smile then turned into a smug little smirk before she let her gaze fall upon her dear friend, Olivia. Charlotte cupped her cheek tenderly, “You look so beautiful, Liv.”

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Interaction: @Potter Elena @HylianRose Nora @Chrys Amira

Amira’s ignorance brought Emil joy.

There was no hiding the smile that crept upon his countenance as he held Amira's gaze. For one delicious moment, he considered which would be kinder: to let her wonder, or to reach into that innocent little world of hers and pull the floor out from beneath it. He had always enjoyed the pause before a scream more than the scream itself.

Then another woman joined them.

His gaze slid to her with patient interest, taking in the warmth of her smile, the brightness of her greeting, and the way she placed herself near the trembling brunette. Same face as the trembling girl who looked about as skittish as a kitten, but she was much taller.

He didn't answer her question, nor move his gaze when Nora spoke. He merely listened, savoring every fragile tremble in the girl’s voice. Poor little thing. She was trying so hard to be brave, and Emil found effort so much more entertaining than success. He wondered what he would have to make her crack like an egg. Not here, of course. Not in front of all these witnesses. Public fear was vulgar when mishandled.

It would have to all wait until his dreams tonight.

"Elena." He repeated the name finally, sounding it out as if tasting each letter. His eyes wandered briefly over the room, searching for the missing third, because he was certain now that these were the infamous Pawonska triplets. Trained like athletes, hidden away like treasure, whispered about often enough to be interesting. Emil had always considered himself a connoisseur of peculiar things, and the Pawonskas had the distinct scent of something very odd.

His smile widened suddenly in the silence, eyes bright and lovely enough to look almost sincere. Count Schmidt swept into a bow before Elena, then took her hand with practiced grace and pressed a kiss to the back of it, holding her gaze all the while.

“What an absolute delight that you have joined us,” he said warmly. “I may even be positively thrilled.” His laugh was rich was he straightened his posture. "Of course, we should not sully such a beautiful evening with grim talk.” His eyes flicked briefly to Nora, softened with his false apology. “I should hate to distress delicate company.”

Then his attention returned to Amira.

"However," His voice lowered in an almost intimate manner. " Does your curiosity ever outweigh such a thing? " He tilted his head, fascinated.

“I know I become positively unbearable when everyone in the room knows something I do not.” His smile softened and as did his tone. “So tell me, pet. Would you prefer I spare you the ugliness?”

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Interaction: @Silverspring Violet @HylianRose Nora @Chrys Amira
Mention: @Oso Cassius @Potter Olivia

The herald’s staff struck the floor as Emil stood at the mouth of the ball, envisioning what the patrons would look like as corpses.

“Count Emil Schmidt of Hartworth!”

Hartworth was a rainy, smoky place comprised of factories, black stone, and grief. It was the sort of place that made people grateful to only visit. Count Emil Schmidt, however, entered as if he had stepped out of the sun.

He wore mourning colors too beautifully. Black velvet, a gold waistcoat, and gloves fitted cleanly. His red hair was brushed back in a charming manner, and his smile came easily, warmly, as though the world had never once given him reason to frown.

There were many in the room who remembered that smile fondly. There were many who remembered it and looked away.

He made a beeline for the King, darting in front of Calbert and Liliane as they had been making their way across the room. At the dais, Emil bowed deeply. “Your Majesty,” he greeted pleasantly. “Hartworth sends its loyalty, and I bring my own. It is an honor to see Caesonia standing so proudly tonight.”

Edin regarded him with interest. “Count Schmidt. You arrive at a solemn hour.”

As Emil smiled at the King, he wondered how many knew truly terrible that vile mind of his was. But Emil didn’t hate him for it. Much the opposite. After all, the king indulged in excess just as the Dark Gods intended for them all. “Indeed, Majesty. And yet that is precisely why this evening matters. Lesser men would have hidden behind grief. You have given the kingdom light, order, and something to look toward.” His eyes briefly swept the room while he spoke, making note of the expressions he caught ahold of. Grief made people careless. Fear made them honest. Tonight, the whole ballroom would be full of small, useful truths. “Fear leaves people searching for certainty,” Emil continued. “Tonight, they see their king still seated where he belongs.”

“You speak well.”

“I try to speak truth attractively,” Emil replied with a charming little smile. “It is usually better received.”

Edin gave the faintest approving look. “Enjoy the evening, Count.”

Emil bowed again and turned back toward the ballroom. His smile remained easy, almost boyish. Beauty interested him, of course. It always had. But fear interested him more.

Cassius Damien stood nearby, Calbert’s son from another woman, wearing the family name like a borrowed coat he had somehow made fashionable. He was beautiful like his father, perhaps more so, though there was a weight to him that made the beauty darker and far more interesting. He stood beside some pretty no-name girl with strawberry-blonde hair, close enough to suggest familiarity. Emil made a mental note to approach them eventually. Something was amusing about the pair already, something worth pressing a thumb against to see what bruised.

From what he had heard, this Cassius Damien had not been Cassius Damien for very long. For far longer, he had been Cassius Vael, a mercenary with a reputation that had traveled through circles where reputations were usually purchased in blood. Efficient, they called him. Clean, when the work required cleanliness, and otherwise not at all. Emil’s gaze lingered on him a moment longer, only long enough to wonder whether Calbert and Cassius bled the same shade, and whether either man would resent the comparison more than the wound.

Then his attention moved to the other Damien.

Violet Damien.

And oh, how she differed since he had last seen her. Like the male offspring, Violet also wore a heaviness beyond her years. Not merely older, but altered in a way that made the ordinary courtly descriptions feel suddenly useless. Violet Damien had once been pretty in the expected way, the sort of noble daughter men complimented because it was socially convenient. Now there was something else in her.

A stillness. A wrongness.

The kind of beauty that made a person pause before deciding whether they wished to admire it or step back from it.

Emil admired it, admired her as her scarlet eyes caught the light. She wore the heaviness well. Better than most. Better than Cassius, perhaps. Violet looked like a woman who had been handed a secret and had not yet decided whether it was a curse or a crown.

His eyes dropped briefly to the ring on her hand. He did not approach her. Not yet. Instead, Emil merely waited until her gaze moved close enough to catch his. Then he smiled.

It was not the charming smile he had given the King. Not the bright, harmless smile he wore for women who wished to believe handsome men were kind. This one was slower and far too knowing.

Then, as if nothing had happened, he continued on, accepting a drink from a passing servant and drifting toward a pair of lovely young women he had already decided looked soft enough to bruise. One was bright and jeweled, dressed in blue, smiling as if the world had not yet taught her to be afraid. The other was darker, quieter, with a haunted prettiness that made him think she would startle beautifully if approached the right way. “Good evening,” Emil said brightly with a kind smile. “I do hope I am not intruding. Though I admit, I have never been good at resisting beautiful company.”

He lifted his glass. “A remarkable night, isn’t it? One hardly knows whether to dance, mourn, or drink.” His smile widened as he tilted the glass in midair, watching the red wine shift naturally to one side, brightening beneath the chandelier light. “So naturally, I intend to do all three, don’t you?”

Then he drank in the sight of the two brunettes, smiling all the while, and gave them a sweeping bow. “Count Emil Schmidt,” he introduced himself. “Entirely at your service.”

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

_{Mention: @CitrusArms Stratya @Lava Alckon Farim @Chrys Amira @Tae Ranya @Oso Cassius @SilverSpring Violet/Ariella @AuthenticTomb Sylvia @HylianRose Nora @Potter Kira}

FLASHBACK

FLASHBACK

The meeting place was far enough from the palace that the lights of Sorian could no longer be seen through the trees. Only the moon marked the path, and even the moon's pale light seemed hesitant to touch the place where King Edin Danrose waited. He had come with four guards, then ordered them to remain behind.

Edin stood in a dark cloak with his hands clasped behind his back, his crown absent for once. He had been pacing for some time before Marek arrived, though he stopped the instant he heard movement behind him.

Marek Delronzo emerged between the trees without haste, dressed too finely for the hour. He did not bow deeply, but he did offer the king the exact amount of respect needed to remind him of what he wanted to.

Edin’s eyes narrowed. “You took your time.”

“I came when the night was ready for discretion,” Marek replied, his voice smooth as always. “Had I come sooner, Your Majesty, you would have called that carelessness.”

“Do not play with me tonight.” Edin retorted. “I have a queen in chains, an heir who has decided to display his spine at the worst possible hour, and a court that smells weakness. I asked you here because I require answers.”

Marek’s expression did not change. “Then ask plainly.”

Edin turned back to him, his arrogance rising in his chest. It was one thing to command armies, councils, clergy, meetings... It was another to ask a monster whether his wife could be saved.

“Can anything be done about Alibeth?”

The forest fell into quiet, and Edin hated the pause and more so its implication that Marek had already known this would be asked.

“Yes,” Marek said at last. “Something can be done. But not what you are hoping.” Marek took a slow step closer. “She must perish.”

Edin’s face hardened at once. “She is my wife. Is there not another option? Can't... you do something with that magic of yours?”

“She is your liability.”

Edin’s hand twitched at his side, but Marek continued before the anger could become an interruption. “Your Majesty, you are not merely a husband in mourning or a king with wounded pride. You are the face of a dynasty that has survived because the people believe it was made necessary by the gods... " Marek raised his chin, his eyes darkening, “You understand this better than most men who sit upon thrones. Caesonia does not obey you because it loves you.”

Marek watched the emotions swim in the King's blue, tired eyes, even as he stood beneath the cloak of the darkness. “If Alibeth remains visibly protected by you, then every sermon spoken against corruption and magic becomes a jest... Every hunter loses authority. Every household will ask why the queen was spared when their sons, sisters, and neighbors were not. If you save her publicly, you do not appear merciful. You appear treasonous... And you already knew that, King... Edin... Danrose...”

Edin looked away again, staring into the trees. “Wulfric should have never betrayed us.”

Marek tilted his head slightly. “He is intelligent enough to understand symbols. He has placed himself on the side of necessity, not sentiment. To the court, that will look like strength. To the Church, it will look like discipline. To the nobles, it will look like succession.”

Edin’s expression became still in a way that revealed more than rage ever could. “He is my son.”

“Yes,” Marek said. “That is why it is dangerous.”

The king breathed through his nose before he spoke again. “There is another matter...I was told of Callum’s aura.” Edin watched Marek closely now. “I was told he is using magic.”

Marek could hardly hide the pleasure in his gaze. “Yes.”

Edin’s voice sharpened. “You knew.”

“Of course.”

“And you said nothing?”

“I waited to see whether he would come to the truth on his own. He did.”

Edin’s mouth parted slightly, then closed. “Explain yourself.”

Marek’s gaze moved briefly past him. “Prince Callum sought me, Your Majesty. Not in the crude way a frightened boy seeks rescue, but with the instincts of someone who has begun to understand that his father’s house has no place for what he is becoming. He holds resentment against you. He wishes your death.”

Edin’s face darkened. “Resentment? My death?”

Meanwhile, Marek’s face softened. “Callum is not Wulfric... He wishes to be loved, and boys who wish to be loved become very easy to turn against the parent who has denied them what they require.”

Edin swallowed. “You are suggesting he means to undermine me.”

“I am saying he already has, in his heart. Action is merely the final courtesy.”

The King's brows furrowed. He had always known Callum was his worst child; he had always known he was capable of evil. He wore the same black hair as his violent father after all... But hearing that Callum was plotting against his life was a blade into his back he had not expected.

“What would you have me do?” Edin finally asked.

Marek stepped closer. His voice lowered intimately. “Give him to me.”

Edin stared at him.

“Send him where he can be protected from hunters, from Wulfric’s influence, from the Church’s appetite, and from himself Let me teach him restraint before someone else teaches him rebellion.”

“And why should I believe you would protect him?”

Marek smiled faintly. “Because if they find out the children your wife bore you wield magic as well, then who is to say the proper decision will not be to eliminate them all... ”

Edin’s eyes narrowed, but he did not reject it.

After a pause, Marek added, “You have many enemies tonight. You cannot hold all of them in your hands without something breaking.”

“Let Alibeth go,” Marek said softly. “Let the kingdom see that you chose Caesonia over your wife. Give Callum to me before he becomes another weapon pointed at your throne. Then, when morning comes, you will not look like a man who lost control.”

He paused, his smile almost tender.“You will look like a king who made necessary sacrifices.”

Edin stood very still. For a while, he said nothing. “If I do this,” he said, “Callum is not to be harmed.”

“Of course.”

“And Alibeth’s end will serve my crown, no one else.”

“It will serve whoever writes it best.”

Alibeth's burning body was haunting Edin. It would not leave his vision no matter where he looked.

The image returned each time the room quieted for even a second. Edin had not looked toward his sons after taking his seat, nor had he so much as turned his head. He had simply sat straighter.

Chin raised. Spine rigid. Face emptied of anything human enough to be read.

If he looked affected, they would smell weakness. If he looked grieved, they would start asking themselves whether there had been something to grieve. So he gave them nothing.

“My Liege.”

Edin's attention fell on the Lady Knight, whom his wife had insisted on hiring. He found it hard to hide his disgust as he let his eyes wander over her. He knew her ability preceded her gender. He knew her strength. But at the end of the day, she was only a woman, even if a pretty one. He had never bothered to remember her name, but he did remember the numerous times she had spoken out of turn, as her kind often did when given too much opportunity.

“Trruly, the rrealm is guided tae peace underr yerr diligen’ ‘and. The faverr o’ t’ Gods trruly finds us thrrough you, Yerr Majesty.”

“Hm." Edin inclined his head as he regarded her, his expression unchanged.

“I am thankful ferr t’ opporrtuni’y tae parrtake of the grreat boun’y afforrded us by t’ Gods and yerr rrule. May prrosperri’y rreign o’er t’ Kingdom. Gods bless Caesonia.”

For a moment, he only looked at her. "...And may they bless you."

Edin’s mind drifted back to Alibeth for only a moment, pulled there by the silence at his flank and the absence that seemed louder than any music in the room. There was a hollowness in him now, an unpleasant void, and he wanted it gone. The church and his advisors had already encouraged him to make use of this moment, to take the night for what it was and begin setting his eyes upon a young, virtuous queen who could symbolize renewal, stability, and a brighter future for the kingdom.

It was the sensible thing to do. The necessary thing. Better to fill the emptiness quickly than allow it to sit long enough to become grief.

So his attention shifted to the next woman who entered the ballroom.

"Shehzadi Amira Kadir of Alidasht,"

A young woman stepped into the ballroom, and Edin knew at once that this must have been her first season in Caesonia. He did not recognize her, and he would have remembered a beauty like this. His gaze settled on her without effort. She was lovely in a way that demanded notice, radiant, with a beaming smile that seemed untouched by the darkness that had settled over his own court. That smile caught him more than anything else. It was not often anyone smiled so openly in his household anymore. Not even Anastasia.

Then his attention lowered, and he took in the rest of her.

The girl wore aqua, adorned in silks and glittering jewels that framed rather than concealed. There was no mistaking that her attire revealed more skin than was usually smiled upon in Caesonia.

Her midriff was bare, and though Edin knew well enough what many in the room would think of it, he found he could not share their disapproval. If anything, it only made her more striking. With a grace and poise he had not yet come to associate with Alidasht, the beauty approached the throne and dipped into a curtsy.

"Blessings to Caseonia and their king."

Edin’s smile bloomed at once, and he inclined his head with enough grace to make the gesture feel generous.

“And blessings upon Alidasht, Shehzadi Amira Kadir.”

His gaze lingered on her a moment longer than courtly necessity required, though his voice remained smooth. “Caesonia is honored by your presence. Your father sends us many treasures in his court, it seems, but I daresay he has sent none brighter than you.”

A soft murmur passed through the nearby nobles, though Edin paid it no mind. His attention remained upon the young woman before him, his smile widening. “I trust Sorian will treat you kindly during your stay. Should it fail to do so, you need only bring the matter before me.”

He gestured toward the ballroom, as if offering her the whole glittering evening. “For tonight, be welcome beneath my roof. May Caesonia prove worthy of so radiant a guest.”

It was not long before another Alidasht royal graced him with his presence: the Grand Vizier’s son, the very one who had been so attentively doting upon his daughter. If Edin recalled correctly, the Grand Vizier himself had also taken some interest in Anastasia. The thought brought him a flicker of much-needed amusement, enough that even as Farim began buttering him up, the king let out an unexpected chuckle.

”...I hope that during such trying times, a gift such as this will provide goodwill on behalf of myself and my country.” Farim flicked his hand toward the still-panting retainers, who immediately sprang to life. They lifted the cloth with care, revealing Farim’s gift. ”I had some artisans craft it soon after our arrival. It is a symbol of the might of your rule and the opulence that so naturally clings to the name Danrose.”

Beneath the cloth rested a lion wrought in gold and amber crystal. The creature reclined upon an ornate golden base, its emerald eyes bright, giving the impression that it had been frozen mid-breath rather than merely sculpted. Jewels were set along the pedestal. It was extravagant, almost shamelessly so, and therefore perfectly suited to the throne it had been offered before.

A servant carefully brought the gift forward, presenting it so Edin could inspect it more closely. His eyes swept over the lion design, taking in the craftsmanship, the symbolism, and, most importantly, the flattery. At last, his smile widened with genuine satisfaction.

“A fine piece.” Edin’s voice carried with warm approval. “A lion of fire and gold. I shall keep it near, then, as a reminder of strength, dignity, and the goodwill between our courts. Thank you, Shehzade.”

”...But I shall not take up much more of your time, Your Majesty. May the night treat you well, and thanks once again for being the glorious host that you are.”

Edin gave a pleased incline of his head, clearly in no hurry to discourage such well-placed praise. “You honor me with your generosity and your manners both. May the evening treat you just as kindly, Shehzade Farim.”

Then Edin noticed Anastasia. He had only seemed occupied with the golden lion in his hands, his thumb tracing the edge of its jeweled base as the herald announced his daughter, but his eyes had lifted the moment Anastasia entered.

She looked breakable, and Edin despised that the court could see it.

His gaze followed the small betrayals of her face: the delayed smile, the glance toward Alibeth’s empty place, the flicker of sickness when her eyes found Callum’s chair. When she turned away from the dais and crossed the room toward Farim instead, his grip on the figurine tightened once.

A daughter seeking comfort from another on a night like this should have angered him, and perhaps it did, but the king in him measured the room faster than the father could bleed. But with some thought, Edin decided this was best, rather than letting the court watch her come apart beside him. So he said nothing. He only looked on, expression calm, and allowed the room to believe he had permitted it.

He spent the next stretch of the evening watching the ballroom with a widower’s emptiness, though he would not have called it grief.

To Edin, grief was too humble a word. It asked a man to kneel before loss, and Edin Danrose had knelt before nothing in his life.

So he looked instead. Another Alidasht princess arrived in blue: Ranya, escorted by the Grand Vizier himself. A striking creature, certainly, with a presence that belonged in a jeweled shrine, but she crossed the room toward the red-haired Varian princess without greeting him, so Edin’s interest cooled. He had heard enough rumors of that princess’s wild nature to know she would not do either.

A brunette soon drew his eye as well, elegant enough to be worth noticing, though he knew too little of the Varian woman to linger on the thought. Then came another with dark curly hair, who offered him a brief curtsy with pleasing manners, but again, there was not enough he knew of the woman to judge.

None of them had greeted him with the shining grace Amira had. None had looked at him with that sweet, open reverence that filled the hollow place in his chest for even a passing second.

Another Varian princess entered with too much confidence in her step, and Edin dismissed her almost at once. Likely, another spirited girl convinced her charm was a virtue.

Ariella Edwards was also present with a new guard, it seemed. She was easily one of Caesonia’s most beautiful noblewomen, perhaps even the most beautiful in the room, but Edin had not forgotten the trouble she had caused with that painting. Beauty did not erase insolence. Still, the longer he looked at her, the more he wondered if perhaps she was not beyond correction. With proper guidance, firmer boundaries, and the right hand shaping her, Ariella Edwards might yet become something admirable rather than troublesome.

Then the Damiens were also present. The offspring did not approach him immediately, which Edin noticed, filed away, and did not forgive. Count Calbert Damien and Countess Liliane Damien, however, knew better.

He watched as the pair approached.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Time: Evening
Location: Summary --> Vikena Estate --> Carriage
Attire: Outfit
Interaction: @FunnyGuy Lorenzo

---

Charlotte had been practicing magic for the last few days.

It had been since Ignis 5th; that had been the day she had opened the book she had found,Starcatcher, for the first time. She had told herself it was only to read, but that lasted perhaps a minute before she found herself tugging at a lock of hair.

She had first dallied with Chapter One, in the confines of her bedroom, a lit candle wavering in the darkness. The earliest spell had been light, and when she whispered Illumina with her palm pressed to the page, a warm orb bloomed at her hand, and a glow painted the room. For the next ten minutes, she could see everything clearly, every nook and crevice. And then it vanished. The world did not go fully black, but it might as well have.

After that, she tried spells that felt harmless... on paper at least. Movere made a ribbon slide across her vanity without her touching it. Mutatio changed the color of a fountain pen. She had then spent the rest of the day staring at her own hands and the world around her with disoriented frustration. On Ignis 6, she had spent the afternoon with Kazumin and the evening dinner with Lorenzo. Somewhere between the two, she met with Cassius again, just as she would sneak out to do several more times over that week.

But later that night, when the house fell quiet once more, she returned to Chapter One again, then again through the evening of the 7th and then the 8th and the 9th after Roman's visit. By Ignis 8th, she had realized she did not need to tear hair from her head anymore. When she wasn't using the spellbook, she kept it wrapped and hidden.

Despite her better judgment, there had been something invigorating about magic: a guilty rush from just how easy it all was at first. The consequences were never cruel in a dramatic way, more maddening in a way that made her understand why the book warned against carelessness. The punishments were not the end of the world, which was precisely what made them dangerous.

But then came Ignis 10th.

---

They hadn't even knocked that morning.

Gilbert had barreled in suddenly, armed with food to the point of absurdity—a monstrosity of a breakfast balanced on a tray, a second plate somehow balancing on his elbow another on other elbow. Delilah followed so close behind that she had nearly walked into him, carrying a basket of pastries in one hand and a pot of tea in the other. Both of them were panting as though they had sprinted up the stairs.

Charlotte startled upright, her hair sticking in all directions. She blinked, barely awake.

“Good morning,” she managed, voice hoarse. Her gaze flicked from the food to Delilah’s face, then to Gilbert’s. “Are we feeding the Caesonian military this morning?”

Gilbert set the tray down so hard the cutlery rattled. His hands were shaking, and the look in his eyes... Charlotte's expression fell. “Lottie—” he started, then stopped and swallowed.

Delilah was already at her side. “Oh, Lottie… Oh my girl,” she whispered, and her hands were cupping Charlotte’s cheeks as if she were a child near and dear to her heart. For a moment, Charlotte thought she was even checking if her skin was still warm.

Her thumbs rubbed at the skin under Charlotte’s eyes. When Delilah’s face finally crumpled, Charlotte understood the extent of her despair.

“You can’t leave us like that,” she breathed in a broken voice. Her eyes shone as if she had been crying long before she even opened the door. “You scared us so bad, Lottie.”

Charlotte blinked hard, her few awake brain cells caught somewhere between the ridiculousness of it all and the guilt of somehow making these two feel so despondent. Her chest tightened despite her confusion, and she drew back just enough to look between them, brows knitted. “Delilah,” she started, and her voice grew louder. “Gilbert—what is this? What has happened?” Her voice rose. “Why are you both acting like I’ve died?”

Gilbert held a paper in front of her face and jabbed a finger at a line rather violently. Charlotte’s eyes dropped to it. She didn't even need more than a moment to read the whole thing. The line caught her like a hook.

Many witnesses all agree they saw Lady Charlotte Vikena almost throw herself off the balcony at the first ball of the season. Luckily, Count Damien was there to stop her.

For a moment, the room went still.

Charlotte’s fingers curled into the blankets, shock gripping her body like a vice. Then she snapped. “I didn’t— I’d never!” Her voice rose, shrill with disbelief, and she practically fell out of the bed. “You have to believe that never happened.”

A lump formed in her throat as her heart hammered against her ribs, and she looked wildly between them, as if either of their faces might confirm what was real and what wasn’t. But she really never gave them a chance to respond. “Who else has seen this?” Her eyes flashed, widening further. “Has Lorenzo?”

“I… I don’t think so, Lottie,” Delilah managed, voice shaking. That hesitation of hers made Charlotte’s stomach drop, and her breath hitched.

Then she snatched the paper and ripped it down the middle, the sound of it tearing filled the air.

Tears finally gathered in her eyes. “The last thing Lorenzo needs is to think I would do what my mother did,” she choked out, her words painted in her dread. “He’d blame himself. He’d—” She shook her head, her breath shuddering.

And then the fear bled into rage so quickly it almost startled even her. Her jaw clenched, her hands balled into fists. “I will strangle that Count Damien the moment I get my hands on him,” she hissed with such intensity that the other two wondered if the threat was in actuality a promise.

---

Instead of rushing to the Count’s house, she spent most of the day locked in her room, wound so tight she could hardly sit still.

She avoided the halls, avoided the windows, avoided even Olivia.

Maybe no one had read it.

Maybe everyone had.

And if they had… what would that mean for her? She had grown used to gossip by now, the lifted chins and condescending stares that she and Lorenzo always seemed to collect just by existing.

But could she endure pity?

Could she endure being looked at like she was fragile, ...or powerless?

Her mind traveled back to Cassius, and Charlotte clenched her fists until her nails bit into her palms.

In the end, she opened the book again. Not the beginning this time, but deeper into the pages. Eventually, she found a spell that brought her relief, because it sounded like something that could get her through the night… and remind anyone who needed reminding exactly who she was.

Charlotte read the aftereffects twice. She should have closed the book right then.

But her body did not obey the sensible part of her mind.

She kept her voice low. She did not let herself overthink it, because she knew she would stop if she thought about it. The only part that mattered was that Cassius, Kazumin, and Olivia—and especially Lorenzo, who would be hurt worse by this callous lie than anyone—would believe her.

And perhaps there was another mercy in it all: if Alexander, the hunters, or even the Black Rose tried to confront her, she would not be caught so unprepared. This would not go the way the last ball did, or the banquet. She was going to be someone who could protect her stepfather.

“Fortitudo,” she whispered. Then warmth gathered in her chest, and it spread outward until her hands stopped trembling.

The air did not change, but something in her did, and the difference was immediate.

The fear that had been choking her for hours did not vanish; it simply loosened its grip, as if someone had pried its fingers away one by one.

She sat there with the book open for a long while before she decided it was best she choose her dress for the ball now. There was no getting out of it; it'd look terrible if she and Lorenzo didn't show after what happened next time. But this time, she did not want to be the soft girl with the ribbon in her hair who people could expect to throw themselves over the railing.

She rose, closed Starcatcher, and wrapped it again, then tucked it away. After that, Charlotte went down into the basement with a lamp held in her hand. She found the old trunk where her mother’s things had been stored away, the one that had often been left untouched. The lamp light flickered as she lifted the lid, and the smell of time rose up at her.

She sorted through the folded cloth until she found a navy blue dress, not the sort of color she often reached for. For some reason, she could not recall her mother ever wearing this one before. Instead, she pulled the dress free and held it up, watching as it glimmered in the light.

But it was then she noticed the bold slit, and she tilted her head. Charlotte expected she'd feel the urge to put it back immediately on sight, but instead, she felt the odd satisfaction of realizing it fit the version of herself she wanted to be tonight.

Back in her room, she put on the dress with some help from Delilah, who did express concern more times than Charlotte wanted to hear.

When she sat at her vanity, she reached for darker makeup than she ever wore in public, deepening her eyes until she felt she no longer looked easy to read. When she finally looked up properly, she held her reflection’s eyes. The girl in the mirror still had tiredness in her eyes, but she also looked like someone who could walk into a ballroom and not crumble.

She looked... powerful, and Charlotte liked that.

So she informed Delilah to let Lorenzo know she was waiting in the carriage, and made her way to that very destination.

The Look

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Time: Evening
Location: The Ball
Interactions: @Oso Ambrose @HylianRose Lucian

---

Marina had known how much Ambrose hated Lucian.

In fact, she was certain that even strangers could tell. It practically radiated off him whenever the two were near each other. Once upon a time, the two of them might as well have been brothers. Now, standing in the same room seemed to cost them both.

But Marina had a talent for running away. Sometimes she forgot because she was trying so desperately not to remember. And sometimes, worse still, she became so afraid that Lucian might one day look at her with that same hatred that she began searching for it in every pause, every glance, every moment his smile faltered. In the midst of this moment, she had forgotten Ambrose was standing there at all.

"The question-pelting addiction is a work in process." Marina had informed him promptly, her expression smug.

But she watched him after that, as he spoke to Ambrose, as something in his eye just faintly changed.

So she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around her elder brother’s neck, hugging him without warning.“I’ll just love you double then,” she whispered, her voice low enough for him alone, “to make up for Ambrose.”

Her fingers curled against his back, holding on for a second longer than she meant to. “But under all that pain…” she added more quietly, “you know he still loves you, don’t you?”

And then she let go.

Marina let her gaze drift across the room: over the beautiful Edwards daughter who had just entered with her charming guard, over the glittering sea of faces turning, smiling, whispering, drinking, dancing.

It was as if the queen who had burned before all their eyes had never existed at all.

Half of Marina found it disturbing.

They all knew what had happened that morning. And yet here they were, pretending it was just another ball. One glance toward King Edin told her all she needed to know, and it sickened her. The man already looked as if he were shopping for a replacement.

But then there was the other half of her.

The quieter, darker part.

The part that remembered what Alibeth was.

The part that wondered whether a witch queen deserved to be mourned at all.

Maybe Alibeth Danrose did not deserve to be mentioned.

Marina’s fan stilled for only a moment before her eyes returned to her brother. “...You talk to anyone of interest yet, Lucian?”

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Time: Evening
Location: The Castle Ballroom
Interactions: Farim @Lava Alckon Magnus @Remram
Mention: Sylvia @AuthenticTomb Amira @Chrys
Attire: Dress

---

Anastasia could feel the weight of this morning in strange little ways tonight, in the moments where her smile took an extra second to come, in the way everything seemed too far away. Still, she tried. She tried because that was what she knew how to do. If she stopped trying, she was not entirely sure what would happen instead. She drifted into the recesses of her mind as Fareed took his leave.

But when Magnus pointed out Sylvia near Ranya, Anastasia followed his gaze, letting curiosity pull her back into the moment. “Princess Sylvia Camilia,” she repeated, “I have met her before... very lovely. A little intimidating, even from here.”

When Magnus denied having anyone in his heart, Anastasia looked at him with open skepticism. Usually she would have pounced on that answer at once, all laughter and dramatic accusations. But she ended up taking a gentler approach than normal. “No one?” she asked. “That is a boring answer, Mister Magnus. I do hope it is untrue, or at the very least temporary.”

Then, with a softer huff through her nose, she added, “I probably should not be a hypocrite. I fancied keeping my relations on the casual side for most of my life until I met Farim.”

She let that settle only briefly before the conversation bent toward business again, as it always seemed to when men had gone too long without mentioning trade or ambition. Under any other circumstance she might have rolled her eyes more dramatically, but instead she only smiled faintly and listened. It made her think of Wulfric, and she was not in the mood to think of her brother at all tonight.

Her eyes slid to Farim as he returned the conversation to matters of the heart, and the fondness there was immediate. “Come now, tell us plainly. What sort of woman catches your eye?” she asked Magnus. “Do you like someone graceful? Someone with a biting tongue? A woman with a large bosom? A man with broad shoulders?”

Her gaze flicked briefly in the direction of the woman in blue that Farim had noticed, then back again, a faint spark of mischief returning. “Or do you mean to pretend you have no taste at all and leave us to guess?”

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

FLASHBACK

Marina & Aslam

Time: Ignis 10 Afternoon
Location: The Bazaar

---

The bazaar was a a kaleidoscope of swirling noise and color. Sunlight flashed off trinkets, fabric canopies snapped in the wind. The scent of something sweet kept drifting through the air, making Marina’s stomach grumble. She stood at a cramped little stall, staring down at a small, restless animal in a cage.

Sleek and quick, the little furry noodle paced in circles, nose twitching.

The merchant leaned on his counter with the lazy confidence of a man who thought he had already won. “Fine creature,” he said, tapping the bars. “A ferret. Clever. Loyal. Good for keeping rats out of your pantry. Only—”

“That is not a ferret.” Marina cut in.

The merchant blinked. “Beg your pardon?”

Marina leaned closer, hands clasped behind her back, though her expression held her usual stubborn fury. “It’s a stoat.” She nodded once. “Look at the face.”

The merchant’s mouth opened, then closed again. “It’s a ferret.”

“It is a stoat.” Marina repeated. Her gaze flicked down to the animal as it paused, lifted up on its hind legs, and pressed its tiny paws to the cage bars like it was also listening. “See? Even he agrees with me.”

The merchant stared. The stoat—ferret—whatever it was—yawned widely, showing its little teeth, then went right back to pacing.

Marina straightened, chin high. “Now,” she said, as though she were doing him a favor, “are you selling it as a ferret because you don’t know what it is… or because you think I don’t?”

“A merchant that is not even aware of the merchandise he is selling?” A rich, amused voice came from behind Marina that got louder as Aslam approached the stall. There was a faint smile as he took position to her right side, his gaze focused on the merchant but kept Marina in the periphery of his vision. “You would put something to market without doing the necessary diligence of confirming what you had? Besides…” Aslam leaned on the counter and smirked at the merchant speaking in a lowered tone.

“Doesn’t a stoat sound more exotic than a simple ferret? And as I’m sure you’re aware, exotic is just another term for expensive.” Aslam pulled back giving the man an obvious wink, knowing Marina would have heard him perfectly. It was only then that he turned to face Marina. “It is a cute creature, this one. Are you interested in it?” He asked with arms resting at his waist, one hand clasping the opposite forearm.

“Oh, I’m interested,” Marina purred, letting her gaze drag over Aslam before she flicked it back to the cage. Her mouth tilted into a pleased smirk. She leaned closer to the bars, studying the animal with exaggerated seriousness, then lifted her eyes again with a bright smile and lifted brows. “In the stoat, of course.”

Her smile widened just enough to be trouble. “Unless you meant something else.”

Then suddenly, she sighed, straightened, and waved it all away. “Actually… Never mind. I don’t want it.” She glanced at the merchant once more, “Congratulations, merchant. Your stoat lives to scam another day.”

She spun on her heels again to face Aslam. “Whether or not it’s more exotic isn’t the point because what if you or I wanted a ferret? Stoats are not domesticated, after all.” Marina tapped her head and gave him a cheeky wink. “Knowledge is power. “

Aslam couldn’t help but blink at her first statement, catching him off-guard.The edges of his smile lifted as she corrected what she was referring to. “I simply spoke the words. I cannot control how you heard them.” There was a tint of playfulness in his voice.

His eyes narrowed on her as she faced him, and with a cheeky grin, he placed a hand on his heart and gave off a small bow. “I shall defer to your great wisdom on this matter then. I would humbly ask the great sage’s name. This ignorant one is called Aslam.” His grin remained as he stood back up, a small spark of fire in his gaze.

“I happen to be on a small shopping trip through the market. I would happily treat you if you were to accompany and provide further guidance.” He tilted his head down the street and deeper into the market where various wares were being sold.

“This great sage is named Marnie,” she confirmed pleasantly. Her eyes slid over him with that amused appraisal of hers. She let her gaze flick down the street where he’d gestured—deeper into the market that was full of things to waste money on—and then back to him with a smirk. “Treat me?” Marina echoed, as though tasting the word. “That’s brave. I have very expensive opinions.”

“Fortune favors the bold. Besides, I would be shocked if your opinions turned out to be mundane.” Aslam placed a hand on his upper chest which caused the ornate, golden jewelry on his wrist to shimmer and jangle.

Her brows rose with theatrical consideration. “Alright. You may accompany the great sage on her journey.” Then she straightened, already starting to walk. “Come on, Aslam. Try to keep up.”

Aslam quickened his step until he was walking by her side. He had chosen one of his more reserved pieces for this outing, unsure of the current fashion trends in the city. A gold sash tied his still ornate robes at the waist. The finest silks to be found in Alidaaht, of course. “What an honor you have bestowed upon me. I would wonder what has brought someone of your…standing out to a place like this?” He spoke in an unhurried cadence as if the world would wait on his word.

“I assume you have a purpose, though correcting the gross misidentification of ferrets and stoats IS a noble cause.” A half-smirk barely appeared on his lips for a moment with his light tease.

“My purpose?” Marina echoed incredulously, as if he’d just asked why the sun was in the sky.

“I’m here to buy something ridiculously overpriced, start arguments with at least three merchants, and prevent the collapse of society via ferret-related lies.” Her mouth kicked into a smirk. “Someone has to uphold standards.”

Aslam nodded deeply, crossing his arms as if she had spoken wise counsel. His body flowed between passerbys with experience earned wandering the busy markets of Alidasht. “The economy would surely suffer a great loss if this ferret conspiracy were to continue, I agree.” He made a wave of his hand as he addressed her statement with faux seriousness.

“Hmm, do you smell that?” He tilted his head to their right and took a sniff of the aroma that drifted their way. “I believe we should first find something to fill our stomachs before we get to work, yes?” He gestured towards a stand down one of the aisles that had an active grill with ready-to-go skewers on display. “Naturally, it would be my treat.”

“Mmmm…I’d love something to eat.” Marina rubbed a hand over her belly in a circle. “Why thank you, generous gentleman.” She followed the delicious aroma over to the stand. Her eyes drifted over the glistening, juicy meat and unbeknownst to the princess, she was practically vibrating with excitement.

Aslam simply gave her a half-smile as they approached the street food vendor, a glimmer of fond amusement in his eyes as they left Marina and focused on the man tending the stall. Two of your finest skewers….” He had started confidently holding up two fingers, but then looked over at his companion. Aslam nodded once and pretended to clear his throat as he raised two more fingers on his hand. ”...make that four, please. Do not mind the change.” He reached into a pocket stitched just on the inside of his light jacket and placed the coins on the countertop along with a generous tip.

The vendor took the coins and glanced between the two of them with a faint smile on his otherwise rough exterior and when he handed Aslam the skewers there were five in total. “For ya and the lovely lady.” He said in a raspy, deep voice.

”Many thanks.” Aslam gave him a small nod before turning towards Marina with three in one hand and two in the other. His head turned to each hand as if struggling to come to a decision before extending the hand with three to her. ”He clearly gave the extra one for you so it is only right you take it.”

Marina’s eyes widened like he’d just handed her a crown. She accepted the skewers with both hands, solemn as if they were a sacred offering. Then, without hesitation, Marnie sank her teeth into the first one.

For a second, she went perfectly still.

Then her eyes widened with delight. “Oh—” she blurted, and immediately covered her mouth with the back of her hand. Her violet gaze snapped to Aslam. “This is—” She swallowed, lashes fluttering.

Then Marina stomped her foot because her body apparently had no other way to process how good it was. She took another bite, bigger this time, and did it again: two quick little stomps. She squeezed her eyes shut. “Absolutely scrumptious,” she proclaimed with rounded cheeks, the words muffled by the hamster-level amount of food stuffed in her mouth.

Marina pointed one skewer at Aslam, then pointed at a nearby picnic table as if issuing orders. She marched over and sat, setting two skewers onto a napkin.

For a long few minutes, Marina just worked through the first skewer as if she hadn’t eaten in ten years. Then she picked up the next and finished the second with the same devotion. The third, she tucked into her a notch on her belt in a confident manner that suggested she had done so before.

“Thank you so much,” she said, very serious now. “Your heroism will go down in the books.” Despite the drama, she wiped her mouth neatly and sat up straighter, regally composed.

“So,” Marina said, drumming her fingers on her knees as she searched for a topic. Her brows lifted. “You don’t seem like you’re from around here. Are you one of the Alidasht guests that arrived yesterday?”

Aslam couldn’t help but smile wider than he had felt in some time at Marina’s pure reaction and had to bring a closed hand to his lips to prevent him from breaking into laughter at her now chubby cheeks. ”It would seem fate has provided quite the bounty.” A small laugh escaped along with his words as he followed her to the table.

His eyes widened as he bit into his first skewer with more restraint than his companion. His calm composure did not prevent the small groan of delight as he finished that first bite. Aslam blinked as he just finished his first when Marina was halfway through her second. Did Varian not feed their royal children? He had not realized the cold made food so scarce.

Aslam was just finishing off the second skewer as Marina asked her question and he had to smile just to keep from chuckling. Was it the dark skin and exotic silks? Here, he had thought he blended in so well. He nodded with a soft sigh. ”Shehzade Aslam Kadir, eldest prince of Alisdaht. Pleased and delighted to enjoy this time with you.” He spoke with an exaggerated flourish of his hands into a small bow, keeping a smile. ”It was luckily a very long and mostly uneventful voyage.” He set the two finished skewers neatly side by side to his right.

Marina’s eyes practically bulged out of her head. “Oh wow! A prince.” Part of her wanted to toss her own title out like a coin and see what it bought her, but another part held it back. People lied. Men lied. And if he could say he was a prince, then technically… he could be. Or he could be hoping she was gullible enough to believe it…

---

Syvlia had once again managed to give her guard detail to the slip. The only one she would never dream of escaping would be Ambrose. When he was absent, well, she figured she would be safest on her own. It was not as if she would completely lose her tail. They would catch up…eventually. She was now wanting some time for herself where the citizens weren’t really aware of her identity. ”Now, I should have about an hour to….oh, is that Marina?”

A wide grin grew on her lips as she looked closer, hidden by the passing crowds and a stall she was currently using for cover. It was her dear, older sister and she was talking to some noble man but his long hair didn’t let her see much from his back. Sylvia let out a quiet, sinister giggle as she made herself smaller and moved amidst the crowds, finding large groups to hide her better. There was no way she was just going to let this scene play out.

She stayed out of both Marine’s and the strange, but growingly handsome man's sights as she got closer. Her movements were smooth and graceful, like a lioness on the hunt. Sylvia’s eyes went wide as she found exactly what she was hoping for…there was a skewer exactly where Marnie liked to keep it! Now she was behind Marnie making her way towards them.

“Casual, Sylvie, act casual.“ She muttered under her breath. It kept her going even when the beautifully handsome man looked her way with a confused look. Vibrant red hair like theirs MAY not be the most discreet, but there was no way he’d know who she was. The man’s gaze seemed to flick between her sister and herself and she could just pick up him muttering something to her amazing big sister. It was now or never!

Syvlia lurched forward and with deft hands plucked the skewer right from its spot, a practiced motion if she were honest. She instinctively spun around Marnie to her opposite side, the skewer flying to her mouth where she pulled each piece off and just like Marnie her cheeks became packed with the meat and the few cooked vegetables, only hers was like a squirrel trying to carry a whole winter’s worth of acorns before the first snow.

She visibly struggled to chew, her face scrunched up and brows pinched as she bit by bit swallowed each piece. Syvlia let out a long huff and patted her chest. ”Ah, so sister, who is the meat- I mean man?” The slip wasn’t entirely on purpose but she decided to roll with it, leaning an elbow on her older sister while staring daggers at the man sitting across from them.

When Sylvia drifted up behind her, Marina hadn’t even registered danger at first. Not until she felt the smallest tug at her belt, so quick that it barely disturbed the fabric of her dress. The next second, her weight shifted, and she realized the light pressure at her waist was gone.

Marina’s hand moved to the notch automatically. Her fingers met nothing. For a moment, she simply sat there, blinking. After a moment, her eyes lowered to her belt again, checking as if the skewer might somehow have returned on its own. It had not.

Then she slowly turned her head.

Sylvia was already circling her like a professional pickpocket, cheeks stuffed and round with stolen meat, eyes bright with the kind of shamelessness only a little sister could perfect.

Marina’s jaw dropped. “SYLVIA—” Her voice came out in a cry of betrayal. She lunged after her on pure instinct, skirt swishing, one hand ready to snatch back the skewer, but she realized quickly the whole thing had been stored in those big squirrel cheeks.

“You absolute FIEND!” Marina hissed, pointing at Sylvia’s cheeks. “That was for Ambrose.”

She jabbed a finger toward Aslam like a lawyer calling a witness. “Tell her. Tell her this is theft.”

Then Marina planted herself in Sylvia’s path, eyes frightfully narrowed.“Now you’re going to pay the sister tax for this.” She threatened darkly.

Sylvia hunched her shoulders and gazed up at her like a scolded puppy, a fear Aslam couldn’t tell if it was real or not. ”Th-the sister tax? Surely, there is no need for such a harsh reaction to what was a playful joke!” She tried laughing to reinforce her stance, but it faded quickly as Marina narrowed her eyes intensely. ”Besides, there’s no need to bring up Ambrose! It would be cold by the time it got to him anyway!” Sylvia tried to switch up her angle holding up pleading hands before she glanced over at tall, dark, and handsome with wide eyes and a quivering lip. Surely, he would step in to save such a helpless and beautiful maiden as herself.

Aslam had barely held back the chuckle from leaving further than his chest as the younger sister boldly stole the stashed away skewer. The sight of her puffed up cheeks was far too similar to how Marina looked just moments ago and he had to bring his hand to cover the grin on his lips. He had to wonder if the rest of the Varian royal family were this eccentric. The whole spectacle served to endear both of them to him and certainly left an impression he would not forget. His thoughts were broken as he registered he was being addressed. Aslam gave Sylvia a small regretful look as he nodded in the affirmative to Marina. ”She took something that was rightfully yours and as there is no way to return it in its original state…that is indeed theft. Theft of a family member no less.” Aslam’s voice was grave as he crossed his arms and shook his head as he delivered the judgment like she was being charged with a capital crime which, to be fair, might have been the case for Marina if the way she consumed the first two were any indication.

Marina stuck her tongue out at Sylvia. “Thief.”

”O-oh yeah?!?”

“Delinquent.”

Sylvia glared at the man as her mind raced with ways to get herself out of this mess….or bring him down with her. She whipped her head back towards Marina, her long, straight hair flying in all directions as she jutted an accusing finger at Aslam. ”If I am being charged, he is guilty too! He definitely saw me approach and did nothing!” The younger sister stamped her foot on the ground with renewed confidence at her new line of defense. ”He should have to pay the tax too.” Syliva didn’t shift her head but glanced back over at Aslam. She was going to have to knock off some points from his potential for not backing her up against her sister.

Sylvia’s sudden accusation made Marina pause. Her brows lifted, and she glanced at Aslam again, now with a slow, amused smile creeping in. “Oh. Now he pays too?” Marina echoed, as if tasting the idea. “Sylvia,” Marina began after a pause, voice almost gentle, “you cannot prosecute the bystander when you are the one who committed the crime.” Then she leaned closer, close enough that Sylvia could see the gleam in her eyes. “But,” she added, softer, “I do admire the audacity.”

”Please, mercy oh wonderful, kindest, most -eep!” Sylvia spoke quickly, taking a step back, hoping to buy enough time to slip away. However, it was too little too late.

Marina straightened fully, then without warning she lunged. She grabbed Sylvia around the shoulders and hauled her into a tackle hug so fierce it nearly tipped them both sideways. Marina squeezed like she was trying to wring the stolen skewer out of her ribs by force. “SISTER TAX,” she declared, muffled against Sylvia’s hair. She proceeded to tickle Sylvia. “Pay up, you little goblin!”

Sylvia’s feet flailed as she was lifted off her feet with a loud gasp as some of the air left her lungs. Desperately she tried to wiggle herself free, but she had little hope to escape her sister’s gorilla arms. ”How can you stand there...and do nothing!” Her voice was tiny as she looked over at Aslam for any kind of salvation. Once the tickling came, Sylvia erupting into giggles that made the tight squeeze around her worse. ”N-never.” She managed to eek out between fits of laughter.

A low chuckle escaped Aslam’s lips as he watched with the utmost amusement at the two sister’s display. It was only after he had started that a conflicted look donned on his face. The prince rose from his seat once it was clear Sylvia’s punishment would not be swift and walked back to the same stall they had gotten the skewers from. It took but a minute and he returned to the squabbling sisters holding a fresh skewer in both hands. ”Please, I believe Sylvia has paid for her transgression. I hope you will accept these for her bail.” A full smile was directed at both of them.

Marina’s nostrils flared before her eyes even found the source of that beautiful aroma of meat. She froze mid-wrestle with Sylvia still trapped in her arms and took one slow, dramatic sniff of the air, as if she were a hound catching a trail of a fox.

Her head turned, her gaze landed on the skewers in Aslam’s hands and Marina’s grip loosened immediately, releasing her with a final warning squeeze. Then she straightened and stepped forward with dignity. She plucked one fresh skewer from Aslam’s hand, inspected it, then tucked it into her belt. Marina subsequently gave a satisfied little hmph.

Sylvia took a few deep breaths after Marina had released her to restore the oxygen in her lungs that were dangerously close to depletion. Her chest ached maybe just a little but the interaction between her older sister and still as of yet unnamed man. The blue of her eyes sparkled, and not simply from the sunlight, as she did her best to fade just enough into the background to observe.

“Well.” Marina turned back to Aslam, a smirk forming on her features. “I suppose you do not have to pay the tax now,” she decided, though she had been moments from tackling him too. “Thank you, Shehzade. Your timing is impeccable.” She glanced down at Sylvia again, eyes narrowing. “And you,” she told her sister, “are still on probation.”

The young troublemaking princess gave her best look of innocence as she clasped her hands together in front of her giving her dear older sister a charming smile. She brought her wrist in front of her face with an exaggerated look of anxiety. She did not wear watches. ”Oh, look at the time! Ambrose is going to toss stalls left, right, and center if I do not return soon!!” Her eyes went wide as she shifted her stance quickly and began to dart away. Sylvia turned her head back at the pair, giving her sister a wink, as she faded into the crowd once more. ”Best of luck sister and man I still do not know the name of!” Her voice started loud but got much quieter.

Marina put her hands on her hips and remarked with a fond smile, “What a weirdo.”

”You are welcome. I do what must be done.” Aslam didn’t hide the amusement as he picked up his potential fate had he not gone for more of the delicious treat. ”Although…” He tapped his chin with a thoughtful expression. ”...perhaps It would have been better had I been made to suffer the tax.” Aslam hummed with a shrug like the possibility would have been just as fine.

His words made her brows lift. It took a second to land, and then her cheeks reddened more over time, like someone was turning up a dial. She might have accused him of only wanting her “delicate pretty hands on his body,” if Aslam hadn’t kept talking.

A short chuckle escaped his lips as the younger sister left nearly as quickly as she had arrived, watching her long enough to see her slip into the crowd before turning fully to Marina. ”You have my deepest sympathies, Marina. I have quite the mischievous and willful younger sister as well.” There was a fondness in his voice and eyes as he spoke of Ranya, seeing much of her in the young Varian princess. He imagined Sylvia was what she would act like had she had the freedom to do so.

”Now, I do believe you mentioned purchasing something overly priced.” His head turned back towards where stalls other than those selling food lined the street. ”May I be so bold as to suggest it be an item to wear? You see, there is this grand ball on the horizon and I would greatly enjoy seeing it on your person should you attend.” Aslam said smoothly.

Marina’s brows remained raised. He was indeed bold. She tilted her head as she considered the idea that this prince may actually be trying to court her. She shifted weight from foot to foot, deeply considering the notion. She knew she could not drift too long without answering, so she drew it out on purpose. “Hm, weeeell… …I already have a glooorrrious dress picked out, but one can never have too many accessories.”

Her gaze slid past him to a nearby jewelry stall, and her eyes lit up. “Oh yes,” she breathed, already on the move, “look at those sparklies.” The last word came out almost like a growl as she hurried over, completely unashamed of herself.

Aslam clasped his hands behind his back and followed Marina to the stall that had caught her eye with an easy smile. The almost too long pause before her response had admittedly given him a bit of anxiety. He watched where her gaze landed carefully as he had no idea what her dress looked like nor its color. It would be a disaster to ask her to wear something that clashed with her look. He internalized a dark chuckle. Perhaps that wouldn’t be so bad. Less competition for him.

”Hmm, yes, there is quite a diverse collection here.” He habitually stroked his non-existent beard as he leaned in beside her carefully examining the arrangement. Truth be told there were fine pieces, but none called to him until…. ”Whaatt aboouuttt this one?” Aslam drew out the question as his fingers pilfered what could only be a refined masterpiece of a necklace from its velvet cushion display. The gem held in the centerpiece of the necklace captured the vibrance of her hair as he held it out in his hand while the merchant eyed them with caution and hope for a sale and not a robbery.

Marina’s head snapped toward his hand the moment the necklace caught the light. She then simply stared, lashes fluttering. Finally, a delighted grin stretched across her face. “Oh my gods,” she breathed, leaning closer with both hands hovering near it. “I love it. I love it.” Her fingers twitched and then her eyes lifted to Aslam. “It matches my hair like it was made for me. Look at it,” she insisted, voice turning almost reverent, “it’s perfect.”

Then she gave him a smug smile. “You have excellent taste, Shehzade,” Marina declared, and she tapped her own collarbone with a nod. “Now please put it on me.”

Aslam’s face had been tense as Marina examined what he picked out, watching for any signs she may dismiss it. Instead, he found the tension leaving his face quickly only to be followed by a small smile at her ecstatic reaction. The rusted gears of his heart began to move and pump a familiar, if perhaps unwanted, sensation through his body. ”I am ever glad to receive such high praise. It would be my honor to bestow it upon you.” There was a more playful, teasing tone to his voice as he stepped around Marina.

Both arms came over her shoulders and took both ends of the necklace into his hands. Aslam brought the necklace back against her neck, brushing her crimson locks out of the way so as to not catch it. There was a nostalgic look on his face as his hands brought the two ends together, connecting the clasp with dextrous precision years working with unstable chemicals brought. ”There. Now let us take a look…” He stated confidently and stepped back to her front.

His face returned to a more neutral expression as he took in the sight of her with more intent, though his eyes could not hold his stunned state. Her eyes, her hair, the necklace surely made every feature of Marina’s pop. An uneasy feeling stirred in his stomach as even the sun’s rays chose that time to exacerbate her appearance.

There was no comment made on what he thought of how it looked. Aslam turned to the merchant with a determined glint. ”I will be taking this piece off your hands.” It must have been the tone of his voice but when the discussion for price came, the merchant clearly refrained from extracting a higher price than what such a piece of jewelry might cost.

Neo Genesis: Chronicles of Eberron

🌸 Race: Half-Elf 🌸
🦋 Class: Druidic Mystic 🦋
🍄 Location: Port Verge, Lhazaar Principalities 🍄
🍃 Interactions: Corin @Lava Alckon Bastion @Oso Menzai @Potter Arya @Tae Meiyu @FunnyGuy Malik
🌼 Equipment: 🌼

Full Equipment List

✦ Druidic Staff
✦ Stone-Carved Dagger
✦ Poison-Tipped Blowgun Darts
✦ Her amulet
✦ Satchel
✦ Flint & dried tinder moss
✦ Waterskin
✦ Dried Medicinal Herbs
✦ Bag of pretty trinkets, marbles and rocks
✦ Sharpening river stone
✦ Oruna tribal moon bracelet

🪷 Attire: Outfit 🪷

Attire

✦ Antler Headdress – Elegant branching antlers wrapped in vines and blooming wild roses and other flowers, dangling with purple crystal teardrops.
✦ Amulet with an unknown crest
✦ Thick Magenta Hair – Flowing in long, heavy waves with many braids, tiny beads, and blossoms braided throughout.
✦ Arm Jewelry – Vine-wrapped armlets and bracelets studded with glistening stones in violet and turquoise hues.
✦ White off-the-shoulder crop top
✦ Mistpetal Skirt
✦ Waist Adornments – A belt holding a satchels, feathers, and a charm pouch of herbs and trinkets.
✦ Leg Jewelry – Beaded anklets and thigh cords with gemstone charms
✦ Nature Tattoos & Paint – Faint tribal markings or nature-inspired body paint peek beneath her outfit

🪞 Gold Balance: 6 🪞
🌸 Injuries: N/A. 🌸

Phia's morning had been plagued by deep and utter confusion.

“I was Minerva.” Malik's voice repeated in her head as they had been led through the keep. Colors and textures shifted through her vision—stone giving way to old wood, iron bolted into places that made no sense, the creak of ropes and the distant crash of waves bleeding through the walls. But Phia saw nothing more than that. Mentally, she was still in that tavern bedroom. “I am Malik, now.

How did one person simply become another overnight?

Her eyes flicked toward him again, lingering longer than they should have. She had seen shifters all her life—watched them take on claws, fur, teeth—but this… this was not the same. This was something else entirely. Something that made the hairs along her arms prickle.

Though this Malik was nearly pleasant in manner and in vision, she longed to know where Minerva was. Malik acted and looked nothing like her. There was no way he could be Minerva. If such was true, then had he done something with her? The thought made her chest tighten. She folded her arms, hugging herself as she warred with the idea, her fingers pressing into her skin enough to leave red.

If Minerva was missing, then she found it troubling to even care about seeing this prince. It should not be the priority.

Before she knew it, they were in a throne room. The space opened wider than anything she had been in since leaving the wilds. Light spilled in through glass high above, scattering strange colors across the floor and over the throne itself.

“I am not sure what misfortune led to your arrival on my island.”

Phia’s gaze shifted to the prince. The prince was a blue-skinned male dressed in clothes perhaps mildly finer than those that walked the port, though worn in a way that suggested they had seen more than comfort. The most peculiar thing was that Phia thought he looked rather young. Younger than her, even. And yet… nothing about him felt young. Not the way he sat, nor the way he watched them.

“But know this now and accept it as truth. While you are here in the domain of Prince Ravic Dane, you stand as property of the Seadragons. For I am him, and everything around you belongs to me. If you wish to live, I suggest you make the choice to find peace with such a fact. Let’s keep it simple and begin with introductions. I wish for each of you to stand before me and tell me who you think you are.”

Property.

Her fingers curled slightly at her sides, nails pressing into her palms as her gaze flicked briefly to the bones set into the throne behind him.

“Prince,” Malik was the first to introduce himself, which Phia found strange considering he had joined them this morning. Her head turned sharply toward him, suspicion twisting her countenance as her eyes lingered, searching for something...anything...that resembled Minerva.

There was nothing.

She shot Menzai a look that communicated her unease as Malik continued speaking. “Apologies first and foremost. I know who I am, for I know my blood. With pride, I stand as Malikendor of the Shifting Sands, son of Marakhami and grandson of Malikeh. Valenar Elf of Shivairn.”

Phia did not wait any longer.

Before doubt could creep back in, before anyone else could step forward in her place, she moved. Bare feet struck against the floor as she stepped out from the line, her grip tightening around her staff.

Her heart was still uneasy, but it would not make her shrink.

She stopped a few paces ahead, shoulders squaring as her chin lifted. Her gaze locked onto the prince, unflinching, though her fingers curled tighter around the worn wood in her hand.

For a brief moment, she said nothing.

Then the base of her staff struck the ground with an echoing crack. The sound cut through the vast room, bouncing off bone and stone alike.

“I am Phia of the Oruna Tribe…”

She then followed her introduction with certainty and an unyielding glare.

“And I am not property.”

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Time: Evening
Location: The Ball
Interactions: @Oso Ambrose @HylianRose Lucian

---

As they had approached the crown prince, Marina saw a flash of a blurry-faced woman clinging to his arm, her long dark hair pouring down the length of her arm. The image was so ordinary, so careless, and yet it still stole the air from Marina’s lungs. For a moment, her body reacted before her mind could correct it, a breathy exhale leaving her lips, her brows raising as she nearly did a double-take.

You're supposed to be there.

Yet she wasn't. No one was beside Lucian right now.

And what hurt the most was that she hadn't even gotten to see her face. Lately, when her mind reached for it, all she received was a blur of pale skin.

Where her eyes should be. A mouth without the curve of her smile. All she got was hair, always hair.

She forced herself back into a steady stride, but the next thing she noticed made her stomach drop a little. There was no spark of enthusiasm on Lucian’s face. He was trying to smile, yet he looked as though he were bracing for impact, and for all her token indignation, she felt a deep pang in her chest. Had she gone too far with her insistence earlier in the week? Perhaps she had teased him too much.

Nonetheless, when she came to stand before him, she smiled simply. “Lucian,” Marina greeted lightly, and then immediately made it worse on purpose. “You look thrilled to see me.” She smiled like she was teasing, but her eyes were searching his face hard enough that she could not fully hide her intentions.

Then she leaned in, lowering her voice. “Are you alright,” she asked softly in such a manner that it had nearly chipped at her mask. So she recovered quickly, lifting her chin again. “Because you are doing that thing where you look like you might sprint into a wall to escape a conversation.” She wondered if he had hoped to scurry off to those crazy witch hunters. Hadn't the ball just started?

She stepped half a pace closer, as if to block his easiest retreat route without making it obvious, her warning plain in her eyes.