princess

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Time: Evening
Location: The Ball
Interactions: @Remram Nolan

---

“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about wanting to maintain that connection, to value it dearly. You never know its value until you lose it.”

The words repeated in Marina’s mind as Nolan took her hand.

For a moment, her gaze grew distant as it flickered down to the bracelet on her own wrist, thumb brushing over the little knots and beads there. She thought of Sophia before she could stop herself.

She saw her for a moment, tying that bracelet around her wrist, laughing softly when Marina fidgeted, telling her to hold still.

Oh, Nolan. If only you knew how right you were.

She did not want to make the same mistake again.

Then Nolan’s fingers intertwined with hers, his other hand settled at her lower back, and Marina blinked herself back into the ballroom. Her free hand found his shoulder a breath later.

She had prepared herself for the usual stiff ballroom dance.

But Nolan moved rather beautifully.

Marina’s brows lifted before she could stop them. His steps were elegant and steady. It was terribly inconvenient, really, because she had been fully prepared to be the interesting one.

“Oh,” she said, trying very hard not to sound too impressed. “You are good at this.”

Her own feet followed a second later than they should have, and she straightened her posture.

“I am also good at this,” she added quickly, though one of her steps came a touch too close to his shoe. “In a more unpredictable, artistic sense.”

They turned with the music, the ballroom lights sliding across them. Marina glanced up at him, cheeks still warm, meaning only to find something normal to say. But her eyes caught his properly then, and for one moment, every clever thought in her head simply wandered off.

His eyes were not one color exactly.

At first glance, they were gray, steady, and cloudy in a way that suited him. But then the light caught them as they spun, and green surfaced there, soft and pretty, like something hidden beneath river water. Marina found herself staring longer than she meant to.

“So, uh…” Marina began, very casually in her mind at least. “Have you been enjoying the ball? ...Do you like balls?”

Her eyes widened.

“Like the event,” she clarified immediately. “I meant the dancing event.”

She smiled quickly. “Do you have friends here in Caesonia you look forward to seeing at these things?” she asked. “Sometimes, even when I find balls boring, that is what I look forward to.”

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

_{Interaction:@FunnyGuy Lorenzo @samreaper Kazumin @Potter Olivia @Oso Cassius}

For a moment, King Edin said nothing.

<sub>"Wife killed for all to see...

...For your children to see.

Forever miserable...

...Love forever far from your grasp."</sub>

The words should not have mattered from Lorenzo Vikena.

They should have been absurd coming from a man who could barely enter a ballroom without embarrassing himself.

Yet many had heard them, and worse, some part of the room had believed them.

Edin could see it in the stillness near the dais, in the widened eyes, in the mouths that had gone tight around swallowed words. They were not only shocked by Lorenzo’s disrespect. They were shocked by the possibility that the fool had spoken something true.

Then Charlotte reached him.

Barefoot and clutching her dress in both hands, she crossed the room without any care for the eyes upon her and embraced her stepfather. The sight landed exactly as Edin knew it would.

Sympathy crossed some faces. The girl clung to Lorenzo as though he had saved her from something, as though the king himself had become the danger standing before them. It irritated Edin more than it should have, not because he cared for their little family scene, but because he knew how easily such images could become stories.

Then his eyes moved to Cassius Vael.

The bastard son stood near Charlotte with open violence in his gaze. Edin saw the way he positioned himself, close enough to defend her, close enough to make a statement without yet daring to say one. A few weeks in Sorian and a pretty girl’s favor had apparently made him bold enough to glare at a king in his own hall.

Then came the woman with strawberry-blonde hair, someone Edin could not recall ever seeing before, which only made the boldness of her approach more insulting. She was worse in her own way. Not important enough to recognize, not titled enough to matter, and yet there she stood with rage written plainly across her face. Edin regarded her with cold disdain as her eyes burned with the kind of hatred that belonged to those who forgot how easily hatred could be punished.

Then Kazumin moved to her.

That annoyed Edin most of all. He went to the girl, pulling her into his arms. So that was who she was.

Still, even Kazumin had chosen to protect someone from Edin rather than preserve the dignity of the crown.

They all looked at him as though he were the threat.

In his own hall.

In his castle.

Edin’s expression did not change at once, but he felt something inside him intensify.

No.

This would not be the story.

Edin finally smiled. “Have you forgotten your own words, Duke Vikena?”

The quietness of the question made several people still further.

He stepped forward, his eyes only on Lorenzo. His attention settled fully on the duke, forcing the attention of those nearby to follow.

“You speak boldly for a man who began this indecency himself.”

An indecipherable murmur came from the nearest nobles.

Edin heard it and pressed. “Do not look at me as though I created what came from your mouth.”

His gaze moved to the cluster of courtiers nearest the dais, the ones close enough to have heard Lorenzo’s earlier counsel before the shouting began. A lord with a pale, nervous face. A woman in green whose hand had tightened around her fan. A court official standing rigidly near the steps.

“You heard him.”

The lord stiffened. “Your Majesty?”

Edin did not look away from Lorenzo.

“Did Duke Vikena tell me to keep Lady Charlotte as my north star?”

The lord swallowed. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

A pause moved through the room.

Edin turned his eyes toward the woman in green.

“Did he warn me of lingering eyes?”

The woman’s face tightened with visible discomfort. She glanced toward Charlotte, then lowered her gaze. “He did, Your Majesty... Those were his words, Your Majesty.”

There.

His gaze returned to Lorenzo. “You placed your daughter in this conversation. Not I.”

Then he leaned in ever so slightly, lowering his voice just enough to make the words feel personal. “I gave your words the courtesy of a question instead of the punishment they deserved.”

Charlotte remained wrapped around Lorenzo, and Edin allowed himself one deliberate look at her. Her tears had done their work too well. That needed to be turned as well.

“Look at her.”

His voice lowered, and the softness in it was crueler than anger would have been. “Look at what your loose tongue has done.”

Then he looked back at Lorenzo with open contempt.

The accusation landed hard enough that a few nearby nobles looked toward Lorenzo again, this time with uncertainty rather than sympathy.

Edin continued before the room could recover. “Your words made her the subject. Your rage made her the spectacle.” His voice boomed so that many nearby could hear it, turning even more heads, though it did not get through the noise of the ballroom to everyone. “I asked whether your counsel had meaning. You answered with slander, hysteria, and a threat you barely had sense enough to swallow!”

“You insulted your king. You slandered lawful judgment. You invoked my dead wife before my court.”

He took one more step closer, enough that the guards shifted.

“If you claim to be her father, then you had best start acting like it.”

Then his attention shifted, his gaze passing over Cassius, Kazumin, Charlotte, and Olivia in turn.

“And the four of you would do well to remember where you stand before you look upon your king with accusation in your eyes EVER AGAIN.”

The moment might have erupted further. Edin had already caught sight of Calbert Damien moving quickly through the crowd. The count’s expression was restrained, but his haste betrayed him well enough. No doubt he meant to salvage what could be salvaged before Lorenzo dragged his own reputation, and perhaps Cassius’s with it, into deeper ruin.

Edin’s eyes narrowed.

Before Calbert could reach them, a palace attendant stepped urgently to the front of the gathering and bowed low.

“Your Majesty,” he said, “the King and Queen of Varian will be entering shortly.”

Edin froze in his position.

The Varians could not enter to find a Caesonian duke trembling with rage before the throne, Charlotte Vikena crying, Cassius Vael staring murder at his king, and some unknown girl looking as though she might set the whole palace alight if given enough reason.

It angered him that they would leave breathing because of something as simple as optics.

This would have to be ended now.

Edin’s gaze snapped back to the cluster before him, and when he spoke again, his voice was intimate but sharp enough to cut.

“You have five seconds to remove yourselves from my sight.” He lifted two fingers at his side.

The gesture was small, but every guard near the dais understood it at once. Hands shifted to hilts. The men nearest Lorenzo and Charlotte did not move in yet, but they readied themselves with the obedience of those waiting for one more command.

“All of you.”

His eyes passed over Lorenzo, Charlotte, Cassius, Olivia, and Kazumin.

“And if you value your lives, you will not make me say it twice.”

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

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

---

Charlotte had returned the hug with extra vigor, squeezing the poor girl as tightly as she could without sending them both toppling into the table. Olivia had really grown to mean a lot to her over the last few weeks. She was loyal, kind and one of the best friends someone could have.

As the conversation came back around to the subject of activity, she couldn't help but wince at the idea of a drinking game. It made her think of choking on ale at that tavern, and she had learned the hard way, if nothing else, that it was not her forte.

Nonetheless, she smiled at her and patted her stomach with performed seriousness. "I wish to consume food until my tummy explodes." Charlotte told Olivia and then added with a small giggle. "It would also be absolutely divine to sit here and gossip with you two for hours on end."

“ARE YOU MAD?!

She straightened at once, blinking rapidly. The shout had torn through the air and immediately caught her attention. Lottie had recognized her stepfather's voice at once, yet she had never heard him sound that angry before.

“Do you think I would ever entertain my daughter ever being with you?!"

Her head whipped toward the throne and her mind took the scene in piece by piece. The princes staring wide-eyed. The nobles frozen over their glasses. The king standing with fury darkening his face. Lorenzo before him, red-faced and trembling. “A man who had his wife killed for all to see?! FOR YOUR CHILDREN TO SEE! And now you hold a damned ball and sit alone as if it didn't even occur! You may be king but you are the FURTHEST from worthy enough to even consider her!”

The words reached her slowly, then all at once.

Charlotte rose from her seat abruptly, not even excusing herself as she started toward the scene.

Alibeth's chair was gone.

Had Edin asked— No, he would never want the disgraced Vikena daughter as his queen. That was for certain. That meant...

“I may be seen as a fool in your court, but you will FOREVER be miserable! Your ilk will never forgive you and love will forever be far from your grasp! AND IF YOU DARE THINK OF TAKING HER…”

Her stomach turned and her skin crawled. She felt absolutely disgusted by what had been most likely suggested in this conversation. Beneath it all and burning hotter than her shame and disgust was her anger.

“Take my title. Take my power if you wish it, but know that I will always be her father.”

Those words broke something inside her.

Tears filled her eyes so quickly that the room blurred before her, but she did not stop. She kicked her heels off her feet without any care for where they landed. She grabbed the front of her dress and crossed over to the scene.

Whatever horrid implication had been made about her, Lorenzo had not offered her away.

He had fought for her.

Charlotte reached him and threw her arms around him with all the strength her body could manage. She clung to him like a child who had almost lost him. Her face pressed hard against his shoulder.

The pieces of a memory came back in that moment, one late night when her late parents had thought she was fast asleep.

“Emina… how could you?” Walter demanded, his voice cracking beneath the rage. “How could you agree to sleep with him?”

“Because he has little more patience left for your outbursts,” she had answered, her voice shaking. “And even less for my inability to give you a son!”

“...If I did not do this, he would have us divorced. He would force you to find another wife, and I would lose you anyway.”

“So you chose to let him have you?” Walter said, heartbreak hanging on his every word. “You thought that would save us?”

“No,” Emina breathed, “I thought it might save Charlotte.”

When Lottie lifted her head from his shoulder, tears still spilling freely down her cheeks, she looked at Edin with a fury intense enough to kill by look alone.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Time: Evening
Location: The Ball
Interactions: @Tae Mina @HylianRose Lucian @Remram Nolan @Lava Alckon Drake

---

"Has anyone ever told you that you are very disarming, Princess Marina?"

"YES." Marina answered immediately as she untangled herself from Mina. " I'm a very serene presence." She said this while still slightly breathless from attacking her friend with affection, which perhaps damaged the claim.

"If I had known that you had prepared a gift I would have brought you something as well. Just add that to the tally, I suppose."

Marina seemed to still be considering his first comment, her eyes drifting upward in thought. Then she tapped her cheek once and added, "One of our cooks once told me she thinks of me as a raccoon in a tiara." Then she paused, looked back at him, and seemed to remember what he had actually said. "Oh yes. Tallying."

Marina lifted her palm and pretended to write on it with an invisible pen. "Lord Nolan Edwards now owes me one mysterious future gift."

"I know this is abrupt, but if it please you, would you care for a dance?"

Marina’s invisible pen stopped, and her cheeks warmed. Her gaze rose, and she stared at him as a sudden rush of nerves caught her off guard.

He wanted to dance with her?

Really?

For a second, her mouth opened without producing anything useful at all. Then her expression brightened, and she offered her hand as if she had not just spent the last few seconds malfunctioning.

"Sure!"

Before she could take more than a step, Mina’s voice pulled her attention back over her shoulder. Marina’s smile widened at once.

"Yes! Slumber party in my room tonight!"

Then she leaned closer to Mina before fully stepping away, lowering her voice into a whisper. "Oh, and take good care of Lucian."

She gave Mina a small nudge, keeping her voice low.

"Don’t let him drink too much."

---

As Marina and Nolan positioned themselves a little ways away from the group, she suddenly paused, and with no warning whatsoever, she lifted the slit of her skirt to reveal her thigh.

“Hold this.”

The command came out nonchalantly, as if this were the most normal request in the world, and she held the fabric out toward him without waiting to see his face or hear his answer. Once the fabric was properly managed, whether by his startled hand or her own impatient one, she slipped her hand beneath the fabric and took hold of the garter strapped around her leg, twisting it until two little hidden pouches came into view.

She opened the first pouch and fished around inside it with intense focus, her brows knitting together until she finally plucked out a bracelet.

Then she straightened, looking deeply pleased with herself.

“Okay. So, while we were at the museum, I found these little charms in the gift shop of the beetles we saw,” she explained, holding it up between them, “but all their bracelets were ugly, honestly, and I have standards.”

She placed the bracelet in his palm. “So I bought a bracelet-making kit at the market, and I made you this one instead with the beetle charms.”

For once, her smile softened before it could turn smug. She lifted her own wrist, revealing her own charm bracelet resting against her skin.

“Some of the people dear to me and I have friendship bracelets,” she said quietly. “It was… something we used to do.”

Her gaze caught on the bracelet at her own wrist for half a second too long. The brightness in her expression dimmed briefly, like a shadow passing over a flame.

Then she swallowed and looked back at him. “I thought I might continue it,” she added, trying for casual and not quite reaching it. “Make some for the people I meet. The important ones, I mean. So I can feel connected to everyone, even when we all go scattering off into our own corners of the world.”

Her eyes shone faintly, and for a moment, her mouth pressed into a thin line. Then her nose scrunched, and she grimaced at herself. “Ugh. I made it sound cheesy, didn’t I?”

She shook her head and then offered him her arm with renewed brightness. “Anyway. Dancing!”

Neo Genesis: Chronicles of Eberron

✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦

Meeting the Prince

✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦

---

---

One by one, Prince Ravic Dane watched the strangers introduce themselves. Quietly, he studied each of them as they stood before him and explained exactly who they believed themselves to be. He even smiled when the Tiefling girl could not even muster the courage to step forward at all. Her skin was blue like his, but her heart was weak. It was a good thing the others showed the bite of fire he had hoped for. The Prince’s fingers stopped tapping against his throne as he finally stood once Menzai had finished and stepped back. 

“It is always interesting to hear how people identify themselves. One rarely gives the full truth… One of you did not give me a name at all, and another…” His eyes shifted from Corin to Arya. “…was too scared to even speak to me.” 

He laughed, and though his joy seemed genuine, it did not take away from the intensity of his weathered eyes. 

“Not one of you understands where you are, but most of you understand who you are. That, my friends, is far more useful to your Prince.” He took a step down from his throne, beginning to close the distance between him and the group, each step echoing in the vast chamber of his makeshift throne room as he continued his words. “And really…In Port Verge, all that matters is how useful you can be. It has been brought to my attention that your airship will require repairs before it is skyworthy again. Expensive repairs from what I hear. The good news is, I do have an envoy from House Lyrandar here on the island. She is an honored guest of the Seadragons and has a brilliant mind for airships… But… As I’m sure you all know, things rarely come free in this world, and they never do on my island. So, perhaps we can work something out, eh?” 

For the second time, Malik stepped ahead of the group, his expression stoic and his eyes focused.

“Prince,” The elf’s accent thickened slightly to claim Ravic's attention. “Do not treat us like hounds, waving before us what we seek as though it were some trivial prize. Speak with honor, for you desire something as well. If it is a deal you want, my companions and I will hear it plainly.” Malik only glanced toward the others, confident none would disagree. 

Meanwhile, Menzai observed the approaching prince with a quiet, stern gaze, ears flicking with distaste at the way the boy-prince laughed with joy, but sounded more akin to mocking. His eye glowered at his remark toward Arya, belittling the tiefling’s struggles with regaining her lost courage. And his boastful talk of usefulness soured his mood further, detesting how he talked down to them while clearly seeming to want their services; reminding them of the airship as if to gallantly show he held all the cards meant to bend them easily to his devious whims. 

He glanced at Phia to see how she was taking the Prince’s prattling of casual ownership when Malik had chosen to speak up first. Ears perking to the tanned elf’s challenging rebuke; each word was spoken with confidence and rang true to how he felt, giving an acknowledging nod in agreement.” As Sir Malik said, it is better to treat us as respectful guests if you aim to gain our services. You speak of a deal, but until any such talk can proceed, tell us,’ lord’ prince, can you assure us the safety of the ship’s survivors? Until then, you may find our ears stubbornly closed. ” The wolf finished with a low rumbling, testing growl of his chest.

Prince Dane took another few steps towards the group as the first two spoke up. Their comments conjured a wicked smirk that crossed his lips in a way that made him look much older than his general appearance would suggest. 

“Am I the only one who sees the irony in you lot telling me not to treat you like hounds…just for the dog of the group to step in and start throwing conditions at me as though he has some semblance of control here. Hilarious… Truly.” A chuckle escaped his dangerous lips as he stopped his descent at the base of the steps below his throne. He looked down at Menzai and offered him a teasing little wink. 

“But of course, your people are fine. We are pirates, not monsters.” He bantered. “My men only have orders to touch them if they misbehave. As long as they are good, they shall remain good, if you know what I mean.” 

Corin hadn’t considered the idea of the other passengers. He had hoped they had escaped or, at worst, passed peacefully in the crash. So this went beyond the room, and that is what made Corin straighten up. He could negotiate their release — but he debated if having them under the watchful yet malignant eye of the Prince was better than letting loose into the literal den of scum in Port Verge. For now, they may very well be in the safest spot on the island.

” There is often a very fine line between working something out and being exploited for every last iota of worth.” Corin paused, his stance less deviant but just as stalwart. ” Name your terms.” 

The entire situation had Arya’s skin crawling like fire ants. His snide remarks toward her caused her eyes to narrow. He sat on a throne made out of blood and bones–most likely made by exploiting others–and he had the audacity to judge her? Her hand twitched, and her temper briefly flared. The Prince’s attitude reminded her of those she had endured in the past. She scowled and rubbed her wrists. What a jerk. 

Once the other passengers were mentioned, Arya’s heart raced faster than it already was. What fresh hell was on this island? It took all her self-control not to start hyperventilating. Had she escaped one cage for another? She squirmed and waited for the Prince to answer Corin. One thing was certain: None of them would be prisoners or property, including the passengers. Stella’s talons dug into her shoulder, but the eagle did not move a muscle or reveal herself. 

Phia stepped forward before the prince could give Corin an answer. She had been silent since she had first introduced herself, her grip tightening around her staff as the others had spoken. But her temper had been flaring ever since he had singled Arya out, and it had only burned hotter when he stated the passengers would only be touched if they’d “misbehaved.”

Then he had called Menzai a dog, and she could not bear the heat anymore.

She stepped closer, pushing herself in front of the group and fixed her amber gaze on Prince Dane with unfiltered fury. “You will not dare call him that.” Her low voice trembled with emotion as she spoke. ” Menzai has more honor in one fang than you could ever dream of having.” She narrowed her gaze as she glared. “ Name your terms, as Corin said, and stop batting at us like a bored infant. No prince should play such childish games.”

Bastion did not understand why the word dog had made everyone so angry.

Dogs were among his favorite things. They were good, at least as far as he understood them. Dogs were loyal, warm, eager, and brave, and they let him pet them. Wendel had even told him once that he should get a good hound instead of a bird, because birds tended to make messes on shiny things. Bastion missed Wendel.

A hound was something worth wanting at your side. A hound was something dependable. A hound was not supposed to make Phia’s voice shake with anger or make Menzai’s growl deepen in his chest, but when Prince Ravic Dane said the word, Phia changed, and Menzai changed, and because they changed, Bastion changed too.

He did not step in front of Phia, though the first and oldest part of him wanted to. That part of him had been shaped for battlefields with fireballs crashing around him, screaming officers, and innocent people that he needed to move in front of so that he might be crushed before them. Yet Phia had stepped forward on purpose, with her staff in her hand and fury bright in her amber eyes, and Bastion was beginning to understand that protecting someone did not always mean getting in front of them. Sometimes, standing in front of someone meant stealing the moment they had chosen for themselves.

So he moved beside her instead, and Phia smiled ever so slightly.

His heavy footfalls were measured, but the sound still carried through the chamber as he came close enough for his shadow to fall near hers across the stone. He remained slightly behind her shoulder, not blocking her, not silencing her, but near enough that anyone looking at them would understand exactly what his presence meant. If the Prince reached for her, Bastion would move. But for now, he only watched.

Dog? Thrice now, he had his name and the honor of the Oruna tribe insulted, and with it felt his mood sour immensely. To be seen as a belittling pet by Minerva or a filthy mutt and lowly dog by these pirates rankled his blood. The wolf fumed in silent fury, his clawed hands twitching instinctively beneath the long sleeves, but Phia had stepped forward, refusing to allow them to be talked down to; how she defended his honor soothed his feral temper, if partially. Enough to get his foul mood in control and push to internalize his rage for now, for barking like a rabid dog would only serve to worsen the ever-increasing unpleasant tension. 

The sight of Bastion stepping to her side as a silent wall ready to act brought him some comfort.  Though from the warforged pose and curious expression, he appeared to be a bit lost in the situation. Once this farce of a meeting was finished and they were free of this cocky prick boy-prince, the group would be sure to apprise him of the situation, loathed as he was to participate in whatever deadly game Prince Dane was playing.

Prince Ravic Dane noticed the movement, of course. It would have been difficult not to notice a Warforged of Bastion’s size stepping up to him. The machine that called itself Bastion had all the subtlety of a fucking fortress, and yet there was something almost charming in the way he did it. Ravic’s smile sharpened with interest as he watched the effect his words had on these people. His attention returned to Phia, and he let the silence stretch for a moment before he laughed, though this time the sound was lower and warmer, less like mockery and more like he had found something unexpectedly entertaining.

“I like this girl.”

He took one slow step forward; his eyes fixed on Phia with amused approval, even as she had glared daggers his way. His gaze then flicked briefly toward Bastion, lingering just long enough to make it clear the movement had not gone unnoticed, before returning to Phia again.

“And do relax your guardian, my dear. If I meant you and your little friends harm, we would not be having such a fun conversation.”

“I’m not having any fun.” Phia informed him bluntly and immediately.

Bastion’s fingers then flexed once at his side, a small metallic adjustment that might have meant nothing to anyone who did not know him. He did not know whether Ravic was telling the truth. Since waking into this strange new world, Bastion had learned that words did not always exist to explain what someone meant. Sometimes words hide meaning. Often, he did not know the difference. 

Ravic, meanwhile, seemed entirely pleased with the way the moment had unfolded.

“But you are right about one thing. I have played long enough.”

He clasped his hands behind his back and began to pace along the base of the dais, no longer descending toward them, but moving across the floor instead.

“You want your airship repaired. I want something returned to me. Convenient, is it not? Two misfortunes meeting in the middle and discovering they might yet solve all their problems if only they would kiss.”

He smiled at his own little joke before continuing. 

“There is an island not far from here called Courdain. My people…do not like it. Pirates are superstitious creatures, yes, but the superstition is often well founded.”

His eyes moved over the gathered strangers, weighing how much to tell them and how much to leave for the island itself.

“Ships that sail too close to Courdain have a habit of not coming back. Some sailors claim they hear voices in the fog. Things that are not natural are rumored to be lurking in the shadows there. Sailors are dramatic by nature, so believe as much or as little of that as you like.”

His expression hardened.

“But the ships vanish all the same.”

Bastion tilted his head curiously as Ravic continued.

The wolf raised a suspicious brow, curiously concerned, his ears flicking as the prince casually carried on. 

“A vessel carrying cargo of great importance to me was foolish enough, or unlucky enough, to fall prey to Courdain. I do not especially care which. The result is the same. The ship is gone, the cargo is gone, and none of my crews will touch the matter.”

He spread the ring-covered fingers of his hands in dramatic fashion as he motioned to the group.

“Which brings me to you.”

Bastion understood that part at once. He had wondered if they would be seen as guests or prisoners here… But in reality, perhaps they were simply in the right place at the right time for this Prince to use them. But did they have a choice? 

“Retrieve this…item, bring it back to me, and my honored Lyrandar guest will see to your crippled airship. She has the knowledge. I have the harbor, the supplies, the hands, and the influence to make those repairs possible.”

Ravic paused, letting the promise settle before he added the cost of refusal.

“Refuse, and of course, the level of our hospitality changes.”

The words were polite in theory, but Bastion did not like them. They had the shape of a choice, yet they did not feel like one, and he tilted his head slightly as he tried to understand why people so often said threatening things in kind ways. It seemed inefficient. It also seemed crueler than simply saying what one meant.

Ravic caught the movement and smiled again, clearly entertained by whatever he believed he saw in the warforged’s bright blue eyes.

“Do not look so troubled, big man. I am not sending you alone. There is one person in Port Verge willing to accompany you. Someone who has…survived the island before.”

Ravic turned his gaze from Bastion back to Phia, then to Menzai, and finally to Corin, who had been practical enough to ask for the terms plainly.

“Those are my terms. Go to Courdain. Find my cargo. Bring it back. Do that, and I will give you what you need to leave my island alive and airborne.”

His smile returned in full, bright and dangerous beneath the fractured light of his makeshift throne room.

“And before any of you ask what the cargo is, I will spare us all the tedium of pretending I intend to answer.”

His eyes glittered.

“The person I am sending with you will identify it once you find it.”

“Very well then.” Malik’s expression had not changed with Ravic's unveiling of the terms. His voice, however, held the weight of authority, steady yet bold. He took half a step forward and placed a firm hand on Phia’s shoulder. The moment their eyes met, Malik gave her a nod. “Calm yourself, half-breed. This is not the moment for action,” He calmly scolded in a whisper before turning back to the prince, who was staring back at him with eyebrows raised and the most satisfied grin on his face. 

Phia’s expression twisted into confusion, and also clear offense. “Half-breed...?” She repeated audibly, drawing the word out slowly. For a second, she wondered if she had misunderstood—but no, the meaning was in the way he had said it.  She had heard that tone before, not from her people, but from wolves when they decided prey animals were beneath them. Her arms folded tightly around herself, amber eyes lifting back to him with wounded anger.

As the wolf listened to the prince detail his terms, he would take notice of Malik leaning close to Phia. Finding the act queer, he tuned his ears to the tanned elf. Initially appearing as if attempting to calm Phia’s temper, but the condescending tone towards the mention of half-breed had been rudely uncalled for, earning a small growling huff, glowering at the man’s attitude.

“A crew unwilling to return speaks loudly of this Courdain.” His eyes slightly narrowed. “Yet you still expect success from strangers with less knowledge of this island than your own lot.” Now Malik folded his arms loosely behind his back, pacing opposite Ravic. “Either you truly are desperate, Prince…” Malik let the silence add weight. “Or you believe us more capable than your own people. Either way, we will take this bargain. We agree to your terms, Prince,” Malik decided at the cease of his pacing.

Phia’s expression intensified. This man had joined them merely hours ago and he dared to speak for them all as if he were their leader, as if he had any right to decide their fates for them. The thought bristled under her skin, and she could not help but snap lowly in his direction, “Do not speak for us, Malik.” She could say no more as the prince spoke up to reply rather quickly.

Menzai continued to glower and bristle at the tanned elf, his initial opinions of the man proving wrong. Where he once thought him respectful, he showed disdain for half-bloods, then he deems himself the group’s leader with a continued boldness to speak as their mouth. A right never given nor earned, as he was but a mere stranger who seemed to act as if he knew them. Again, sweet Phia voiced the shared sentiment and chose to leave it at that for now. This was best settled later; the wolf would settle this issue one way or another. 

“I do not wish to paint you as a fool, Tairnadal, but you misunderstand my words.” Prince Dane remarked with joy as his eyes scanned the others in the group before falling back onto Malik as he continued his words. 

“Clearly, you are the leader of these people, so let me clarify to you. I do not have a crew that is unwilling to return to Courdain.” He stated as he approached Malik directly and stopped barely a foot from the elf. “There is not a crew on this island nor any in Lhazaar that would purposefully sail there at all. It is known by all here that such a place is best avoided… The ship carrying my cargo did not intend to be anywhere near that island. It was a storm that swept them to Courdain, and I am not willing to give up what was lost due to such a storm. Superstitions be damned. Traditions be damned. If you will do what I ask in exchange for repairs, then let us catch two fish with one spear. If not, then you and yours will need to find your own way off my island.” 

The Prince reached a hand out and rested it gently on Malik’s face, the smell of brine and the very sea itself strong on his flesh as though he were one with the waters. “I will not lie, I do very much like most of you… But there is not one of you who is not expendable to me. Though that does not mean I wish for you to fail. Quite the opposite, in fact.”

“My previous words still hold true.” Smoothly, Malik guided Ravic's hand away from his face. “We understand each other.” The elf finished with an affirmative nod. Prince Dane offered a cocky nod, but his smug expression was one that questioned Malik’s final statement. 

Meiyu’s laugh cut through the tense standoff. It was a sudden, cascading hiss that sounded entirely wrong and unnerving. The eerie sound echoed off the giant rib bones above, cold and completely devoid of warmth.

She advanced, golden eyes glinting, and dismissed Malik’s authority with a flick of her wrist—casual, but edged with contempt. For the moment, she had the Prince’s full attention. 

“The Tairnadal speaks for himself and perhaps the others here, but not for me,” she murmured. The fate of the airship and its survivors meant nothing; she had shadowed this group through the jungle for one reason alone—to carve a way off this forsaken rock. The promise of a salvaged sky-boat was as empty to her as the bones overhead, as were the threats to the survivors' lives.

Her smirk curled back, all venom and edge, as she fixed the Prince with a predator’s gaze. “A cursed island crawling with things in the fog—now that’s a hunger I might indulge. But your bargain is beneath me. I am no one’s errand girl, Ravic. If I set foot in Courdain, it would be to see what haunts make your pirates beg for mercy, not to chase after your broken trinkets. I’ll find my own way off this island.”

Prince Dane simply smiled a crooked grin at her boldness as he waited to see if any others had the tenacity to speak up. 

Corin raised a brow at his compatriots. Specifically, Malik and Meiyu, whose choice of words made him see the pair in a different light. But nonetheless, he stepped forward to Phia’s other side, a firm pat on her shoulder as he passed her and laid that same hand on the prince.

The sound of the snaketress's hissing laugh made his ears flick uncomfortably as she spoke of no interest in aiding or getting involved. It may have added to his frustrations, but he was hardly amiss to have her go, as a deadly snake like her would bring an unneeded risk of potential backstabbing at the first sign of better opportunity. Her presence mixed with the fog made the hairs on the back of his neck stand with a discomforting shudder. Hardly surprising, albeit perturbing, she showed such callous indifference to the hostages, though assassins weren’t accustomed to such compassion, much as the devious captain who saw them as nothing more than expendable tools.

He could not blame nor be mad at the woman; such things were taught as a weakness and self-survival of the utmost importance. With a small, amiable shake of the head, he turned his attention to Corin, who had chosen to step forward. 

Phia’s amber eyes slid toward Corin at the feeling of his touch. As he passed, she caught his hand and squeezed it gently, and briefly, before letting go.

There was no ill intent, but he was sure there’d be a reaction all the same. So he met the man with an earnest smile while keeping that hand against his shoulder.

” You’re right. It does seem simple. Get a shiny artifact, have your man identify it, and we get our airship, our people, as well as free and safe passage out of your neck of the sea.” Corin paused, only removing his hand.

” But that does beg one little concern. Most of us have likely never helmed a ship before.” He turned back to the group. ” Feel free to correct me if I’m wrong.” Corin waved his hand dramatically.

“I have not.”

The wolf responded with a curt, clarifying shake of the head. Jungles offered little need for sailing lessons. 

” So aside from your chosen man, who I pray to the gods has some sea legs, how exactly is this setting us up for anything other than spectacular failure?”

Phia had been troubled by the proposition, to say the least. The prince spoke of this Island of Courdain as though it were not an island at all, but a beast that consumed every being foolish enough to cross into his territory. The threat had not been well hidden beneath his words, not toward the passengers, and certainly not toward them. She was not sure he had ever truly meant to give them the right to leave at all. It felt as if he simply wanted to throw a few expendable strangers into the hungry thing’s mouth, perhaps only to see if it choked. 

Meiyu’s answer had merit, though it was clear from her words that the only life that truly mattered to her was her own. Phia could not feel that way. She could not move forward knowing she had abandoned the other passengers to the prince’s “hospitality,” whatever that meant. 

But the important question was the one Corin had asked. How were they even meant to survive such a quest? 

“Corin is correct to question you,” Phia interjected. Ravic turned to listen, allowing his eyes to explore the woman’s face as she spoke. “If all who have ventured near this place have vanished, then how are we meant to survive it? Your threat holds less weight if our choice is only to die now… or die later.” This concern drew Malik’s attention to her, and though he did not address her, his stern scowl might as well have been ordering her to cease her talking.

On a fluttering, gentle breeze, the snowy-draped wolf had appeared at Phia’s right side. A tender touch of clawed fingers brushed her shoulder. A low, rumbling warning growl as Menzai scowled fiercely at Malik with matching feral intensity; the slightest hint of sharp teeth hinting to silence his trap lest he find that insulting tongue of his ripped out. He allowed it to slide once, no more.” Ignore him, sweet Phia; whatever his qualms with you, we will deal with it later.” His words were a low, cooling whisper both for her and himself.  For now, our priorities are to save the hostages and regain the ship.  To do that…”

Pausing with a huffed sigh, turning his burning glare to the prince, the snarling beast rankling beneath the surface.” For now, we must play along, but rest assured, by the end, the prince’s game will be his folly. He will come to regret mistaking us for meager toys to toss about in his own childish amusement.” The wolf assured the half-elf, hating being forced to be at anyone’s whims and pirates especially so. 

Arya had tried to stay quiet. She had her head hung and hidden in the shadows of her hood, her hands gripping her cloak, her breathing as even as she could make it, but the words kept coming—property, weak, misbehave, dog, half-breed—one after another until she felt like there was no room in her body for the rising stress. This good-for-nothing Prince was likely a culprit of the horrors she had witnessed. How could she sit here bargaining with a Prince when her family was in peril? Her stomach churned, and bile rose in her throat. 

“Malik…” Her voice was soft at first as it escaped her. She paused as if she was surprised she had spoken, then finally continued, “...You only just came to us this morning. You can speak for yourself, but not for everyone here. We need time to speak together, privately, before anyone accepts or refuses anything.” 

She hadn't even met his eyes as she had spoken. She swallowed, then forced herself to look toward Ravic and stared at his forehead instead of his face because she thought she might lose her bravery if she met his eyes. “Prince Dane, none of us meant to come here. Threatening people who survived a crash does not make this a fair bargain. You may say the passengers are safe now, but we have no way of knowing that will remain true once we leave. Words are just that–words, and actions speak louder than them.” 

Her gaze flickered briefly toward Menzai, then Phia. She wanted to shield them from this horror, but there was no way to do so. A protectiveness for those two, including Bastion, rose inside of her like a fire. “Menzai did not deserve to be called that, nor did Phia deserve what Malik called her either. We should be able to speak about this without insulting each other.” 

Her breath caught, and her hands trembled. The room seemed to tilt beneath her. How had she not fainted yet? Stella's talons dug into her shoulder as the eagle sensed her fear, but remained still and hidden in her cloak. “Please… we need a moment before making decisions.” Arya lowered herself down, pressing her head into her hands as she tried to breathe.

“So the girl can speak after all…” Prince Dane declared dramatically as he stepped into stride towards her. He raised his hands as if to show the group that he meant no ill will as he approached the girl with starlight in her skin. “And here I thought you nothing more than just a coward. But even I can be wrong from time to time.” He said with glee as he held his gaze on her, hands still in the air. 

“But you’re wrong, girl. You are all wrong. I have not insulted you, nor have I threatened anyone. I have spoken a few harsh truths, and yes, I called the shifter a hound, but that came from a place of irony… not malevolence.” He explained from his knavish point of view. “I am not forcing anyone here to die; in fact, I am the reason you are all alive in the first place. There were some here that wanted to go…well…another direction after you landed in our laps. I held them at bay. I paid for your safety, and I have offered you an opportunity to scratch my very itchy back in exchange for me doing the same for you.” Turning his back to Arya, Prince Dane let his eyes meet each and every one of them that were willing to meet his gaze as he walked back to the edge of his throne steps, where he lowered himself to sit upon the bottom step with all the urgency of an absolutely unbothered man. 

“I am sorry if you expected things to be easy. I weep for you if you had hoped for someone to swoop in, gift you thousands of gold in repairs, and get you all on your way with a kiss and a pat on the ass. But you landed here, in my domain, in a den of bloody fucking pirates, and you complain about our hospitality. About my terms of agreement.” 

It was in that moment that an Elvish man with faint ashen skin materialized next to the Prince, leaning down to whisper something in his sovereign’s ear. Dane’s eyes lit up with joy once again as the words of his mage loosened his clenched jaw. The Prince looked upwards to a seemingly abandoned balcony and motioned to someone who wasn’t there, tapping the side of his temple and then pointing to the North with a grin. He then nodded towards that same balcony as though someone had asked him a question. His gaze fell to the floor as he refocused his attention on the group, eyes raising to meet them once more, but with a level of intensity that was new.  

“Do you not understand how generous I am being? I could ask for so much more, yet all I am asking for is a little help.” His eyes slowly moved around the room as he continued. “I could have the others in this room peel those gemstones that you each bear from your very flesh if I wanted. Do you realize that you shine like fucking stars in a black sky to my mages? The magic spilling from you all is so prevalent that it’s almost fucking humorous. And yet I did not even bring them up. Have I not been a reasonable host? Hmmm, I’m starting to grow bored with you all.” 

Standing, he ascended the steps back to his pirate throne, took his seat once again, and gripped the hilt of his sword. “In two hours, there will be a small ship off the southernmost dock in this city. Everything will be taken care of for you; all you need to do is show up. If you do, and you take the risk of Courdain… I will see to it that your ship is repaired, whether or not you return. On my word as a man, a sailor, and a prince. If you decide that it’s not worth the risk, I will give you three days to find your own way off my island before I lift the orders of protection that have kept you safe since the moment you landed. These are my final terms…My final generosity. Get the fuck out of my throne room.” 

As if summoned by those final words, more figures began to materialize throughout the chamber. Mages, guards, pirates, and cutthroats stepped out of empty air, slipped from shadowed alcoves, or appeared where there had been nothing but broken light a moment before. By the time the last figure revealed himself directly between the group and the Prince’s throne, nearly two dozen bodies had filled the room, each of them watching with dangerous eyes.

The message was clear enough in the sudden press of bodies, in the hands resting near weapons, in the mages whose eyes still seemed fixed on the strange light of the gemstones beneath your skin. The audience was over. Whatever private conversation you had asked for, you would not be having it beneath Ravic Dane’s throne.

You were escorted from the room, down the long hallways of Seadragon Keep, and all the way back out into the salt-heavy air without another word from the Prince. Behind you, the doors closed with a groan of old wood and iron, sealing away the throne room, the rib bones, the pirates, and the smiling man who had just called his threat generosity.

Only then were you left with the wind, the stink of the harbor, and the weight of two hours to make your choice.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

_{Interaction:@FunnyGuy Lorenzo}

King Edin stared at Lorenzo for a long time.

The warmth of his earlier countenance slowly thinned from his face until there was nothing left of it.

Lorenzo Vikena, of all men, thought himself fit to offer guidance.

To tell him what to do.

Especially on the evening of his wife's execution.

Worse still, Lorenzo saw fit to allude to some grotesque connection between them over the fact that they were both widowers.

“Your gift,” he repeated, softly. His gaze drifted, only briefly, toward where Charlotte Vikena sat. She had not merely dressed herself tonight. No, there was a message sewn into that fabric, whether the girl understood it or not.

Or perhaps she understood perfectly.

Perhaps they both did.

His gaze returned to Lorenzo. He was right that the ballroom was certainly filled with predators waiting to pounce on such an opportunity. Edin had simply never expected the Vikenas to count themselves among them. “How thoughtful of you, Duke Vikena... To come before your king and advise him where he ought to place his eyes.”

The faintest smile formed, but it was not amused. “On your daughter, no less.”

Edin leaned back slightly, studying Lorenzo with open contempt now. His eyes flicked once more toward Charlotte, and his gaze darkened with terrible ideas.

“She wears her mother rather boldly tonight.... One might almost believe it was intentional."

King Edin suddenly rose to loom over Lorenzo and took a step forward. “Your daughter once offered her services to the Alidasht royalty in full view of my court.” The light left his eyes. “And yet I do not recall Lady Charlotte offering such devotion to her own king. In fact, she has not yet even greeted me tonight." He tilted his head with a humorless smile, “Curious, is it not? She would offer herself to the Alidasht, but not before her king, the one chosen by the gods themselves to protect and lead the kingdom she was born in.”

His voice lowered and grew poisonously intimate. “Her mother knew better.”

Edin’s gaze did not leave Lorenzo’s face.

“So tell me plainly, Duke Vikena. Is Lady Charlotte meant to guide me… or tempt me?”

The smile returned, thinner than before. "Are you offering me your daughter?"

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

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

---

“I seemed off because you walked in looking like that, love.”

Charlotte stared at those pretty eyes of his.

Ordinarily, she might have looked away by now, absolutely flustered. She might have busied herself with fiddling with her jewelry, or pretending to notice something very fascinating about the tablecloth.

But tonight, though she felt a certain rush, she didn't feel the need to run and hide.

Her arm rested against the back of the chair gracefully, though her fingers tightened around the rim all the same. That was the curious thing. The spell had done precisely what she had asked of it... It had stripped the fear right from her chest.

And yet her heart still fluttered.

It was more dangerous, perhaps, because it made her want to lean closer instead of step away. Her eyes stayed on Cassius with unguarded fondness. Without quite realizing it, she caught her lower lip between her teeth, then smiled like she had discovered a secret.

“Oh?” she asked innocently as she leaned in, setting her elbow upon the table and settling her face into her palm. Her lashes lowered slightly, but her smile remained. “Like what, Cassius ?”

"What the hell is going on with you?"

Charlotte paused.

Her head turned slowly toward Olivia, though her lips remained parted. For a moment, she looked exactly like a girl who had been caught with her hand in the cookie jar.

“Um...”

It was not, she felt, her most elegant contribution to the conversation.

Her gaze flicked briefly to Cassius. He was watching her too now, waiting for the answer. But there was no delicate way to say that she had cast a spell on herself. Olivia had warned her more than once not to meddle with magic alone, and she had told Cassius she wouldn't do magic. Technically, she did say she would TRY not to.

Either way, she did not want to lie to them. Not to them.

Her shoulders slumped, and some of the mischief slipped from her expression as her brows lifted and she frowned. “Someone wrote something rather ridiculous about me in the paper,” she relented with a sigh. “Apparently, I tried to throw myself from the balcony at the last ball.”

She looked to Olivia then, and the faintest ironic curve returned to her mouth.“Couldn’t possibly imagine who would encourage such a charming little interpretation, could we?”

That smile did not last long. “Anyway,” Charlotte continued, drawing a trembling breath, “I spent the morning shredding that newspaper into tiny, tiny pieces," The memory of it brought a flicker of anger back to her face, sharp enough to make her nose scrunch in a show of disgust. “ ...because the very last thing I need is Lorenzo believing I mean to follow after his late wife.”

Normally, she would have left it at that, but she found herself pressing onward. “Not when Prince Wulfric already thinks Lorenzo may be suicidal, and not when he is apparently mixing his—” Charlotte lifted both hands and made little air quotation marks with her fingers, “—medicine—”

Her smile faltered as the room around her seemed to blur at the edges. “—with his alcohol.”

A nearby servant passed with a silver tray of blue cocktails, and Charlotte suddenly lifted one hand to motion him over, “Please, sir, bring those over here.”

The servant obeyed, though when he merely offered the tray for her to choose, Charlotte gave him a pleasant smile and requested that he leave the whole thing. “Thank you so much, you are terribly kind,” she told him warmly and patted his forearm with such open sincerity that the poor man flushed pink, bowed hastily, and hurried off.

She subsequently plucked one glass from the tray without even properly looking at him. The drink was sweet when she swallowed it, cool on her tongue with a pleasant taste of berries and sugar.

Then she lowered the glass and looked between them both with a smile that was many things at once: lovely, stubborn, and not entirely convincing. “All this to say,” she said, her voice light again, “I am quite fine, my lovelies.”

She lifted the glass toward them. “I would like to have fun tonight.”

The book had not warned her. It wasn't surprising that her other emotions were present; the spell was to simply remove fear. However, the emotions that did remain were more vivid and merciless than she had expected, filling the hollows that her anxiety had once lived in.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Interaction: @Potter Elena @HylianRose Nora @Chrys Amira @remram Magnus

Elena stepped between them, and Emil’s smile did not falter.

If anything, the gesture made his smile grow larger. He merely watched her with that same patient interest, eyes lifting over her face, then lowering politely. She was taller than the trembling one, steadier too.

There was more fire in her.

Emil had sensed it the moment she arrived, but now, with her body placed so deliberately between himself and the other two girls, it showed itself more clearly. She was protective. She was angry.

Emil found that ever so charming.

The order she gave the girls was not framed like one. ”Ladies, why don’t you go find us a table and bring food?” Yet Emil heard command in it easily enough, and he suspected Nora did too. His gaze shifted just enough to catch the way the frightened girl obeyed despite the misery in her face. Poor thing.

She wanted to be brave so badly that it was almost painful to witness. Almost. Her hand trembled, her voice trembled, even the anger in her seemed uncertain where to go. It was a lovely little contradiction, and Emil found himself disappointed that Elena was sending her away so soon.

Then Elena moved closer, and Emil’s attention returned to her fully.

Emil took note of everything.

”As for you, I’ve heard enough about you to know that a sewer rat would be more fit for your title.”

For a moment, Emil simply looked at her.

Then his smile widened, not much, but enough to show she had pleased him.

“Lady Elena,” he murmured with warmth. “You must be careful with such accusations. One might think you came over here hoping to wound me.”

He did not sound wounded. He sounded entertained.

Emil wondered how often she had done this. How often she had made herself the spine. It was a tedious position for most people, but Elena wore it well enough to make it attractive.

Amira’s reply came softer, uncertain, and troubled.

"I - I... I believe my.. friend will tell me more later."

Emil’s eyes slid past Elena’s shoulder toward the girl. Sweet thing. He let his expression soften with such convincing disappointment. “How sensible.”

Then a hand settled heavily on his shoulder.

Emil did not immediately look at it. He allowed the owner of that hand to enjoy whatever little triumph he thought he had purchased by touching him. Men like Magnus Pawonska were familiar enough.

Emil felt the strength in the grip and the warning behind it.

At last, Emil lifted his gaze toward him. Magnus stood over him with all the cold displeasure of a protective brother. His eyes were direct. There was nothing theatrical about his threat, which made it better than most.

"Do we have a problem?"

Emil’s smile became politely curious.

“I certainly hope not.” His tone remained smooth, and he made no attempt to pull away from the hand on his shoulder. “It would be a terrible shame to disturb His Majesty’s evening over a conversation.”

His eyes lingered on Magnus a moment longer before drifting toward Nora. He let the movement be obvious enough for Magnus to see it. “You should be cautious, Lord Pawonska... I can see your heart in your eyes.”

He let the words sit between them a moment before he added in a whisper,“And hearts are such inconvenient things when one has sisters.”

Then came the servant.

The interruption was absurd enough that Emil nearly admired it. A bouquet was placed into Amira’s hands, and she stared at the flowers as if they had been handed to her by mistake, which, judging by the color flooding her face and the immediate panic in her voice, they almost certainly had been.

"I - I do not know a Magnus! This - this must be a mistake."

Emil’s eyes moved from the bouquet to Magnus, then to Nora. “How curious,” he said softly, his amusement barely hidden. However, when he said his next statement, his eyes were on Magnus, not on Nora. “For a moment, I thought we had discovered a romance.”

Nora began guiding Amira away with urgency, tugging at her wrist.
His attention followed Nora and Amira for only a moment before his eyes returned to Elena. He took a step toward her and leaned a little closer. “There. They are leaving.”

His eyes remained fixed on Elena’s face.

“That was what you wanted, was it not?” he asked in a kind tone.

He allowed his gaze to rest on her with open interest now. “You wanted my attention away from them.”

His voice softened further. “You want me all to yourself...” Emil whispered, the words quiet enough to belong only to her. “Don’t you, Elena?”

He let the implication linger just long enough to be uncomfortable before he straightened.“So let us make a deal.”

His hand lifted between them, and he offered it toward her, “Dance with me.” Then he mouthed, “Refuse me, and I may grow curious again.”

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Time: Evening
Location: The Castle Ballroom
Interactions: Ariella @Silverspring
Attire: Dress

---

Anastasia smiled softly at her friend and gently took her hand with a fond squeeze.

"Thank you," she said simply.

It was all she could manage at first after all.

Life had changed since the banquet. Guards upon guards filled every crevice of the castle now, darkening every doorway, every hall, every stray patch of moonlight that slipped through the windows. There was now even one posted near her balcony nightly. They had not objected to Farim’s visits, which meant Edin had likely ordered them not to. Perhaps he thought it would keep her quieter if she had something pretty to look forward to.

Perhaps he thought a lovesick daughter was easier to contain than a grieving one.

He was wrong.

Every day since Drunkard’s Day, she had pestered him about Callum.

And every day, Edin told her the same thing. They were looking. They knew enough. She was not to worry. She was not, under any circumstances, to leave the castle.

In truth, she was barely allowed to choose anything anymore. If she left her room in certain dresses, she was asked to return and change. If her hair was loose, someone appeared with a brush and pins. If she spoke out, she was reminded to be silent.

Suddenly, she had to pray daily. Suddenly, she had to repent and beg the Gods for forgiveness for a sin she had never committed.

So much had changed that she did not feel like the same girl who had sat with Farim and Ariella in the tavern only days ago.

But when Ariella mentioned Callum, life had sparked back in her dull gaze and her posture straightened.

"Officially, he is missing," she began lowly. "I have been forbidden from looking for him, but I have been assured, apparently—"

Callum died the moment he opened a book. The brother you knew is gone, Ana.

She broke off her statement very suddenly.

For a second, Anastasia looked as if she had been struck by something no one else could see. Her eyes watered before she could stop them, and she wrapped her arms around herself, fingers digging into the fabric of her sleeves as her mouth pressed into a fine line.

She glanced once toward the crowd. Then toward the guards.

When she looked back at Ariella, her eyes shone with fear."Can we please talk in the hallway, Ari?"

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

_{Interaction:@FunnyGuy Lorenzo}

King Edin’s amusement had not fully left him when Lorenzo approached.

This was a great ball. One of his better ones, really, and he had hosted many.

And he had no intention of letting this absolute fopdoodle tarnish it. His fingers tapped the side of his throne rhythmically as he watched man in blue approach.

Lorenzo gave his little apology, and Edin stared at him for a moment before his mouth spread into an entertained smile. “Duke Vikena,” Edin said, his voice carrying just enough for those nearest to enjoy the smoothness of his voice. “A sore thumb, yes. I was going to say a lantern dropped into a hay cart, but sore thumb will do.”

A few nearby nobles gave laughs, and Edin laughed with them.

His gaze moved over Lorenzo’s clothing, assessing him with theatrical seriousness. Then he lifted a finger. “But look at you. Dressed well. Remarkably well, in fact. Better than expected, which is always a pleasant surprise from House Vikena.” His brows rose. “I had prepared myself for something disastrous. Offensive clothing. A feathered hat tall enough to injure a guest. Yet here you stand, almost respectable.”

He leaned forward slightly, the smile sharpening with intensity, “Tell me plainly, Duke. Do you intend to nearly start a war tonight, or shall we consider your arrival the worst of it?”

Edin gave him a half of second of digestion. “...No, no, I jest. Mostly. We are all friends tonight, are we not? Friends beneath my roof, beneath my stars, enjoying my hospitality after a very difficult day. A lesser king would have cancelled the whole affair. I did not. That is leadership.”

He took a proud sip from his glass, then looked pointedly toward Lorenzo’s sleeves. “Though I do hope the ferret is not hidden somewhere on your person. If it leaps out during a dance, we will indeed have trouble..”

More laughter followed and Edin smiled wider, pleased with himself. “Still, you are here, and your daughter has made certain no one will forget it.”

His gaze shifted briefly toward Charlotte. The memory of that dress sat unpleasantly beneath his good mood, but he would not let that show.

He was king.

His eyes returned to Lorenzo.

“Enjoy yourself, Duke Vikena. Carefully. I am in a generous mood tonight, and that is a rare gift. I advise you to make the most of it.”