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STATUS: What a good boy you are listening. Now time to listen some more and check out Potter's profile. 4 yrs ago
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4 yrs ago
Current What a good boy you are listening. Now time to listen some more and check out Potter's profile.
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In Pines Holler [Not Accepting] → 4 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Caleb & Faye & Jolene


Part 1




Location — #11 Shady Pines Drive - Getting in Caleb's Truck


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........
The narrow metal door of the mobile home groaned as Jolene shoved it open, the sound echoing sharply against the wood railing. She stepped out onto the makeshift wooden porch, squinting against the oppressive glare of the North Carolina sun. The trailer was essentially a tin can in this weather, and she was more than ready to trade the stifling heat of the hallway for the promise of a truck that could take them to the blessed generator at Huskers.

Keeping a firm grip on Faye’s hand, Jolene navigated the steep steps. Faye’s yellow wellies made a hollow thump-clack against the wood, the toddler already swinging her free arm so her plastic bracelets provided a rhythmic accompaniment to their escape.

They were halfway down the sun-bleached gravel path when the rumble of a heavy engine vibrated through the soles of Jolene's boots. She stopped dead, planting her free hand on her hip. Her sheer floral kimono fluttered in the heavy air, the dark roses a sharp contrast against the backdrop of the park.

As the truck crunched to a halt in front of her, Jolene didn't yell. Instead, she leaned forward slightly, a slow, cat-like grin spreading across her face.

"You know, Caleb," she called out, her voice a low, teasing honey that carried easily through the humid air. "Back in the day, a knight usually sent a messenger if he was gonna be late. Or, you know... a text back."

Caleb paused, his hand resting lazily on the top of the wheel as he watched Jo walk. He… honestly hadn’t considered that.

She marched the last few steps toward the truck, her eyes raking over it before landing on him. She looked him up and down with a slow, deliberate sweep of her gaze. It wasn't the wide-eyed stare of a fan girl; it was the look of someone who had seen him at his highest high on a Friday night under the lights and at his lowest lows in this park, and she wasn't intimidated by either version.

"I was starting to think my text scared you off," she teased, tilting her head so a stray auburn curl fell over her shoulder. Her eyes held his, a silent challenge dancing in the green depths. "Which is a shame. I’d hate to think the Star Boy of Pines Holler has a weak heart." Caleb rolled his eyes at this, still smiling at her.

Before he could pull together a comeback, Faye’s little voice piped up, full of four-year-old vibrance.

"Uncky Cayub! Yook at my magic boots!" Faye chirped, letting go of Jolene’s hand to perform a clumsy, adorable pirouette in the gravel. She lifted one scuffed yellow boot high in the air, wobbling on her other leg like a tiny, glitter-covered flamingo as she pointed at the rubber toes. "They got magic inside for the walkin'! A-a-and isn't Mama pwetty yike a princess today! I bet Aunty is all pwetty too, today!"

Jolene didn't wait for him to hop out or play the gentleman. Instead, she reached out and yanked the heavy passenger door open herself. "Aunty is always pretty, bug. Now come on, let’s get in the truck."

If there was anyone in Pines Holler who could pull an honest and earnest smile from Caleb, it was little Faye. A little childish himself, he loved her energy and loved the soft hum of nostalgia for a time long gone that it brought back for him. His smile was wide and toothy, and his eyes seemed to light up as she twirled.

”Those look pretty magical to me, bug.” He chuckled, clearly beaming at the little girl. ”Personally, I think you all look like princesses all the time so.” Caleb shrugged. ”Also, think Uncky Cayub could get some magic boots sometime too? I might be… a little jealous…” He added playfully.

”Got everything? Phone? Keys? Wallet? Lunch for the little bug?” He asked, motioning to Faye as she scrabbled her way into the truck. He’d offer to help her but she was stubborn like her mother so he knew better.

Faye’s giggle was infectious, a bright and bubbly sound that cut through the stagnant heat of the park. She scrambled onto the bench seat with the frantic energy of a squirrel. Her yellow "magic" boots thumped against the upholstery as she turned her wide, sparkling eyes toward Caleb.

"Uncky Cayub, you can’t have MY boots!" she declared, pointing a finger at him with the seriousness of a toddler. "But we can find you some! With... with glitter! And wings! So you can fly like a dragon!" She clapped her hands, already imagining the 6'2 man in sparkling footwear. "Mama, can we find Uncky Cayub glitter boots?"

Jolene let out a soft laugh as she pulled herself up into the cab to help Faye with the stubborn buckle of the middle seat, before meeting Caleb’s gaze over Faye’s red curls. "I don’t know, bug. I think the glitter might be too much for his 'tough guy' reputation," Jolene teased, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she clicked the seatbelt into place. She straightened up, brushing a stray hair from her face and giving Caleb a slow, appreciative smile. "Though I suppose if we’re all princesses, that makes you the handsome knight in the driver's seat. It's a good look for you, Dalton. Much better than the 'lazy respondent' look you had going earlier."

She buckled herself in before reaching for her bag, double-checking the side pocket. "Phone, keys, and enough granola bars to survive a small famine. I’m not opening that fridge until the power is back on or I’m desperate enough to eat lukewarm yogurt," she said while pulling the door shut with a solid thud. "We're good to go. Take us to the promised land, Sir Caleb. Before Faye decides your truck needs a glitter makeover to match your new boots she's gonna find you."


Interacting With — Caleb @HylianRose
Mentions — N/A


In Neo Genesis: Chronicles of Eberron → 4 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay


Race: Yuan-ti
Class: Rogue Arcane Assassin
Location: Port Verge
Interactions: @FunnyGuy @Lava Alckon @Samreaper @Oso @DWGJay
Mentions:
Equipment:

Attire:
Gold Balance: 98
Injuries: Gash on hip and thigh, small cut on her head, aching shoulder



Meiyu watched the liquid in her glass settle, her expression as still as the water. Corin’s theory, that the pain and the gems arrived after the impact, was a comfortable lie she let hang for a heartbeat too long. She knew better. She remembered the blinding light of the floating catalyst, the way it had shattered beneath her fingertips before the ship had even begun its final, screaming descent. She felt the weight of Phia and Bastion’s presence nearby. They knew the truth and that she carried a mark of her own, even if it was currently tucked away beneath her silk and mithril. So she knew she couldn't keep it hidden for long if they spoke up.

"You have the timeline wrong for me, Mastiff," she said, her voice a low, level vibration. She didn't look at him, keeping her gaze on the table's edge. "The shard didn't wait for the ground. It found its mark while we were still in the sky, well before the airship met the earth."

Her gaze shifted to Minerva, who was currently dismissing the shards as simple blemishes. Meiyu’s eyes narrowed slightly, the gold in them sharpening.

"They aren't just trinkets to be picked at, kitten," she warned, her tone flat and final. "These shards chose us—a handful of survivors out of hundreds. Why it wanted a ragtag group... that is the part that should keep you awake at night. We weren't just hit by debris; we were claimed."

She leaned back, her silence returning as she watched the door. The truth was a dangerous currency, and she had already spent more than she intended.
In 🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕 → 5 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay

Shehzadi Ranya al-Kadir


Time: 6PM
Location: Grand Ballroom
Outfit: Ranya’s Outfit
Interactions: @AuthenticTomb Sylvia
Mentions: @Infinite Cosmos Munir @Remram Askel @CitrusArms Stratya



Ranya’s laugh was a soft, melodic trill, the sound barely dampened by the gossamer silk of her veil. Sylvie’s energy was infectious, a bright, bubbling spring that felt like a gift after the suffocating stillness of the drawing room. “Sylvie,” she repeated, the name tasting like sweet on her tongue. “A sweet name for a savior of sweets. I think we shall get along famously.”

She accepted the white-chocolate drizzled pastry, her fingers nimble and careful. As she glanced past Sylvie to savor the bite, her eyes snagged on a familiar silhouette across the room and her breath hitched. There was Munir, his mask firmly in place, engaged in conversation with the very man who had occupied Ranya’s every thought since the night before. She had to quell the panic, so she focused on something else.

Camilla. The name Sylvia had offered suddenly clicked into place like a key in a lock. This was Askel’s sister. The realization brought a sudden, blooming warmth to her chest, followed quickly by a sharp, protective instinct. If this girl was anything like her brother, she was far too good for the shadows currently haunting this ballroom.

“You are far too kind, Sylvie,” Ranya replied, her voice dipping into a playful, conspiratorial hum as she leaned in just an inch closer. The gold ornaments at her brow chimed a soft, secret tune. “I suspect the lack of a crowd is simply a matter of nerves. I fear my family has left an impression on people that we Alidashti royals are dangerous and frightening. Then add my veil and I think it makes them even more cautious. But that's okay, I find it much more amusing to let them wonder from a distance.”

She slipped the pastry behind her veil and took a delicate bite, savoring the richness before tilting her head. Sylvie’s brows were waggling with such clear intent that Ranya couldn't help the mischievous spark that lit her green eyes.
“As for someone in particular...” she trailed off, her voice trailing into a whisper of silk and mystery. “Perhaps. There is always the hope that the stars have aligned for something interesting tonight, is there not?”

She didn't dare look back toward the Varian prince, though her skin practically hummed with the awareness of him standing there with her brother. Instead, she kept her focus on the bright, eager face of her new friend. “But what of you, Sylvie? You are a vision tonight, as well. Are you quite sure you aren't also scanning the room for a hero to help you finish the tray? Or perhaps just someone who can dance as well as they can eat?”
In 🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕 → 5 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay

Shehzadi Ranya al-Kadir

feat. Hafiz


Time: 6PM
Location: Hafiz Drawing Room —> Grand Ballroom
Outfit: Ranya’s Outfit
Interactions: @AuthenticTomb Sylvia
Mentions: @Infinite Cosmos Munir @Remram Askel @CitrusArms Stratya



The air in the Sorian guest manor pressed in, heavy and unmoving—a suffocating counterpoint to the wild, sun-baked winds of Alidasht. Summer here was not freedom, but a damp woolen shroud clinging to her skin. The manor’s opulence was all pale blues and creamy whites, floral moldings curling across the ceiling in a mockery of cheer. It was a room dressed for celebration, but the silence inside was sharp and watchful. Hafiz had claimed the grandest drawing room, a place of silk and gold, mirrors and light, but to Ranya it was only a cage, beautiful and inescapable.

Ranya lingered by the marble fireplace, sunlight pouring through the tall windows and painting her in gold. She wore her mother’s sari, sea-foam silk and gold embroidery, a vision of Alidashti grace meant to soothe and impress. The veil over her head and face was supposed to mark her as holy, but today it clung to her like a spider’s web, trapping rather than protecting. She felt exposed, stripped of her armor; Hafiz had banished Aisha and Azrael to her rooms, calling them uncivilized, as if her wildness could be tamed by distance. Without the steady, grounding presence of her tiger and jaguar, the heat inside her grew sharper, restless, a wildfire she could not always command.

Hafiz sat in a delicate, brocaded armchair, his dark eyes fixed on her. He held a glass of amber liquid, the condensation slick on the glass.

"Come closer, Ranya," he murmured, his voice a low, oily caress that seemed to defile the bright room. "The light here is quite different from the desert. I wish to see how the 'Chosen' settles into such... domestic surroundings."

Ranya moved forward, her bare feet silent on the light-colored rug. She stopped three paces away, her spine a rod of rigid gold. "The King expects us in the ballroom shortly, Uncle. We shouldn't linger."

Hafiz stood, slicing through the sunlight with his shadow. He moved closer, and the air around her turned cold, a winter wind in the heart of summer. His fingers, icy and deliberate, found the edge of her veil and lifted it, baring the line of her jaw to his gaze. Heat surged through Ranya’s bones, fierce and wild, and the air itself seemed to tremble, shimmering with the threat of something barely contained.

Hafiz didn't flinch; he smiled, his thumb brushing the gold of her earring before pressing firmly into the sensitive skin beneath her ear as he grabbed the back of her neck—a sharp, bruising reminder of his control.

"Careful, my light," he whispered, leaning in until his breath was hot against the veil. "We wouldn't want a repeat of the incident in the southern markets, would we? So many charred bodies. Such a tragic 'accident' for the holy princess to explain away. If your father knew his precious, pure ghost was actually a monster in waiting, he wouldn't just cage you; he would extinguish you. And I am the only one who keeps that secret."

Ranya’s jaw set, her pulse hammering beneath his touch. The threat was a silk noose, tightening with every memory of fire she could not control—lives lost in a blaze she never meant to start, secrets Hafiz had swept away to bind her in silent debt. She did not know why the fire answered her, only that Hafiz did, and that he wore her guilt like a chain around her neck.

"You have made your point, Uncle," she said, her Public Voice a soft, melodic chime that betrayed none of the internal panic.

"Have I?" Hafiz’s grip shifted, his hand moving to her shoulder, his fingers digging into the silk and the skin beneath with bruising force. That would certainly leave a mark she’d have to try to keep covered tonight. He leaned down, his forehead almost touching hers through the veil, his eyes searching for her mother’s ghost in her green gaze. "You look so much like her tonight. But you have my secrets. That makes you mine, Ranya. Not Suna's. Not Raif's."

​"Tonight, you will be the perfect, silent icon," he continued. "You will smile when I signal. And if I feel so much as a spark of rebellion from that darkness inside you... I will make sure the King realizes that even Zahra has been tainted by your proximity."

​Ranya forced herself not to pull away, her Public Voice remaining soft and melodic, though it carried a new, strategic edge. "And what would that accomplish, Uncle? A silent icon is a statue, and statues do not forge alliances. If you truly wish to advance your goals in this court, you need a Princess who is more than a mute ghost. I should be allowed to speak, to charm, to grow relationships with these people. A girl who is loved by the court is a much more powerful tool than one who is merely feared by her uncle."

​She tilted her head, her green eyes flashing with a calculated light through the veil. "Let me do what I was born to do. Let me make them adore me. It makes the leash much harder to see, doesn't it?"

​Hafiz paused, his thumb still pressing into her shoulder as he considered her. A slow, dark smirk spread across his face. "A valid point. Very well. Speak. Charm them. But remember, Ranya... the moment you forget whose hand holds the thread, I will remind you by tightening it around your brother's throats."

He released her without warning, slipping back into the role of devoted uncle so quickly it made her head spin. He smoothed his robes, his face settling into the bland mask of a bored diplomat.

​"Now," he said, gesturing toward the door. "Shall we go? We mustn't keep the court waiting."

Ranya did not move as he turned away. For a single, furious heartbeat, the room blazed with heat. A porcelain vase on the side table split, a jagged crack running through a painted rose, the only sign of the fire she kept caged beneath her skin.

He believes the fire belongs to him, she thought, steadying her trembling hands as she fixed her veil. He does not see that when a cage melts, it is the master who feels the flames first.



The heavy oak doors swept open, and for a heartbeat, Ranya’s sea-foam silk sari drank in every glimmer from the painted Sorian night sky. She became a living reflection of starlight—soft, luminous, impossible to ignore.

The herald’s voice cut through the swell of the orchestra, clear and resounding: “Introducing Suna’s Chosen, Holy Princess of Alidasht, Shehzadi Ranya al-Kadir, and the Grand Vizier Hafiz al-Kadir.”

Ranya glided forward, her spine straight and unyielding, as if forged from gold. Hafiz moved at her side, silent and precise, a shadow that knew how to follow the sun without ever being burned. To the Sorian court, she was a vision conjured from desert legend: serene, untouchable, wrapped in silk and secrets. No one saw the wild, frantic drumbeat beneath her ribs, or the darkening bruises where Hafiz fingers had pressed into her skin moments before—marks hidden beneath silk, but burning all the same.

Her green eyes scanned the room. To her right, she spotted her brother, Munir. A soft, internal sigh of relief escaped her at the sight of him; he looked every bit the Alidashti prince. Seeing him actually engaged in conversation with a courtier brought a flicker of genuine pride to her chest. However, what the hell was with that veil?!

Hafiz’s presence lingered behind her, cold and watchful, like a winter wind at her back. She could almost feel his gaze sweeping the room, hunting for weaknesses.

“Uncle,” Ranya murmured, her voice the smooth, practiced chime of a princess at ease. “Since you have granted me the freedom to charm this court, I believe I shall start where the hospitality is sweetest. The desserts look far more inviting than the politics at the throne.”

She slipped away before Hafiz could find a reason to anchor her, her silks whispering secrets as she moved through the crowd. Then, there, a silhouette she recognized. Askel, draped in black, a storm against the pale blue sky of the ballroom. Her heart jolted, wild and reckless, aching for the safety of his arms. But he was speaking to another woman, and the sight sent a cold warning through her veins. If she ran to him now, she would mark him as a target for Hafiz. She would speak to him, yes, but not while her uncle’s eyes were sharp and waiting. She would not look desperate. Not tonight.

Hafiz’s warnings still rang in her ears, cold and relentless. She could not afford even a moment of weakness—not when her brothers’ safety balanced on the edge of her every choice. She needed a distraction, someone harmless to charm.

Her gaze found a younger woman by the dessert table, caught between longing and hesitation. Ranya adjusted her veil, letting her gold bangles sing a quiet, secret tune as she glided closer, her bare feet whispering across the polished floor.

She reached out, fingers hovering above a tray of sugared pastries, just as the other woman’s inner battle played out in her eyes. Ranya almost smiled—she knew the taste of temptation well.

“It is a cruelty, is it not?” Ranya said, her voice warm and laced with a gentle, conspiratorial wit. Through the gold-edged silk of her veil, her eyes crinkled with the ghost of a smile. “To dress a table with such treasures and then expect us to prefer the conversation. I find that in Alidasht, a honeyed cake often speaks much more honestly than a Duke.”

She selected a jeweled pastry from the golden tray, offering the Varian princess a nod as graceful and inviting as a secret.

“I am Shehzadi Ranya, but please just call me Ranya. And I suspect that if we do not rescue at least one of these cookies, they will feel quite neglected by the end of the night. Wouldn't you agree?”
In Neo Genesis: Chronicles of Eberron → 5 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay


Race: Yuan-ti
Class: Rogue Arcane Assassin
Location: Port Verge
Interactions: @FunnyGuy @Lava Alckon @Samreaper @Oso @DWGJay
Mentions:
Equipment:

Attire:
Gold Balance: 98
Injuries: Gash on hip and thigh, small cut on her head, aching shoulder



Meiyu settled against the timber pillar, fingers gliding over a splintered knot in the table’s grain. Corin’s question about their so-called decorations hung in the air, unanswered. Silence was her shield; she would not barter secrets for cheap drink. Her gaze lingered on the knight, unblinking, weighing the set of his shoulders, the way he wore his burdens like old armor.

Minerva’s boisterous declaration of a "pecking order" drew a thin, ghost-like smile from Meiyu’s lips. To be called "bestie" by a creature as volatile as the kitten was a curious insult, but Meiyu simply inclined her head, accepting the label with the same grace she’d accept a poisoned needle.

“You have a high opinion of your own charisma, kitten,” Meiyu murmured, her voice barely audible over the din. “But a leader who needs to scream to be heard is usually just a distraction.”

Bastion leaned in, his bronze bulk swallowing the table’s space. The chair beneath him surrendered with a sharp crack, wood splintering loud as a thunderclap. Meiyu didn’t so much as blink. She watched the Warforged fall, eyes cool, dissecting the moment with a predator’s detachment.

The first cackle from Minerva was sharp, vicious—a true, unguarded laugh at her so-called second-in-command. When the rest of the tavern followed, the kitten’s mood turned on a coin. Fury twisted her features, righteous and raw, as she lashed out at the same laughter she’d unleashed.

Meiyu let out a long, weary sigh, her head tilting back against the pillar. The theatrics were becoming tiresome. As her gaze drifted upward toward the patchwork rafters, she found exactly what she expected. In a gap between the mismatched planks of the roof, a pair of eyes stared back.

The creature must be perched like a gargoyle up there, watching the "pack" with the same intensity Meiyu felt in her own gut. She didn't alert the table. She didn't reach for a needle. Instead, she locked eyes with the shadow on the roof and let a slow, knowing smirk touch her lips. Quietly, she whispered a magical message to him. I see you, little fox.

Her gaze dropped back to the table, face settling into its familiar, cold mask. She fixed Minerva with a look, catching her mid-tirade as the kitten railed at the pirates’ laughter.

“Sit down, kitten. Your outrage is leaking,” Meiyu said, her voice cutting through Minerva’s shouting like a chill wind. “You were the first to laugh at the poor beetle when he hit the floor. You can hardly blame the rest of the room for following your lead, lovely little leader. You provided the catalyst; don't pretend now that you're the only one allowed to find the 'second-in-command' a bit... heavy-handed. Or is it heavy-assed?”

She glanced at the ferret, then back to Corin as the drinks arrived. "A gem, you say? Now you have my attention. How did that fall into your hands...or chest...throat?"

In ✨Beyond The Veil✨ → 5 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay


In 🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕 → 5 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Askel & Ranya




Flashback

Part One


Time: Night, Ignis 9
Location: A Tavern



While one should enjoy the company of their family and friends, one should also gain some reprieve from their antics, such was the case of Askel. The prince had made his escape to gain just a moment for himself on the streets of Sorian, enjoying the sights and sounds of a city that he was only somewhat familiar with during his travels. He was dressed handsomely in fine Varian garb that was currently fashionable though less ostentatious, his long sword faithfully sheathed by his hip.

It was a lovely night, the light of the streetlamps lit the life that came alive once the sun sunk below the horizon. Now, he was doing something that was quite unusual for him: window shopping. It was a luxury that he was not used to though he perused the shopping center to see what was in vogue in the world of nobles and royalty, something that he felt like he should have been more aware of given his status. His violet eyes scanned each window like a man analyzing sacred tombs.

"Maybe I should get something for mother and father… But what do you get for someone that has everything?" He muttered to himself.

Ranya slowed down, her bare toes curling against the cool, damp cobblestones of the Sorian street. In this land of starch and stays, her sheer, sunset-colored silks and the gold coins jingling softly at her hips felt like a delightful scandal. She moved toward the shop window and stopped next to the intriguing auburn-haired stranger to look at the glass he was studying so intently.

A soft laugh slipped from her lips, sweet and light. "The secret to gifting those who have everything, Sir, is to buy them a beautiful nuisance," she said, her green eyes sparkling with playful warmth. "A palace can be a very quiet place until you drop a riddle in the middle of it. Don't give them another treasure to guard, give them something that demands their attention. A puzzle for a clever mind, or maybe the most useless, ridiculous thing in that shop."

She tilted her head, her gaze shifting from his auburn hair to the heavy sword at his hip. "You’re staring at that glass as if it’s a fortress to be breached. But if it doesn't make them laugh and think of you each time they look at it, then it isn't a gift…it’s just luggage."

Soft, delightful laughter drew his attention away from niche nicknacks and sundries down to a rather colorful woman whose step jangled with a tune, his violet eyes as cool as the sky of a setting sun and yet still had a warmth locked with her own. He had never seen such a striking shade of green in someone's eyes before. Her words were playful, yet overflowing with practiced wit, charm, and elegance. A stranger though she was not unwelcome company.

A chuckle boyish, yet earthy rumbled as a smile lifted his freckled cheeks. "Ah, but you see for it isn't a fortress, but a curse, one that causes every poor soul that lays their eyes on it to have racing minds and endless worries." His smile turned into a wry grin, his eyes matching her playfulness. "However, with such sagely advice from my impromptu counsel perhaps I should buy such an item that the only riddle that my poor parents must solve is 'what was going through our son's head?'"

His gaze followed her own down his sheathed sword. In Gazalian, albeit with a Varian accent, said "But you know, talking to strange men with swords at night is a dangerous thing for someone so far from home. Do you always wax poetic with streetgoers, or did I really look that much at a loss?"

Ranya's brows lifted, a warm delight spreading in her chest as she heard her own language spoken by him. It had an accent, reminding her of what she imagined snow to be like, but the effort made her pulse quicken with unexpected excitement.

When he warned her, she didn’t pull back. Instead, she took a light step closer, her eyes following the curve of his jaw like a skilled huntress. "You think the danger is mine, Sir. In my home, we say the most beautiful flowers grow near a viper’s nest. Maybe strange men with swords should be the ones watching their backs for a woman confidently walking the night without shoes." She laughed then, a sound like coins clinking on stone, before smiling up at him. "I'm sorry, I’m joking. People say I have a reckless side, but I can't help but chase a bit of danger when he’s wearing such an interesting shade of auburn."

The gold on her wrists jingled as she moved, glancing back at the shop window. "But to answer your question, you looked like a warrior about to be beaten by a glass trinket, and I couldn't let such a pathetic foe claim victory. Besides, I’m new to these streets. What better way to learn a city than by challenging the wit of those who live here?" She tilted her head, her curiosity getting the best of her. "Though you have me at a disadvantage. How did a man such as yourself learn to speak the language of the golden dunes so well?”

She was met by a grin as she gazed at him like a beast to be hunted, his eyes almost telling her he'd welcome the challenge. He remained silent though, he enjoyed listening to her talk. It was a treat to listen to her weave words together and her laughter rang through the air like a jingling of coins and when she laughed, he laughed like gently falling snow.

When asked how he had come to learn such a language, he said, "In my days of naivety and freedom, I journeyed in pursuit of ideals and worldly truths. Alidasht was one of my destinations. My ears were graced by those who lived among the dunes and their khatt was no less entrancing. I could not help, but to admire and learn from them." His grin became sheepish as if he was about to admit to his own personal failing, his calloused hand rubbed the back of his auburn head, and said, "It is to my shame though that I must admit that while I have some aptitude for some of Alidasht's other tongues, I lack a fully comprehensive understanding for the rest of its colorful languages."

His eyes glanced over her and then looked at her kindly, his expression warm with understanding. "Though I must correct you on one matter; I am not from Sorian or any part of Caesonia for that matter though I can understand why'd you make the mistake. It would be hard to differentiate the two countries if you haven't spent an extended amount of time in either. Allow me to level the playing field for you."

With practiced elegance, his hand placed on his heart as he slightly bowed from the hip. A smile, charming and polite, rested on his face. "I am Askel Camila, knight of Varian and second to the throne after my dear brother. Enchanted to make your acquaintance, wildflower." He could not help, but to smirk playfully when he called her that.

Freedom. He got to experience freedom. He could travel and see the world without a veil or a guard. Those were all the things Ranya wanted. She felt drawn to him and jealous of him at the same time.

​"It seems your modesty is as polished as your sword," she replied, her eyes softening with a genuine, wistful interest. "But if you find our other languages so hard to grasp, maybe what you need isn't aptitude, but a good tutor. Someone to help you discover the music in the words instead of just the grammar. It would be a shame to leave such a colorful map only half-read."

Ranya felt a brief flush in her cheeks, a rare sign of embarrassment. Of course he wasn't from here. You don't look for local gifts to send home if home is just down the street. She let out a small, self-deprecating laugh and shook her head. "That's a fair correction. I guess my own 'world truths' are a bit rusty tonight. You don't usually search for souvenirs in your own backyard." It was her turn to give him a sheepish smile.

Then her breath caught for a moment at his formal introduction. A Prince. She had meant to tease a stranger, not run into royalty. Her smirk quickly returned, now edged with curiosity. After he bowed gracefully, she mirrored his respect. She placed her right hand flat over her heart and bowed her head in a slow, elegant motion, an Alidashtian gesture showing deep respect for those of high honor.

"A Prince of Varian and a knight, no less," she murmured, her voice light with amusement. "I might let you keep calling me 'wildflower'; I could grow quite fond of that title. It certainly beats being called a 'nuisance'." She straightened, meeting his violet gaze with a challenging spark. "But since we are getting to know each other, you can call me Rani. As for who I am... think of me as a puzzle for your clever mind, Prince Askel. If you are good at finding truths, maybe you will solve me before the sun sets tomorrow."

"Rani huh..." He let her name, at least what she offered, dance on his tongue. She was like fire, or rather, something undefinable. He could not just call her fire; she was also song, she was dance, she was energy that could not be contained, and it was magnetic. Something about her drew him in, a riddle to be solved or at least that was the pretense though he could not deny that he enjoyed that challenging spark in those pools of green.

He looked at her with a soft smile; the coolness of his dark violet eyes did nothing to hide his warmth. "I would be lying to you and myself if I said that I found your presence to be a nuisance, Rani. In my experience, wildflowers are the most beautiful of all flowers. For all of humanity's planning and manipulations, we never can surpass nature's grand schemes and I for one am grateful for it. I'll always be left in awe by whatever visions of beauty and splendor nature can construct."

He held his hand out to her in invitation. They were calloused and rough, the hands of someone who's worked all his life despite his station. "If you would allow me the honor, please allow me to escort you for the rest of your outing. No matter the wit, a puzzle will always be incomplete if the pieces do not present themselves and if I may be so bold to say, something tells me you are a puzzle worth solving. Or at the very least, I've found a partner that I can help fill in my half-travelled map for a brief moment in time."

Ranya’s heart gave a sly, delighted flutter at the way he spoke of wildflowers–not as weeds to be trampled, but as something nobler than the careful games of men. She had spent her life behind the high, orderly walls of the palace, where everything was arranged and nothing left to chance. His words slipped through her defenses like a cool breeze stirring the heavy air, unexpected and thrilling.

She did not pause when he offered his hand. Instead, she stepped boldly into his space, looping her arm through his with a quiet confidence. Her sun-warmed skin brushed against the rough strength of his sleeve as if in a study in contrasts, soft gold against sturdy earth.

"You are dangerously charming for a man, Prince Askel," she said, leaning her weight slightly against him as she began to walk. "But it would be my pleasure to let you escort me for the rest of the evening. It would be a pity to leave you so soon without acquiring more puzzle pieces," she teased, curious as they moved together. "I must admit, I am envious. To be a prince and yet have the freedom to just... walk. Do you always get to wander so freely?"

She found she liked the steady, grounded strength of his arm beneath her touch. He was charming without being oily, and fun without being foolish. It was a rare combination in her experience. But before he could answer, a bright violin and the pulse of a drum spilled through the air. Ranya’s face broke into a sunlit smile.

"Music!" she whispered, her fingers tightening on his sleeve. "That sounds like life, not some stiff gala. Would you like to discover what delights await us wherever that is coming from?"

Askel looked down at her, this beautiful stranger that smiled at him so brightly with such an exuberance of life. How could he not smile back when he felt his own heart flutter? "I would love nothing more."

With Ranya linked to his side, he would wander the streets in search for the lively tune that hung over the street until they stumbled upon the source, a tavern, humble and yet the light peeking through the windows offered warmth and the music, muffled, pulsed with life like the beat of a heart. A smile, as if he was reminiscing of another time, stretched upon his face. Askel looked down at his sun-kissed companion and asked, "Shall we?

He opened the door for her and they were greeted by the sight of people dancing merrily, perhaps some who had too much to drink though merry, nonetheless. As he led her through, the beating of the drums coursed through their bodies and the violin danced like a trickster demanding their attention. Once they reached the bar, Askel removed his jacket and placed it on the barstool for her before he seated himself. He rolled up his sleeves just past his elbows, revealing thick forearms of a man who dedicated his body to knighthood.

Askel turned back on the stool to look back at the rest of the tavern. "Plenty of life for you?

Ranya crossed the tavern’s threshold as if stepping from one life into another. The air pressed close, thick with malt and woodsmoke, rough and honest, erasing any trace of jasmine that usually followed her. She let her eyes wander over the dancers, soaking in their wild, unrestrained joy, as if she were watching a spell unfold that no one had meant her to see.

She perched lightly on his jacket, bare feet swinging to the rhythm of the drums, her gold anklets whispering their own private melody. Her gaze found Askel, catching the lamplight as she traced the quiet strength in his bare forearms. She let her eyes linger, slow and deliberate, a secret smile tugging at her lips. She had seen warriors before, but there was something different here: strength worn like a second skin, shaped by sweat and purpose, not just for show. She found herself drawn in, unexpectedly and entirely.

"More than enough," she breathed, a radiant smile lighting her face. "Back home, even our celebrations often have a script. Here, the very floorboards feel alive. It’s intoxicating."

Caught up in the thrill of the moment, she leaned closer, her voice dropping into a silken, low register. "I want to taste all of it, Prince Askel. I want to experience everything this night has to offer... and I suspect I couldn't ask for a more capable guide to show me the way." She seemed entirely unaware of how suggestive the words sounded, her curiosity simply overflowing.

She gestured toward the foaming tankards with a look of pure, eager innocence. "But we should start with what is in the cups. What do you suggest for a woman who wants to feel as bold as those dancers look? What is your favorite thing to drink?"

For the briefest of moments Askel's freckled rosy cheeks were a shade of red that made him ever so thankful that the lamplight was dim. However, his gaze followed hers to the foaming tankards with white frothing from the lips. He could not help, but to laugh though it was at himself and for his mind going straight towards the gutter. "Right, drinks. You're talking about drinks."

A cheeky grin spread along his face "Well, if you wish to gain the courage of a Caesonian then you must sample Caesonian ale." He raised his hand up and called out loudly against the noise. "Hey, barkeep! Two tankards of a lager and keep that tab open!" Askel received a nod from the bartender. From a barrel sitting among other barrels on a wall, they would watch with anticipation as their mugs were filled until they threatened to overflow, the suds cut off cleanly with a swipe of a knife.

The tankards were placed in front of them with a THUNK!. It was mighty in size, bigger than Askel's hand. "Well, enjoy Rani. Don't pound it back alright?" He grabbed it by the handle and took a sip from it. It was crisp, clean, and smooth with a subtle note of bitterness from the hops. The bubbles danced on his tongue as it made its way down his gullet.

Ranya watched the color bloom across his cheeks, her interest sharpening like a cat catching the flicker of a mouse. His stammered, "Right, drinks," made her lips curl into a slow, wicked smile, the kind that promised trouble and delighted in it.

"Careful, Prince Askel," she murmured, leaning in until her gold earrings nearly brushed his shoulder. "Keep charming me like this, and by the end of the courting season, I might be talking about something else entirely."

The arrival of the drinks cut through her playful scheming. Ranya eyed the tankard, her brows lifting in open disbelief at its monstrous size. She reached out, fingers stretching as far as they could. She could barely fit her hands around it, the mug's girth nearly dwarfing her grip. The cool metal pressed against her palms, heavy and unfamiliar, a challenge disguised as hospitality.

When he warned her not to "pound it back," she shot him a defiant, bratty look. "Now you’re just tempting me," she countered, though she settled for a long, curious sip. The initial bitterness made her nose crinkle, but the crisp, bubbly finish was strangely addictive. She wiped a bit of foam from her lip, looking at the mug with newfound respect before taking another gulp.

"It’s aggressive," she decided, her gaze steady on him even as her ears tracked the rhythm of the dancers nearby. "But I think I like it." She eyed him over the mug. "So, Prince Askel, what really brings you to Sorian? Courting season, or are you after something more interesting than a bride?" She took a slow drink, watching him as she waited.

Even though flush crept from his cheeks and up to his ears, Askel was determined not to lose footing on this battleground. "Is that a threat or promise?" He countered, leaning to meet her until his face only inches away from hers as if to challenge her though it was cut short when the drinks were presented to them.

Askel had to hold back his laughter; her hands looked so tiny when holding the tankard. His amusement grew as he watched her take her first sip of Caesonian lager, her nose crinkling like a child taking medicine and when she pulled away, she had a magnificent foamy mustache. All in all, absolutely adorable. He chuckled at her comment that it was 'aggressive' and said, "Wildflower, if you find that aggressive then you're in for a world of trouble." He lifted his tankard and took a big gulp, listening to her question.

Askel gently placed the tankard down and even though he still smiled at her, there was a touch of melancholy that painted its undertones. He looked down at the light golden liquid in the tankard, his arms resting on the counter as if to hold himself up from a weariness that had been plaguing him. "Ah, well, you've caught me at an unusual period of my life. I've only recently returned home after many years due to an incident... a death in the family. Forgive me if I spare some of the details; it's still a fresh wound." His gaze returned to hers as if to ask for understanding. "I decided that I needed to put my roots down back home, to be a rock for my friends and family. I felt like I owed it to them after being gone for so long."

"To no one's surprise we were invited to Sorian for the Courting Season. My brother, the crowned prince, and my two younger sisters who are also of age decided to attend and as for myself, I decided to attend as a prince of Varian and my brother's knight though before we left my parents pulled me to the side and told me not to worry and 'enjoy myself.'" He smiled warmly at the memory, knowing that he was so beloved.

"I suppose they were worried about me; they knew the nature of my journey. No matter what I said in my letters, there was no way I'd be able to pull the wool over their eyes. That and they're probably worried that I'd be a bachelor for the rest of my life. Them and my youngest sister, Sylvie. I swear, that girl has probably made every single woman in Varian sick of my face by now!" He laughed with the good humor of an older brother that put up with his little sister's antics, even if they drove him up the wall at times.

As his laughter died down, he looked down at his beer contemplatively. "I would be lying to myself though if I said that the idea of marriage didn't appeal to me." He admitted without an ounce of shame. "On my journey, there were large swathes of time where my only company was my horse and the fire to keep me warm. Sometimes, I mean only sometimes, I wished I had someone to return to and rest my head on their shoulder and just sit there like that quietly."

A heavy sigh passed through his lips and his lips curled into a scowl filled with contempt. "But I question if the Courting Season is the right thing. It's all... so staged, I suppose?" He remarked with evident frustration. "We all go there dressed in our finest attires and make pleasant conversation as deep as a puddle while others scheme with how to find any advantage be it diplomatic or whose family can bolster their own. Love surely can't thrive there, not real love."

Askel focused his gaze back onto Ranya's, an electric energy behind his violet eyes and yet they were gentle. "I lay no claim to be an expert, but from my journeys I can at least say that I am beginning to understand the shape of love."

Ranya’s playful smirk softened. The sharp edges of her mischief faded into something more genuine. As he talked about loss, she felt a familiar ache. It was a quiet acknowledgment of the emptiness death creates. She didn't offer empty words. Instead, she reached out, her sun-warmed hand covering his calloused one in a silent sign of support.

"I understand," she said softly, her voice losing its performative edge. "The dunes remind us that grief is just love without a place to go. It is a heavy burden to carry, especially if you are trying to be the 'rock' for everyone else.”

When he spoke about his family's interference and his sister’s plan to set him up, Ranya let out a soft, genuine laugh. She leaned back slightly, her eyes following the lines of his face with warmth that felt real. "I think your parents and sister are worrying over nothing. You have a very handsome face, Prince Askel, and a beautiful soul, from what I've seen tonight. I find it hard to imagine any woman getting tired of looking at it. I certainly haven't yet and I truly don't know if I ever would."

She listened as he described the loneliness of life on the road and the emptiness of the Courting Season. Usually, the idea of marriage felt like a cage to her. She saw it as a contract of duty and confinement. But hearing him describe it as a place to simply rest made the idea feel less like a prison and more like a safe haven.

"You’re right about the Season," she murmured, her thumb drawing small circles over his knuckles. "It’s a marketplace where hearts are the currency. It’s hard for anything real to grow in soil that's been so over-tilled by politics. But I've also learned to never say never.” She gave him a small shrug, briefly wondering how this would go for her. While the Alidasht have never attended a courting season here until this year, they did have similar back home and she knew the logistics of it.

She looked up at him. Her gaze showed a rare, vulnerable honesty. "I don't know much about the 'shape of love' myself, and the idea of being tied down scares me more than any viper or blade. But..." She paused and offered a small, lopsided smile. "Until the sun sets on this Season, if the world feels too heavy and you need a shoulder to rest on, I have two. I’m told I’m an excellent listener when I’m not being a menace.”

At the touch of her hand, smooth against the calloused roughness of his own, he looked at her and saw a genuine tenderness that made his heart stir. "Thank you, Rani."

He smiled sweetly at her and yet, for some reason her fear of marriage broke his heart. Slowly, he was beginning to understand who she was, not just who she may potentially be, but her as a person. He saw someone that loved life and a boundless mind though was forced to live in a world of luxury, yet sterile of any of the real joys of living. A kind and gentle soul that practiced charm to hide her fears and insecurity, afraid to lose whatever little freedom she had. His heart ached for her, and he did not know why. The only thing he knew was that he wanted to protect her, the person that finally revealed herself to him.

His hand found a lock of her hair and delicately brushed it away from her face. "You know, love is a noble thing," Askel began with almost a hushed whisper. "It will not betray you, enslave, or dismay you. It does not keep score, it isn't proud or vain, nor does it boast. It does not delight in evil, but it seeks and celebrates truth. It protects, it trusts, and it always hopes and perseveres. Man fails; love does not."

"If you're afraid of being tied down by marriage then what you're afraid of is not love, but of being someone's possession, like a wildflower plucked from a field that will wilt in the finest vases and pureest waters. It's a perversion of love." He spoke firmly though there was no condescension in his tone. It was as if he was upset for her on his own behalf. "If you were truly loved, you would not be ensnared because they would see the beauty in your zeal for life. Someone that loved you would celebrate you, partake in your joy, and then be your home when you finally desire rest. There is a design, Rani, an alignment, a cry in all of our hearts for the beauty of love as it is meant to be and you deserve it too."

For a moment, he let his words float in the air before Askel lifted the tankard and gulped down a hefty amount of liquid courage before he slammed it down. "Let's dance," he suggested as he scooted off the barstool. His hand was held out to hers firmly with a blazing determination lit in his eyes. "'Until the sun sets on this Season', I'll do whatever I can to make your world bigger, even if it's just a little bit. Wildflower, Rani, whoever you are, that is my solemn vow to you." He declared boldly without a shred of embarrassment.

Ranya stilled, the usual spark of a clever retort flickering out before it could catch. She stared at him, heart pounding wild and uneven against her ribs, so fierce she forgot to breathe. For once, her tongue was silent, her composure cracked open by the force of feeling.

Inside, she was a storm barely contained. Panic surged first. It was the wild flutter of a bird glimpsing the open sky, only to realize how endless and terrifying freedom could be. Beneath that fear, a dizzying heat unfurled, making her knees unsteady, her breath shallow, and she was glad she was sitting down. The air itself seemed to catch her mood as the condensation on her tankard hissed and vanished in a thin, spectral curl of steam. For a heartbeat, the space between them shimmered with unnatural warmth.

A sharp heat stung behind her eyes, her throat tight with the threat of tears she refused to let fall. Refusing to let him see her falter, she seized her heavy tankard and, abandoning every trace of royal poise, drank the bitter, icy lager in bold, unbroken swallows. The cold battled the blaze in her veins, anchoring her back to herself.

"You are a very dangerous man, Prince Askel," she whispered, her voice uncharacteristically thick as she slammed the empty mug onto the bar. "To say such things to a woman who has spent her life hearing only lies... it is a cruel kind of kindness."

She refused him the chance to answer. Sliding from her stool, she caught his hand in hers, fingers threading with a quiet certainty, and tugged him into the heart of the room. The music shifted with the fiddle wild and urgent, a shanty that begged for chaos. Ranya spun away, gold anklets chiming a secret alarm. Her dance was a collision of Alidasht’s practiced elegance and the tavern’s reckless joy, a storm of silk and laughter.

She whirled back into his orbit, the room’s heat finally catching up to the flush in her cheeks. Arms flung around his neck, she pressed close, eyes alight with a fierce, radiant defiance as she met his gaze.

"Then hold to your vow, Sir Knight! Make my world bigger. Let's show your parents that you can enjoy yourself. Let's forget our burdens and the 'scripts' we were born into, just for tonight. Teach me how to be as wild as the rest of them... I want to taste freedom and reckless abandon with you."

Askel could only watch entranced by her; she was graceful, yet he could feel some sort of catharsis exuding from her with each movement. Even in a room crowded with people and with music blasting in his ears, he could only see her and only hear her. Nothing else mattered in that moment.

When she rushed up to him and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, his hands found her sides, just resting above her hips. Her face was flushed, and she was so close, and so warm.

He could only chuckle at her declaration though it was not mocking. His voice rumbled like a fire on a snowy Varian night, comforting and easing. "And you say I'm dangerous! My dear, you enchant me so. It's all so sweet and heady." Askel's hands climbed up from her sides with one hand resting on the small of her back and the other to grab one of her hands wrapped around him, his fingers intertwining with his own as he held their arms outstretched. He met her burning gaze with his own, burgeoning with affection. "Follow my lead," he murmured softly.

The music began to pick up its tempo and people began to clap to the beat, synchronizing with the beat of his heart. Askel led her through traditional Caesonian folk dance and even though he had a powerful presence, he was never domineering or forceful with Ranya; he only led her to where she needed to be and she in turn would return. It was a mutual exchange of energies, passionate and intimate, his world only focused and focused until there was only her.

Meanwhile unbeknownst to them, there was someone watching them. Not maliciously, it was just some bloke munching on warm, salted nuts that that had been watching them since they sat down at the counter and heard and saw everything. "Bloody hell, you'd need to pay good money for a show like that." He said between handfuls of nuts. He was interrupted as a woman rushed back from the washrooms, skirts rustling as she plopped down onto the stool beside him. She immediately reached over, snatching a generous palmful of his salted nuts.

“What’d I miss?” She asked, her eyes darting towards the center of the floor where the Prince and the Desert Wildflower danced. “I’m putting money down that they kiss.” She said, mouth full of nuts.

Ranya moved with him, the world beyond their orbit dissolving into a haze of golden light and the scent of old wood. She had spent years perfecting the precise, ceremonial dances of the Alidasht courts, but this was something raw and alive. Askel’s lead was not a command, but an invitation. His hand on her back was a quiet promise, steady and grounding as the music surged around them.

She matched his steps with a grace that felt instinctive, her body drawn to his strength as if pulled by a hidden current. When she faltered, usually because her eyes lingered too long on the storm brewing in his violet gaze, she let the stumble become laughter, bright and unguarded, ringing out like chimes in the heat. When his voice rumbled, low and dangerous, calling her enchanting, a slow, wicked smile curled at her lips.

"Only 'enchanting'?" she teased, leaning closer as their arms outstretched. "I was going for 'utterly ruinous.' 'Sweet and heady' is just a very polite way of saying I'm making your head spin, my darling knight." She gave his hand a playful squeeze, her eyes locked onto his.

As the fiddle soared, the crowd’s applause thundered around them, but Ranya saw only him. The tavern, the curious eyes at the bar, the duties she had fled for the night—all of it faded to nothing. There was only the scent of ale and woodsmoke in the air and the fierce, grounding warmth of his hand in hers.

As the song reached its rowdy, crashing finale, the tempo gave one last, sudden jolt. Just as Ranya was coming out of a swift turn, a large, staggering patron, who was clearly several ales deep, collided heavily with her shoulder. The man let out a thick, muffled, "Oof... s'rry, m'lady," but the force of the impact sent her spinning off-balance.

With a small gasp, Ranya’s hands instinctively flew out to find purchase. She grabbed the front of Askel’s tunic, the fabric bunching in her fists as she pulled herself steady, effectively pinning herself against the broad planes of his chest.

She made no move to retreat. Instead, a breathless, delighted laugh escaped her, head tipped back to meet his gaze. Her cheeks glowed, her hair a wild, dark halo, and her heart hammered so fiercely her chest rose and fell against his with every ragged breath.

"I think I finally know why you're so dangerous, Askel," she said, her voice uncharacteristically soft and stripped of its usual armor, forgetting to use any titles. "It’s because you’re the first man I’ve ever met that I’m not in a hurry to run away from. In fact..." She offered a small, vulnerable smile. "I think I’d quite like to stay right here for a while."

Reflexively, Askel's hands caught her back as she collided against him to protect from stumbling back though he had not realized that she was clinging onto his tunic and had pinned herself against him. Knowing that, his hands refused to move. Askel had shot the drunkard a look before his attention was pulled towards her laughter and looked down at her, her hair a mess, her cheeks flushed, and her heart hammering against him that then caused his own heart to race further and even harder when he realized that she could most likely feel his too.

Logically, he knew that this was insane. Askel had only just met her! Her name was still a mystery to him! He was likely infatuated with the idea of her rather than who she really was and yet, this unfamiliar warmth in his chest said something different. He didn't know her, but he understood her. The prince understood she was a kind and beautiful soul, he understood that she was witty and clever, he understood that she was wild and craved unimpeded freedom like the wind over a valley, and he understood that she sought truth and love just as much as him. Askel didn't know her, but he knew what mattered. Everything else, the empty spaces, could always be filled in.

He smiled at her with the same vulnerability, his heart skipping a beat when she just called him by just his name. It was something he never knew he needed until he heard it tonight. "I would love that, very, very much," was all he could say. His hand gently found her face and cupped it; his thumb caressed her cheek delicately. There was no possessiveness behind his actions, just a desire to appreciate and to adore this woman that just came out of nowhere into his life.

His hand travelled up and ran his fingers through her hair, his eyes closed as he smiled. His chest felt light, yet coursing with energy, like there were bubbles racing upwards like the ale they shared, and it all came out like he had to find a release for this indescribable feeling and it came out as a song. Askel began to sing softly to her. Now, he was not an exceptional singer like his sister Sylvia though he had a passably pleasant enough tenor voice. The song itself was not something with soaring highs and deep rumbling lows. It was a simple song that laid bare to her what he was feeling, a folk song sung by any Varian man worth his salt to a woman that occupied a space in their heart.


"Was in a mid Frosamor.
When the sun scarce shows her face.
I met a constant sojourner,
She scarcely knew the place.

But the light she brought that evening,
well you'd swear it would be spring.
And now an early solstice,
well it lights up everything.

When first we started walking,
well we walked as strangers do.
But by a hundred paces, well we saw it through and through.
That by ten thousand paces, we would walk with arm in arm.
And then we'd walk together, to face the coming dawn.

But as a constant sojourner,
Well, she had to move away.
A couple hundred miles that she covered in a day.
But what's a hundred miles for a woman with such grace?
Now I'm a constant sojourner in an unfamiliar place.

But soon will come some Frosamor,
when the sun won't hide away.
And with that early solstice,
she'll return this time to stay.

And then there will be a home to build,
and gardens there to tend.
And a life to build together,
with an undetermined end..."

Ranya’s defenses did not shatter, but instead faded, quiet as dawn mist vanishing beneath the first golden rays. His hand found her face, gentle as sunlight, and the touch pressed into her soul with a gravity that felt sacred. She leaned into his palm, lashes lowering, a breath slipping from her lips that was fragile, uneven, and too honest. She had always been a prize, a pawn, a jewel for display. Yet his touch was sanctuary, a silent reverence that asked nothing but for her to simply be.

Then, he sang.

The song struck her, not gently, but like a hammer against the glass citadel she had built around her heart. This was no courtly verse, no gilded lie from the Alidasht halls. It was raw and unvarnished, leaving her bare. When he sang of a 'constant sojourner,' a chill traced her spine, defiant against the heat that always clung to her. He was singing her story back to her, offering a home to a woman who had only ever learned to run.

It was terrifying. Her mind, always the careful strategist, sounded its alarms. She didn’t even know his favorite color, nor the names of the ghosts that haunted his nights. They were strangers, two shadows tangled in the golden flicker of a tavern, yet the pull between them was wild, reckless, dizzying. It made her want to laugh and weep in the same breath.

When the last note faded, Ranya did not move. She remained pressed to his chest, a single, traitorous tear slipping down her cheek. Words tangled in her throat, stubborn and silent. When she finally opened her eyes and looked up at him, they shone with a brightness she could not hide.

"You’ve ruined everything," she whispered, a small, pained laugh breaking through the vulnerability in her voice. "I came in here tonight with a plan, Askel. I wanted to lose myself in the noise. I wanted to find a handsome man, share a few reckless drinks, and maybe a passionate kiss that wouldn't mean a thing when the sun came up. I wanted to make bad decisions to drown out the heavy ones."

She reached up, her fingers trembling as they traced the line of his jaw. "I was looking for a distraction. I wasn't expecting to be... found. I wasn't expecting to have someone look at me and actually see me, beneath all the silk and the jokes." She swallowed hard, her gaze searching his. "It’s frightening. How can you make me feel like I’ve known you for a lifetime in the span of a single conversation and dance? You make the idea of 'staying' sound like a more beautiful adventure than running away."

The tavern’s music crept back in as the fiddle slowed, and with it, the world returned—louder, brighter, and far too real. Ranya’s gaze slid past Askel’s shoulder. The crowd had thinned, the wild dancers now replaced by curious onlookers. A man with salted nuts stared, mouth agape, while a woman at the bar watched them as if they were the leads in some grand, absurd play, waving her on, expecting something else to happen.

A new heat bloomed across her cheeks, nothing like the fire that lived in her chest. She was a princess, Suna’s Chosen, but she had never felt so exposed, so utterly on display, as if the entire tavern was her audience.

"And," she added, her voice dropping to a bashful, hurried murmur as she buried her face slightly against his tunic to hide her flush, "I think we have officially become the evening's entertainment. Apparently, a Varian Prince singing folk songs to a desert wildflower is worth more than the price of a pint." For the first time in her life, she found the eyes upon her making her uncharacteristically nervous, and she couldn’t stop from trembling slightly in his arms.

His eyes found hers and what saw something so bright and yet held so much fear. All he wanted to do was to protect her from whatever pain that tangled her heart.

Awareness had finally caught up to him as he glanced around a room filled with prying eyes and murmuring mouths. His own cheeks flushed red when he realized that they really had made a scene. "It appears that indeed we have," murmured Askel. He hugged her closely, feeling her tremble against him like a newborn fawn exposed to the world for the first time. "Come on, let's get you out of here." Gently, he removed herself of him though his hands interlaced with her own and he led her back to the bar counter.

Askel hurriedly fished around for his wallet and placed any amount of money needed to pay off their drinks. "Use whatever is left to pay for everyone's tab." He said to the bartender while he grabbed his jacket from the stool and carefully draped it over Ranya. It was several sizes too big, and it smelled of his cologne, like a snow-covered forest filled with trees and herbs that she had never even heard of or seen before.

"Please, take it. It's a cold night, is it not?" Insisted Askel. It was a pretense, to make her feel less exposed to the rest of the world.

The jacket settled over Ranya’s shoulders like a second skin, heavy and enveloping. It was a shield, thick enough to swallow her whole, to turn her into a secret, hidden from the hungry eyes prowling the tavern.

​She drew the jacket close, pressing her face into the collar. His scent struck her—wild, unfamiliar, a map of places she’d never seen. She breathed it in with a hunger she didn’t know she possessed, simply because it was his.

​She didn’t know the mountains or forests that had shaped these scents, but she knew she didn’t want to let them slip away. Fingers curling into the oversized sleeves, a wild, wordless longing sparked inside her: to follow this scent, this man, wherever he led, even if it meant leaving behind everything she’d ever called home.
In 🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕 → 5 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Askel & Mina: The Knight & The Witch




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



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She moved past him toward the door, pausing just long enough to glance back with a glimmer of mischief in her eyes. "Now, come along. Since I am the one suggesting we rob our host, it is only fair that I lead the way to the cellar. I know precisely where the best of it is hidden, though I will not be explaining how I came by that knowledge." Her laughter lingered in the air as she guided him from the room, her steps light and sure.
In 🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕 → 5 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Lucian & Mina: A Touching Moment




Part 1


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



Lucian’s Outfit

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was a harsh offer, meant to make her seem as empty as the rumors claimed, even though it hurt to say it. Her eyes gave her away, no matter how steady her voice. She waited for him to move, her heart beating unevenly in her chest.
In 🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕 → 5 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Kalliope's Kidnapping



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



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The bed was wet from the rain.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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