FLASHBACK

Cassius & Calbert

Time: Late Evening of Sola 26th
Location: Damien Estate

---

Cassius had barely stepped into the grand foyer when his gaze landed upon the unmistakable figure of his father. Calbert Damien stood beside the elegant grand piano at the room's center, a cigar held loosely between his fingers. Wisps of smoke curled slowly upward, dissipating into the air. The count's posture was impeccably poised, yet his eyes betrayed his simmering displeasure. The reflection of the ornate mirrors cast haunting shadows behind him, making his silhouette loom larger than life.

He brought the cigar to his lips, inhaling deeply before releasing a slow stream of smoke. His eyes locked onto Cassius, scrutinizing him silently for a long, charged moment.

"Cassius," Calbert finally spoke after a deliberate silence, voice calm yet edged with unspoken displeasure. His voice was laced with a warmth that never quite reached his eyes. “I trust your evening was... eventful?”

Cassius paused, the remnants of the evening still lingering—the taste of Charlotte on his lips, the weight of her trust in his arms. He raised a brow at his father, a smirk settling effortlessly onto his features despite the intensity in Calbert’s gaze.

“Eventful? You could say that.” Cas shrugged offhandedly, striding deeper into the room. He moved past Calbert, stopping at the decanter resting elegantly on a nearby side table. His fingers brushed the crystal, but he hesitated, a subtle tension threading through his shoulders.

Finally, Cassius glanced over his shoulder, offering Calbert a half-smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Though I suspect you already know exactly how my evening went. Isn’t that right, Father?” Turning back towards the decanter, he poured two glasses of whiskey and moved towards Calbert to hand him one.

Calbert’s eyes flicked to the glass Cassius offered, but he made no move to take it. Instead, he allowed the silence to thicken once more as he slowly lowered the cigar from his lips, the red ember at its tip glowing faintly. “Indeed,” he began. “I’d say I hardly need a recap of your evening,” he went on, the corners of his mouth tightening in a humorless smile. “Given that kiss you bestowed on Lady Charlotte Vikena for all the world to see outside her estate. One could judge the quality of your night from that alone, wouldn’t you agree?”

He turned slightly, setting the cigar down on the edge of the piano’s glossy surface. The fresh scrape of ash on wood underscored the tension in the air. “You do take after me in the manner you enjoy your theatrics, Cassius.”

“If there's a point you're trying to make, Father, I'd prefer you didn't dance around it. It's late, and despite my apparent flair for theatrics, I'm not in the mood for games.” With a pointed glance, Cassius withdrew the offered drink, tipping the contents of the extra glass into his own with deliberate ease. The whiskey burned pleasantly as he took a sip, stormy eyes never leaving his father as he waited, daring him to get to the point.

Calbert’s brows arched ever so slightly, the only visible sign of his surprise at Cassius’s boldness. “Games?” he echoed incredulity with bubbling anger, “You dare to accuse me of such a thing, after you deliberately disobeyed the one request I made of you?”

He exhaled a short, humorless laugh, stepping forward. “I warned you—told you to keep your distance from that girl. And yet here you stand,” his voice took on a colder edge, “practically boasting about your little dalliance, not just once but time and again.”

The count began to enumerate each incident, unfolding one finger at a time in a deliberate show of control. “First, at my very own event just hours after I asked you to stay away from her, you danced with her. Then, you appeared at the Edwards gathering side by side, rolling in the grass like carefree children. Next, you dashed off in the dead of night on her account—and now, you saw fit to take her out on a date.”

His gaze flicked to the whiskey in Cassius’s grip. “It’s almost amusing,” he mused, his voice tinged with sarcasm. “Seeing you there, so nonchalant—drinking in the dead of night, as though you truly believe you can stand toe-to-toe with the father who’s done nothing but take you in and show you kindness.”

He paused, letting the quiet drag, his mouth curving into a mirthless smile. Slowly, he spread his arms, a flicker of sadness washing over his features. “But if you’re really so averse to playing a game, Cassius,” he continued softly, “then lay down your cards.” Taking a single step forward, he lifted his chin and fixed his gaze upon his son, his voice dropping to a dangerously measured pitch.

“Tell me, boy—what have I done to deserve this from you?”

“Disobeyed?” Cassius echoed, a quiet scoff slipping past his lips. The corners of his mouth curled into a wry, humorless smirk as he swirled the whiskey in his glass, watching the liquid catch the dim light before his gaze lifted, sharp and unyielding. “You speak as though I’m some unruly child rather than a grown man who has seen more of this world than even you, has accomplished more as lowly, and let’s not forget fatherless commoner than most blue-blooded, silver-spoon fed noble fools could ever even dream of.”

He took a slow step forward, not quite challenging, but refusing to back down. “And I danced with her because she was on the verge of falling apart, and I wasn’t about to stand there and watch. I went with her to the party because we happened to cross paths that morning at the lake, and it simply made sense. I ran after her because any man of honor would find it a little concerning to see a noblewoman rushing towards an inferno like she was. Isn’t that what you expect of me, to behave like a man of honor? And yeah I kissed her—” He paused just briefly, something flickering in his storm-gray eyes before he smothered it, his voice evening out once more. “ There was no strategy, no ulterior motives. It was not a chess move, nor an act of defiance against you, father. I did it because I wanted to. It’s that simple.”

Cassius tilted his head slightly, studying his father with the same assessing sharpness Calbert so often reserved for others. The older man was a master of control, his calm as smooth as glass, but Cassius had learned to recognize the tension just beneath it—the blade hidden beneath silk, poised to strike.

“You want me to lay down my cards?” he mused, voice quiet but edged with something firm. “Fine. Consider them on the table.”

He didn’t break eye contact, didn’t waver beneath the weight of his father’s scrutiny.

“Charlotte’s not a pawn, Father, and neither am I.”

Cassius took another slow sip of his whiskey, letting the burn settle in his chest, grounding him. When he spoke again, his voice dipped lower, quieter, but carried a challenge all the same.

“So let’s hear it—why does it matter to you so damned much what I do with Charlotte Vikena?”

The count exhaled slowly through his nose. His fingers drummed against the polished surface of the piano as his mind whirred. “You mistake me, Cassius… If you think I see either you or Lady Charlotte as mere pawns, then you know nothing of me at all.”

His brows drew together, his tone dipping into something almost wounded. “I have spent my life securing our family’s standing, ensuring its survival. Do you think I would waste my time trying to guide you if I thought you were just a piece to be moved on a board?” His gaze darkened, flickering with something unreadable. “I told you to keep your distance not to control you, not to amuse myself with some arbitrary restriction—but to protect you.”

He let those words settle, watching Cassius closely, gauging his reaction before continuing. “ I know I did not give you enough context.” A humorless chuckle left him as he shook his head. “ But instead of asking for more, you immediately sought her out. You must understand why I take some insult… ” His voice tightened, his chin lifting slightly.“Whether you simply fancy her pretty face or have found yourself completely smitten with the girl, I am going to insist you keep your distance from her once more if you truly care about the wellbeing of this family, and most importantly—your sisters.”

He lifted his hand before Cassius could interrupt.

“Before you protest, before you dismiss my words as paranoia, I will give you the context you seem to so desperately lack.”

“Lady Charlotte Vikena,” he continued, “is not the woman you think she is. In fact, she is far from an innocent socialite caught up in the drama of the nobility. She is a woman who has aligned herself with those who wish to do our family harm.”

He lifted a hand, fingers pressing against his temple as if exasperated by his son’s obliviousness. “You ask me why I want you away from Charlotte Vikena? Then listen carefully, because after tonight, I will not repeat myself.”

His hand lowered, and his eyes locked onto Cassius’s with unflinching severity.

“That girl surrounds herself with dangers you do not fully comprehend, nor do you seem to care to.” He scoffed, a humorless chuckle escaping him before his expression sobered. “Do you know who she harbors? Who she aligns herself with?” His lips curled, not in amusement, but in disgust. “It begins with two individuals—Kazumin and a woman now calling herself Olivia.”

“Kazumin Nagasa is a deranged, perverted maniac who has long fixated on Crystal in an unhealthy, stalking manner. He lurked around her bedroom, obsessed with my daughter. When he finally had the gall to come here upon invitation, he was completely out of his mind—irrational, and dangerous. Olivia attacked our home with arrows and helped him escape before the guards could arrest him… And as for Olivia… she is not merely some mysterious woman Charlotte sheltered out of kindness. She was seen at the very scene where my daughter Violet was attacked with an axe... Do you know what she was doing?”

His gaze burned into Cassius as he let the weight of that question settle. “Running.” He paused for dramatic effect. “Fleeing the scene.”

“And Charlotte?” His voice sharpened as he took a step forward, eyes narrowing. “Not only did she not turn these people over to the authorities, but she gave them sanctuary. She shielded them, hid them—protected them. And now?” His lips pressed into a thin line. “She chooses to remain in their company. She surrounds herself with them freely, as if their past actions mean nothing. And do you know who else she spends her time with?”

He scoffed again, shaking his head. “Count Fritz Hendrix.” His expression darkened. “The man who spent the night with Violet while she was missing, getting her drunk in the slums.”

“And if that were not enough,” Calbert went on, “she had the audacity to sneak into my study. A woman I have welcomed into my house on multiple occasions—a woman who was supposed to be a family friend—betrayed that hospitality and trespassed where she did not belong.” His fingers drummed lightly on the armrest of the chair he had taken.

“She was caught going through my things. She stood there, like a guilty child, caught red-handed in an act of betrayal. And do you know what she did?” He arched a brow. “She came crying to you.”

Calbert shook his head. “Do you not see the pattern, Cassius? Do you truly not understand?” His tone was softer now, but no less intense. “This is not coincidence. This is not innocent rebellion or childish defiance. This is a deliberate entanglement with people who have, time and again, put our family in danger after YEARS of devotion of the Damiens to the Vikenas. They are a collection of criminals and liars, gathering under the guise of misfits and lost souls.” His jaw tightened. “And whether she realizes it or not, Charlotte Vikena has woven herself so deeply into their web that she is either blind to it or complicit.”

Cassius stood still, his grip tightening subtly around the glass in his hand as Calbert’s words settled over him like a thick, suffocating fog. His father’s voice, always so controlled, so measured, carried its weight with surgical precision—each accusation, each revelation, was sharpened to wound, to carve doubt into the certainty Cassius carried with him.

He exhaled, slow and deliberate, before bringing the glass to his lips. The whiskey burned down his throat, but it was nothing compared to the fire curling low in his chest.

Kazumin. Olivia. Fritz. He knew the names. Some in passing, some more directly. He had heard the rumors, the whispers of scandal. And yet, as Calbert spoke, as he spun a tapestry of treachery and deceit, Cassius found himself unwilling to take it at face value. He had seen Charlotte—really seen her—and she was many things, but she was no villain.

And yet… this was not something he could just dismiss.

He set the now-empty glass down with an almost lazy motion, fingers tapping idly against the polished surface before he turned back to face his father fully.

“That’s quite the tale, Father,” he murmured, voice smooth but lacking its usual bite. His expression remained unreadable, a mask worn too well. “A rather convenient one, too.” He tilted his head, a wry smile ghosting over his lips. “And tell me—how much of this is truth, and how much of it is just the right amount of truth?”

His storm-gray eyes locked onto Calbert’s, sharp and searching.

“Because I know you, Father. I may not have known you long, but I know how you, and men like you, operate. Every word you just said was carefully chosen, every piece of information curated for maximum effect. You always play the long game, and you never show your full hand unless you’re certain it’s the winning one.” He let the accusation settle between them for a beat before continuing.

“But let’s say I take you at your word,” he went on, pacing a slow step forward. “Let’s say Charlotte does keep questionable company. Let’s say she’s made some reckless choices, aligned herself with people who have hurt our family. Does that mean she’s guilty by association? Perhaps. Or, maybe she’s just a girl in over her head trying to do the best she can for her friends. You can relate to doing what’s necessary to protect those you hold dear, can you not? Lily, Violet, Crystal…even me. And do you not keep questionable company yourself in order to ensure our safety?”

He let out a short, humorless laugh, shaking his head.

“All the while, you’re expecting me to walk away from her, to cast her aside without a second thought. Just like that.” He snapped his fingers, the sound sharp against the quiet room. “Tell me, Father—are you a man who lets other people decide for you who to care about? I think not. Why the fuck would you assume I’m any different in that regard?”

His voice was quieter now, less edged with defiance but no less resolute.

“I don’t doubt that you believe what you’re saying. But you also believe that control is the same thing as protection. That keeping people in check is the same as keeping them safe.” He huffed out a breath, rolling his shoulders back as if shaking off the weight of this entire conversation. “And maybe that’s true for you. Maybe that’s how you’ve kept this family afloat all these years.”

He turned away slightly, glancing down at the glass on the table before looking back at Calbert with something quieter in his eyes—something less subtle in its honesty.

“But that’s not who I am.”

A pause. A long one.

Then, finally, Cassius straightened, his usual smirk creeping back into place like armor being slipped on.

“You want me to stay away from her?” he mused, tilting his head in mock consideration. “You’ll have to do better than that.”

His grin widened, sharp and knowing.

“Because—” he leaned in just slightly, voice dropping lower, “—my days of simply following orders are long behind me.”

Cassius let the silence stretch, the weight of his words lingering in the air between them. He watched his father closely, searching for any crack in that carefully constructed facade. Then, slowly, deliberately, he let out a quiet, pointed chuckle.

“You know,” he mused, swirling what little remained of the whiskey in his glass before knocking it back, savoring the slow burn, “it’s funny how you spin this story, actually. How you lay out the dangers, the betrayals, the criminals she surrounds herself with. You paint her as naive at best, complicit at worst.”

His gaze lifted, sharp and unreadable, as he set the empty glass down with a soft clink.

“But there’s something missing from your tale, isn’t there? Something rather important. See, I’ve been thinking about that night at the masquerade.” He took another slow step forward, his voice still casual, but there was an unmistakable edge beneath it now. “How she was standing there, barely holding herself together, looking like she’d just seen a ghost. Or rather…” His smirk faded slightly. “…like she’d just been torn apart by one.”

He tilted his head, watching his father’s expression with quiet scrutiny.

“You warned me to stay away from her, yet by your own admission you’re the one who left her in that state. You, Father. And I have to wonder—what exactly did you say to her? What did you do that was so vile as to make her crumble like that?”

He let that question sit between them, let it simmer.

“You claim she’s a danger to this family, yet from where I’m standing, the only person I’ve seen hurting anyone…” He exhaled a quiet laugh, shaking his head, before finishing simply, “is you.”

Calbert had let him speak his piece, had allowed the silence to linger a moment longer. When he met Cassius’s gaze finally, his eyes reflected sadness and disappointment.

“...You speak boldly, Cassius, of truths and deception—as if your judgment is beyond reproach. Yet you accuse your own father while placing your trust in a woman you just met..”

He sighed and put his hands on hips. “Consider this: Charlotte Vikena has been like family to your sisters for years, Crystal has considered Charlotte to be her very best friend… Yet she willingly shelters those who have harmed both girls. You accuse me of manipulation, yet you fail to see how effortlessly she manipulates you.”

Calbert tilted his head slightly, stepping forward with a quiet intensity. “If you truly trust her so implicitly, I challenge you—ask her yourself. Look her in the eyes and ask if she’s withheld information from you. Ask her if she’s willing to reveal the full extent of her connections and intentions.” He raised his chin slightly. “See for yourself if your Charlotte is as honest and noble as you desperately wish her to be, or if perhaps my caution was justified after all.”

Cassius didn’t respond right away.

Instead, he pondered, rolling his father’s words over in his mind like a gambler turning a coin between his fingers, testing its balance. The room felt smaller somehow, thick with unspoken tension, but Cassius didn’t look away. He watched Calbert carefully, as if searching for something just beneath the surface—some tell, some flicker of something that wasn’t control, wasn’t calculation.

He sighed, running a hand down his face before finally—finally—he spoke.

“You know, when I first came here, I figured you’d treat me like most noble bastards get treated—like a stain on your honor, a mistake you’d rather pretend didn’t exist. And I was ready to play the role of thorn in your side, father.” His voice was quieter now, measured. “But you didn’t do that did you?. We both know you could’ve ignored me, cast me aside, made it clear I was nothing but an inconvenience to you.”

His eyes flickered, something genuine behind them. “Instead, you’ve been… generous. More than I expected. You took me in, gave me a place at your table, at your side. And whether that’s out of duty, guilt, strategy—hell, maybe even something close to fatherly affection—I don’t know. But I do know it’s more than most would’ve done.”

Shaking his head slightly, a quiet, almost amused scoff escaping him. “Which is why I’m not going to stand here and pretend your words hold no weight.”

He rested his hand on the edge of the table, fingers drumming idly against the wood.

“You think Charlotte’s dangerous—whether by her own choices or by the company she keeps.” His voice was steady. “And maybe you’re right. Maybe she is tangled up in something bigger than she realizes. Maybe she’s not as innocent in all this as I’d like to believe.”

His lips quirked into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “But perhaps even the great Count Damien could be wrong. Either way, I don’t take a man’s word as gospel, even if that man is my father.”

He straightened, running a hand through his hair before continuing. “You need to understand. No one survives as long as I have in this world, not with the life I’ve led, without knowing when someone’s playing you.”

Cassius tilted his head slightly, considering. “So, I’ll talk to her.” The words were simple, but firm. “Not because you ordered me to. Not because I believe every damn word you’ve said. But because at the end of the day you’ve earned that courtesy from me…And, because I want to hear the truth from her lips. Not yours.”

He stepped back slightly, giving Calbert an almost roguish smirk, but there was something else behind it now—something more grounded.

“You’re asking me to see things clearly, to see the bigger picture. Fine. But that means getting the real truth, not just the version that suits you.”

Cassius held Calbert’s gaze for a long moment before finally stepping back, striding over to the decanter again and pouring himself another drink.

Calbert watched Cassius speak in silence, his expression unreadable. Only the slow curl of cigar smoke betrayed the depth of his thoughts. Finally, he tilted his head slightly, exhaling through his nose.

“All I’m doing is looking out for you, Cassius.” His voice was quieter now, firm without harshness. “Your free will has never been in question. But I hope you will respect our family—especially your sisters.” He took a step forward, hands clasped behind his back, eyes unwavering.

“You assume I speak out of convenience. Perhaps. But I wouldn't waste my breath on empty words. Nor would I waste my time.” A faint, humorless smile touched his lips. “Thank you for hearing me out.”

His gaze flickered briefly toward Cassius, thoughtful. “Go talk to her, then. See for yourself.” His voice dropped lower. “But brace yourself, Cassius. You might not like what you find.” Turning away, he departed up the stairs.

Cassius watched as his father ascended the stairs, each measured step echoing through the quiet room. He didn’t speak, didn’t call after him—just stood there, that steel-gray stare following Calbert’s retreat until the man disappeared entirely.

Then, silence.

With one last glance toward the empty staircase, Cassius turned away, heading toward the doors. Despite having only been inside for a few moments, the night air called to him, crisp and cool, offering an escape from the weight of the conversation. He had a feeling he wasn’t going to be getting much sleep anyway.

Time to go clear his head.

Tomorrow, he would figure out his next move. Tonight, or at least what remained of it…belonged to oblivion.

Date: Sola 28th
Time: Morning
Location: Oasis Tea Cafe

---

Thea sat alone at the small round table, the soft hum of conversation from the other patrons in the Oasis Tea Cafe fading into the background as she absentmindedly adjusted the lace trim of her dress. Her fingers traced the edge of her teacup, the delicate porcelain offering little comfort compared to the swirling thoughts in her head. The humid air of Sorian had settled into her skin, but the coolness of the cafe’s private room was a welcome relief. It was almost too quiet–too still–as she waited for her brother.

Her mind kept returning to Charlotte’s message, the cryptic warning about Leo needing her. The weight of that simple statement hung over her, pressing down on her chest as her concern for him deepened. He was always so strong, so steady. Leo never showed weakness, and for him to need anyone felt strange. She couldn’t help but wonder if he had been struggling all this time, hidden behind his usual bravado. Her heart twisted at the thought. There was also the thought that perhaps he didn't need her and that's just how Charlotte perceived things. Maybe he'd find this whole thing a nuisance?

And then there was the matter of the engagement. Her stomach turned slightly at the memory of the prince breaking off the arrangement, leaving her a letter, of all things. It felt like a lifetime ago, but the shame of it still lingered, like an unpleasant taste in the back of her mouth. She hadn’t had the chance to speak to Leo about it, hadn't even seen him properly since arriving in Sorian for the courting season. And yet, it seemed like something she couldn’t avoid any longer. There were too many unsaid things between them, things she had hoped would settle with time but now knew they couldn’t be ignored. The engagement was a thing of the past, but the silence between her and Leo was too loud to continue.

Thea pushed the thought away, focusing instead on the soft click of her heels against the floor as she crossed her legs beneath the table. The door to the private room creaked open, and for a moment, her breath caught in her throat as she looked up.

No Leo yet.

She wasn’t sure if she was relieved or disappointed. He’d be here soon enough, she knew…or she hoped he would be, at least. What if he decided not to come? The thought oddly made her sick and relieved at the same time.

But it felt important. This moment with him, the chance to talk to him about everything–the engagement, their mother deciding to send her home, their father’s disappearance, and whatever Leo had been up to. She had no idea how he would react to any of it, but she couldn’t keep putting it off. She had been avoiding so many things in her life recently, but she couldn’t run from this conversation. Not any longer.

Taking another steadying breath, Thea glanced at the door again, hoping that Leo would walk through it soon–just as she had hoped for so many things over the years, with little to no result.

“Thea!” Leo’s voice betrayed none of his disappointment that she was still in Sorian as he approached the table. “Happy Birthday!” Things would be simpler if she did as their mother instructed and returned to Stravy. Then again, maybe that would’ve been worse. A sudden look of dread flashed across his face as he considered the possibility of Thea disappearing while traveling the same way his father had. With men like Calbert and Black Rose threatening him, that suddenly felt like a terrifying possibility. Maybe this was the best-case scenario.

Thea offered a faint smile at his birthday wishes, though the tension in her chest only grew as she watched him. “Thank you, Leo. And thank you for coming.” Her voice was soft, her concern evident as she studied him more closely. Something was off, and it was impossible to ignore.

“I’m so glad to see you’re well,” He added, only to second-guess his words. Did that imply too heavily that she might be in danger? “Not that you wouldn’t be.” He added, unconvincingly, as he took the chair across from her. Unable to be still, he fidgeted with his mint-colored suit. He glanced around at the other patrons, searching for signs of danger. Fritz had been lucky enough to receive a warning that someone would try to assassinate him. Leo doubted he, nor Charlotte, and possibly even Thea, would be so fortunate.

“I suppose by now you’ve heard all about my..” his face flushed slightly, and his eyes traveled away from Thea’s. Leo cleared his throat. “..Outbursts. And my sincerest apologies for that. Certainly hasn’t helped our family image any.” Shame ruddied his complexion, and he quickly changed the subject.

“How are you? Has anything…” He paused, searching for the right word, one that would not be too alarming. “...strange happened to you here, in Sorian?”

Worry gripped at her chest as she watched her brother. He wasn’t himself. His flushed cheeks, the way he fidgeted with his suit, and his wandering gaze–it all spoke of a restlessness that she couldn’t reconcile with the brother she knew. Charlotte’s words echoed in her mind, heightening her unease.

“I’m fine,” she said carefully, her eyes never leaving him. “Nothing strange has happened to me, unless you count sneaking back to Sorian after Mother tried to send me home.” Her attempt at humor barely lightened the air, her tone growing more serious. “But you…you don’t seem fine, Leo. You’re avoiding my eyes, fidgeting. It’s like you’re waiting for something terrible to happen.”

She leaned forward slightly, lowering her voice. “Screw our family image right now, we can work to fix that later. Charlotte said you might need me, but she didn’t say why. Please, just tell me what’s going on. I want to help however I can, but I can’t help if you don’t let me in.” Her gaze searched his, steady and full of worry, waiting for him to respond.

“Where to start…” Leo half whispered, more to himself than Thea. Black Rose? Being hexed? Magic? There was so much of it, all so dire, but keeping his sister in the dark about any of it would only make it harder for her to stay safe. He started with the small stuff; how Morrigan assigned a servant to him, one who had yelled at him and flung horse poop around, for no other reason than Morrigan wanted to mess with his head. He almost continued into all the trouble Riona had caused him, but that suddenly seemed too petty to care about compared to what else he had to share.

He moved on to all the bizarre pranks that had been pulled on him: the shrill voice, the pink skin, the unearned drunkenness. How Lottie, Fritz, and he had formed a detective club to find out what happened after the memory loss party. How even Prince Wulfric had joined in on investigating once they uncovered a deeper conspiracy simmering in the shadows of Sorian.

His voice dropped to a whisper. “The party’s host, Marek Delronzo, he’s some kind of crime lord here. He runs a corrupt company called Black Rose with Alexander Deacon, and Calbert Damien has partnered up with them. Calbert has also personally threatened Lottie on two occasions that I know of.” Leo paused, looked around again, and then intently stared into Thea’s eyes.

“Count Hendrix was informed that someone would attempt to assassinate him on Drunkards Day. Someone left bones scattered about my room in the guest house. There was a human skull inside of a chest in my room, and this as well.” He withdrew the photograph of him and his father from the pocket at his chest, the back of which read ‘Don’t worry, you’ll reunite with him soon’, and offered it to Thea to look at.

“Thea, I want you to swear to me you will stay away from Calbert, his family, and anyone connected to Black Rose. This is dangerous; mishandling this situation puts multiple lives at risk.” He waited for Thea to agree.

Thea’s face remained calm as Leo spoke, but her mind raced, clinging to every name and every detail. Marek Delronzo. The name wasn’t entirely unfamiliar, Anastasia had mentioned him before, speaking fondly of the lavish parties he threw. But she had never suspected he was anything more than an eccentric socialite. Alexander Deacon and Black Rose were entirely new, and Calbert Damien’s name brought a bitter taste to her tongue. He held King Edin’s ear and she thought he was just a snake of a man, but clearly there was a bit more to him than that. The connections Leo was weaving were terrifying, but her focus stayed firmly on him as he continued.

When he produced the photograph, her breath hitched. Her eyes scanned it quickly, the sight of their father making her ill. She hadn't actually gazed into that face in over a year and she wasn't sure how it made her feel, but as her gaze reached the back of the photo, she went pale. All the blood seemed to drain from her face, leaving her as white as the porcelain teacup in her hand. The cryptic message scrawled on the back felt like a knife twisting in her gut, but she forced herself to look as calm as she could, even as her hands trembled.

“How…?” Her voice was barely above a whisper, and she cleared her throat, forcing strength into her tone. “Leo, where did this photograph come from? How could someone even have it?” Her heart pounded. The thought of someone possessing such a deeply personal item, something that should have been safe in Stravy, sent chills down her spine. The implications were as terrifying as everything else he’d shared.

She handed the photograph back to him carefully, her expression troubled. “This is…this is madness, Leo. You shouldn’t be in the middle of this, none of you should. Lottie, Fritz, even Wulfric? What kind of conspiracy is this?” She pressed her hands flat against the table to steady herself. “I promise. I’ll stay away from Marek, Alexander, and Calbert. But you and Lottie–” Her voice cracked slightly, and she swallowed hard before continuing. “How am I supposed to just sit here and do nothing while you’re risking your life? I can’t lose you too, Leo.”

Her words hung in the air, heavy with a desperation she couldn’t entirely mask. Her hands tightened into fists as she stared at him, worry etched into her features. “If Calbert has already threatened Lottie and now this…” Her voice faltered, and she shook her head. “You can’t face this alone, Leo. Please. Tell me what I can do to help.”

Leo found his resolve as he looked into Thea’s wide eyes and paling skin. His hand did not tremble as he took the photograph back, folded it up, and returned it to his pocket. He would be strong for Thea’s sake, and so his hand slid across the table; open, and he waited for her to take his hand.

Thea hesitated only a moment before reaching across the table, clasping Leo’s offered hand tightly. Relief washed over her—not just at his reassurance, but at the fact that he wasn’t shutting her out. If he was letting her in, then she could do something. She could keep him safe.

“Thea, you will not lose me. Or Lottie. Or anyone else.” He forced himself to fully believe that, even if his belief only lasted for a moment. “I’m not here to shut you out of this.” He continued; he didn’t have much choice in the matter. Telling Thea to stay out of it would almost guarantee she’d do something recklessly bold. Leo couldn’t begrudge her that, he’d react the same.

“I want to bring you in, have you working with us on finding ways to take down these villains.” If Thea was part of the team, then he or someone he trusted could keep eyes on her. Could keep her safe. “And we must not confront them directly, for they employ the use of dark and unnatural forces. Magic.” A healthy amount of fear crept back into his tone as he whispered the foul word. “I believe that is how they acquired that photo and how they robbed so many of their memories the night of that party. There’s no telling what they are capable of.”

“Thank you,” she murmured, her grip firm as if anchoring herself to him. “If I can help, then of course I will. I’d rather be by your side in this than sitting in the dark, worrying.” She met his gaze, determination hardening her features. If she was involved, she could watch over him, keep him from doing something reckless. He had Lottie and Fritz, but they weren’t his sister.

The thought of magic made her stomach twist into a knot. It was a thing of myths, of whispered fears and fairy tales meant to keep children awake at night. And yet, Leo spoke of it as if it were real, as if it was the very force working against them. The idea that magic had been used to steal memories, to conjure the photograph now seared into her mind, chilled her to the bone.

“I agree, we need to avoid direct confrontation. There's no room to be reckless. Magic is outlawed for a reason, right? But perhaps it's not a bad idea to learn what we can about it. Know your enemies and such, right? I wonder if there's any information hidden within the castle library?” She mused, keeping her voice lower in case anyone were trying to eavesdrop on them.

Only now did she realize how small her own problems seemed in comparison. The broken engagement, sneaking back to Sorian, even her newfound interest in Drake–none of it mattered right now. Not when Leo was tangled in something so much darker.

“The castle library…” Leo withdrew his hand and repeated the suggestion as if it were a grand revelation. “An excellent idea! Thea, every day I’ve spent on palace grounds, I have found myself hexed! My voice…the pink skin…the drunkenness…” He filled in more details: the glasses Count Hendrix had that revealed magical auras and how he’d seen something dark and malevolent encroaching on him. The ease with which Thea had believed everything else he’d told her eased any reservations.

“Here is what I am sure of; someone in that palace toys with sorcery. I think this hexing business is a separate issue, it lacks the gravity that Black Rose brings with their threats. And the castle is a much safer option to search for more information, maybe even find something we can also use against Black Rose.” Leo left out his suspicions about Lady Morrigan without proof; that was something he’d only keep in the back of his mind.

“You know, given your close friendship with a certain princess that lives in that castle, I think you should be in charge of that front. You’d be able to snoop around just about anywhere without drawing much attention.” He suggested, and of course, the thought of how well-guarded Ana usually was made the idea sound like the safest way for Thea to be involved.

“If it’s separate from Black Rose, then that means someone else is playing games with you,” she mused, tapping her fingers lightly against the table. “But why? If it were random I feel like they would target others too. So is it personal? Or are they testing something?” Her mind sifted through possibilities, but without more information, it was impossible to say. Still, someone casting spells under the royal family's roof was a dangerous prospect.
She exhaled, pushing aside her unease to focus on what she could do. “You’re right, being close with Ana gives me access most others don’t have. I’ll do what I can to look into the castle’s archives, see if there’s anything useful.” Thea’s lips pressed into a thin line. “If someone’s using magic in the palace, there may be whispers about it. Servants always talk, perhaps I can befriend one and see if I can hear rumors. I'll play to my strengths of making friends and building relationships.” Was that really a strength of hers? She seemed to wholeheartedly think so. This led her to remember another budding relationship.
Her gaze flickered back to Leo, an embarrassed and nervous blush creeping across her face. “Oh, um, I-I have some news as well...” she began, taking a deep breath. “I know my engagement with Prince Felix was supposed to be good for our family, for our status.” Thea’s fingers curled slightly against the table. “And I’m sorry I royally screwed that up.” A dry, self-deprecating laugh escaped her. “I scared him off by being honest, and I didn’t mean to.” She shook her head. “I know it was an important match, and I hate that I ruined it.”

Leo could neither stop the eye roll nor hide the annoyance that flashed across his face at the mention of Prince Felix. He had not forgotten how uncomfortable Thea had looked beside Felix, how the prince’s eyes held only judgment, and his hand had gripped her like a possession. He waved a hand dismissively, “You deserve better.” He simply stated.

She hesitated before glancing up at Leo, a flicker of something hopeful in her expression. “But… I may have found another match. It’s not as prestigious as marrying the Crown Prince, but he will be a duke, and it would provide ties to Caesonia.” She bit her lip. “It’s a good match, politically speaking.”
Realizing she was rambling, she inhaled sharply and let out a breath. “That’s not really what I wanted to tell you though.” Her hands twisted in her lap, her voice softer now. “I met Lord Drake Edwards.” She paused, the blush on her cheeks deepening. “And I really like him, Leo. He seems to really like me too.” Thea’s gaze dropped for a moment, but when she lifted it again, there was a quiet certainty in her eyes. “He makes my heart feel happy.”

“And that’s what matters most; that you are happy. I’m certain not even mother could take issue here. Lord Edwards is an excellent choice, a fine man from a respected family.” Leo spoke, and a smile crept up. He noted the unmistakable joy that mentioning Drake brought to his sister’s face. Maybe even the happiest he’d seen her look in a long time.

“But, if mother has anything less than positive to say, I’d be happy to remind her that she went off and married whomever she pleased without any thought on how her choices reflect upon our family.” He offered as his smile turned more mischievous. Leo felt more relaxed than he had in days; knowing Thea was doing well had made everything else feel a little less hopeless.

Thea’s heart warmed at Leo’s words, the weight of lingering doubts easing from her shoulders. She had worried–worried that she had disappointed him, worried that she was making choices that would only cause more trouble. But hearing his support, seeing the way he so easily dismissed Felix and embraced Drake, made her feel lighter.
A small, grateful smile played on her lips. “You have no idea how much that means to me, Leo.” The relief evident in her words. “And if Mother does have anything to say, well… I think I’d quite enjoy watching you remind her of her own choices.” A spark of amusement danced in her eyes.

“She can always return to Stravy, give you a break from her meddling.” He added.

“I’m glad we’re talking, glad that…well that you’re exactly who you are. I was worried…everything I had to tell you was just so…it sounds crazy. But you believed me, and I’m thankful to have your help. I’m sure your support will mean the world to Lottie too.” Leo struggled to find the right words but got close enough to what he meant. The past year had been too much, too isolating, and he’d found not an ounce of support from his mother. There was a sense of guilt for never trusting that he could even ask Thea for support until now.

A soft, affectionate smile spread across her face. “Of course I believe you, Leo. You’re my brother, the first friend I ever had in this life. There’s nothing you could tell me that would make me turn away from you.” Her voice was steady, full of conviction. “I will support you until the end, no matter what.”

“Same.” He agreed without hesitation.

She held his gaze for a moment longer, letting the weight of her promise settle between them. A small smile tugged at her lips. “And as for Lottie, she also has my full support. But I have a feeling she’s stronger than both of us combined.”

Then, as if suddenly remembering something, her eyes brightened. “Oh! Before I forget—Annie is throwing a birthday party for me tonight after the banquet. You are coming, right?” She arched a brow at him, feigning a stern look. “I expect my favorite brother to be there.”

“Thea, I wouldn’t miss your birthday party. It’s my favorite holiday!” Leo relaxed in his chair, perfect posture slipping away as comfort eased in. If there was one thing he could excel at, it should be this. Being the perfect brother, making sure Thea always had someone on her side, looking out for her the way family was meant to, everything else mattered less. As long as he kept doing that, he could figure out the rest of the mess he’d turned his life into.

Thea beamed at Leo’s words, warmth filling her chest. “Good,” she said with playful satisfaction. “I’d hate to have to hunt you down and drag you there myself.” She let out a giggle and that's when she'd noticed a server approaching their table. She'd almost forgotten they were supposed to be getting breakfast.

Leo startled at the sudden intrusion, tension quickly coiling up as his stiff and guarded posture returned.

“Good morning, my lord, my lady. Have you decided on your order?” He asked, giving them both a pleasant smile.

Leo gave only a curt nod as he glanced at a menu. He was more than a little disappointed in himself for allowing somebody, even a nobody, the opportunity to sneak up on him like this.

Thea glanced at the menu, then at Leo before grinning. “I’ll have some of the Morning Mist tea, please. Oh! And an order of coconut macaroons!” She then tilted her head at Leo, letting him order.

“Oolong tea, harvest quinoa salad.” He didn’t glance in the waiter's direction, but once the man had left, he smiled at Thea. “I’m a little worried about what exactly ‘Danrose dressing’ is.” He joked as he pointed at the description of the grilled chicken salad.

Once their orders were placed, she decided to ask Leo something else. "So, has anyone caught your eye yet this season? Anyone you find interesting?"

“I’ve little time to get wrapped up in a summer fling, and I’ve met no one who I see the future Duchess of Stravy in,” Leo answered. He spoke as if he were being asked to go over a business proposal that he’d yet to begin working on. The topic filled him with dread, in the same way a cumbersome stack of paperwork would; a task filled with monotony whose payoff did not equate to the work required.

“But, interesting people, sure. Laying the groundwork for useful alliances. Count Hendrix, Prince Wulfric, Shehzadi Nahir. Although, I’m not sure if the Shehzadi sees me as a worthy ally or regards me more like a cat does a mouse.” Pride showed through as he spoke of his ability to meet and converse with the right people. Lifting the scaffolding for his house and family, and by extension all of Stravy, to continue to grow and prosper.

Thea rested her chin in her hand, watching Leo with a curious look. “You know, Leo, for someone who claims to have little time for romance, you sure put a lot of effort into making connections.” Her tone was light, teasing, but her gaze softened with something more thoughtful.

She reached out, gently nudging his arm. “I know duty and alliances are important, but… you deserve to be happy too. Not just as the Duke of Stravy, but as Leo—the person, not just the title.” Her lips curled into a small smile. “I’d like to see you with someone who challenges you, yes, but also someone who makes you laugh and actually relax for once. Besides, I don't want to see you end up in a marriage like Mother and Father's.” She kept the last line quieter, even though she knew most people were likely aware of the issues the Duke and Duchess had when they were married. She then decided to focus on something else he said.

Tilting her head, she asked with playful curiosity, “As for Shehzadi Nahir—do you want to be the mouse?”

“Mice, do not make good Dukes.” Leo shrugged. “And a royal cat, is not a Duchess. Connections that can benefit Stravy are worth more than summer fun.” He pointed out, a small grin betraying how appealing the mouse option was, the undeniable appeal of danger.

“For me, there is no separation from the title. It’s my future, just as much a part of who I am as anything else. But look at you, you are happy with a logical match that suits both your desires and your station.” He continued; there was no reason he couldn’t secure a union that worked similarly for him. But relaxed was not an option; it was a state of laziness and complacency. It turned leaders into men who did not notice the wolves until they had broken down the door.

“And if you see me with anyone that reminds you of our parents, feel free to slap some sense into me.” He offered.

Thea listened carefully, her expression softening as Leo spoke. She knew he had a point and she couldn't fault him for it. Connections were always important, but she wasn't convinced they were the most important thing.

“Oh, I’d do more than slap some sense into you,” she replied lightly, though the warmth in her tone betrayed her true feelings. “I’d find a way to lock you in a room until you promised to come to your senses. But I doubt I’ll ever have to because I know you're smarter than that, Leo.”

She paused, her smile fading just slightly. “I know the title is important, and I know you take your duties seriously. But I also know that the title alone doesn’t define you. You’re my brother, the man who always stood by me, who worked so hard to protect what we have. That’s who I see when I look at you, not just the future Duke of Stravy.”

Leo nodded his agreement, despite not seeing Thea’s point there. Everything that Thea described was exactly who he thought the future Duke of Stravy ought to be: a man loyal to his family, duty, and homeland. It was an honor to do these things, to be trusted to do them, and to shoulder burdens without complaint. It all meant more than just a rank to Leo, it was a sense of identity constantly pruned and cultivated.

Her gaze softened further as she added, “I suppose that my point is, yes, connections and alliances are important. However, I think what's more important is finding someone who compliments you and supports you. Someone you can share the responsibility with, not someone who adds more weight to your shoulders. That will be more beneficial to Stravy in the long run.” She then tilted her head, a small grin playing on her lips. “And if you ever do decide to be the mouse, I promise not to judge you too harshly.”

“Sure, all agreeable points, but there’s no rush for any of this. More than enough to focus on right now, and I promise, I will not hold it against you if you are married long before I am.” He offered.

Thea chuckled, shaking her head. “Fair enough,” she conceded, though a light blush crept onto her cheeks at his mention of marriage. She hadn’t thought much about it before, not in a serious way even when engaged to Prince Felic, but now the idea settled in her mind—particularly with thoughts of Drake.
What would it be like, truly? A life with him? She knew they weren't even remotely close to really be thinking of such things, but her daydreamer mind couldn't help it. The way he made her feel was unlike anything she had ever known—steady, safe, exhilarating all at once. But there was always that tiny, nagging fear in the back of her mind. What if she was too much? Too stubborn, too strong-willed, too ditzy, too eager for something real? What if, in the end, she scared him away before they even had the chance? What if her demons scared him away?
She quickly pushed the thought aside as the server returned, setting their tea and food down in front of them. Thea straightened, smiling in thanks before glancing at Leo. “Well, I suppose we should enjoy this before it gets cold.”

“Any idea what the banquet tonight is about?” Leo asked in between bites of food. “Varian attendance is mandatory: doesn’t sound good.” He added, but at least this time, unlike the day after Marek’s party, Leo was certain he’d done nothing to earn the ire of the royal family here.

Thea took a sip of her tea, humming thoughtfully as she considered Leo’s question. “Hmm… honestly I'm not sure. Annie hasn't said much about it so I don't know if she even knows. But l could think up theories. Let's see…” She tapped a finger against her chin, then her eyes lit up with mischief.

“Oh! Maybe they’re planning to announce a new royal tradition where all noble families must participate in an elaborate scavenger hunt across the kingdom. Winner gets a golden goose, second place has to host next year’s banquet, and last place is exiled to a remote island.” She gasped dramatically.

“Exiled to a remote island sounds more like fun than a punishment. More relaxing than a summer in Sorian. I do like the idea of a scavenger hunt.” It was too early in the day to worry about the night. Getting lost in Thea’s whimsical and farfetched ideas was just easier.

“Or—wait, I’ve got it. A murder mystery party!” She leaned in, eyes sparkling. “Think about it! The royal family went all out on the theatrics, and they just wanted to make sure there were enough high-profile guests to make it a proper spectacle. Someone will ‘die’ dramatically mid-dinner, accusations will fly, and we’ll all have to solve the mystery before dessert is served.” She giggled as her imagination went wild.

“No wonder they demanded Varian attendance - we have the best detectives. They’d have no hope of solving this future murder without us.” His unabashed confidence returned and clung to him like armor.

She sat back, grinning. “Or, you know… it’s just a terribly boring diplomatic dinner meant to make us all suffer equally. But I much prefer my ideas.”

“And after such a terribly boring dinner, everyone will see you as the hero whose birthday party rescued their night from tedium.” Tonight was about Thea; not even a potentially boring and ominously threatening dinner was going to ruin that.

“Then again, if Duke Lorenzo is going to be there, no way it will be boring.” He shifted the conversation to recounting the dinner he’d attended with the Sultan and his family and Lorenzo’s outlandishly out-of-pocket behavior that night. He smiled wide when he got to the part where he had impressed the Sultan, it was what made that story one of his new favorites to tell.

“Whatever happens at dinner, we will handle it with unshakable grace, and the world will see how Smithwoods always persevere.”

Date: Sola 28th
Time: Night
Location: Castle Hallways near Banquet Hall

---

Kalliope stood before the mirror, adjusting the plunging neckline of her gown. She wore a striking piece of deep emerald silk that clung to her curves in all the right places. The fabric shimmered under the candlelight, the high slit along her thigh revealing just enough skin to be enticing without compromising her ability to move. Thin gold chains adorned the open back, draping delicately across her shoulders like jewelry, a deceptive touch of elegance masking the steel-edged woman beneath.

Despite the softness of the silk, she had not sacrificed practicality. A small blade was strapped discreetly to her thigh, hidden by the flowing fabric. Beauty was a weapon in itself, one she wielded just as expertly as the steel she carried.

Edin’s request had been clear: attend the banquet, blend in, and keep a watchful eye. Banquets like these were more than just an excuse for nobility to flaunt their wealth and status; they were breeding grounds for secrets, whispered alliances, and veiled threats. Not to mention , this banquet was unique and it was required of Varians to attend thanks to some suspicion on them. If something were to happen tonight, she needed to be ready.

She smoothed her hands over the gown, adjusting the small blade strapped to her thigh one last time. Satisfied with her preparations, Kalliope exhaled and turned toward the door, her heels clicking softly against the floor as she stepped into the dimly lit corridor.

The halls were quieter than usual, the usual clatter of servants preparing for the evening muffled behind closed doors. She welcomed the solitude, using the moment to settle into the role she would play tonight.

Yet, as she continued down the hall, a familiar unease slithered up her spine–whisper of instinct honed over years of survival. She wasn’t alone.

A shadow shifted at the edge of her vision, stepping into the dim glow of the sconces lining the hall. Before she could quite turn and see who her company was, he blocked her path like a wall she would never escape.

Grand Vizier Hafiz Kadir stood before Kalliope. His dark eyes bore into her with intensity she had seen once before. His chiseled features were accentuated by the flicker of the lights, shadows dancing across his angular jaw and high cheekbones.

Draped in an opulent robe of deep purple adorned with intricate gold embroidery, every detail of his attire spoke of wealth and power. In his hands, he held the end of his long braid, his fingers idly toying with it in a dismissive manner. He tilted his head slightly as he regarded Kalliope, his lips curling into a smirk.

“Look at you,” he drawled, his tone filled with faux amusement yet patronizing, “All dressed up like you’re someone worth the silk on your skin.” His gaze dragged over her figure, lingering and leering as he drank her in.

"I must say, Kalliope," he murmured, voice laced with contempt, "I'm impressed. I never expected you to crawl out of that wretched pit I threw you into. You must have clung to life like a rat, gnawing and starving, filthy and broken…" He took a step forward, eyes glinting with cruel amusement. "But here you are," He reached out, the back of his fingers brushing over the scar he had left on her face. "Trying so hard to act as if none of that happened."

For a moment, Kalliope couldn't breathe. The world around her shrank, the grand halls of the palace fading into nothing but the suffocating weight of his presence. Hafiz Kadir.

The name alone was enough to awaken ghosts she had long since buried beneath layers of steel and willpower. But seeing him–hearing him–was something else entirely. The years had done nothing to soften the cruel edge of his voice, nor the way it slithered under her skin like a poison she couldn’t expel.

Her body betrayed her first. Her pulse slammed against her ribs, her breath caught in her throat, and for a fraction of a second, she felt small again. Felt the weight of chains around her wrists, the taste of blood in her mouth, his body pressed against her.

Then, he touched her.

A flicker of movement, the back of his fingers grazing the scar he had left on her face. A scar she had worn like armor, proof of what she had endured and what she had survived. But now, under his touch, it threatened to become something else. A brand. A reminder that, in his eyes, she would always be his possession and her stomach churned.

Hafiz’s fingers hovered over the scar, as if savoring the delicate discomfort it caused her. There was something undeniably cruel in the way he lingered, his smirk widening, though his eyes never lost the sharp gleam of satisfaction. He could feel her pulse quicken beneath his touch and it stirred something wicked inside him. He had always known how to make her bleed in ways of both body and mind.

Her reaction was instant.

Before she could stop herself, her hand snapped up, fingers wrapping around his wrist in a vice-like grip. Not trembling. Not weak. Steady. Controlled. But gods, it took everything in her not to break it.

His lips parted in a near-smile, though there was no warmth in it. He could practically taste the defiance rising from her like smoke, could feel the thrum of her rage and fear coiling together like a deadly serpent. It was all too easy to toy with her, to make her wrestle with the ghosts of her past, to remind her of what she had been and still was to him.

The heat of rage warred with the ice of fear in her veins, twisting into something sharp and volatile. She forced her lips into a smirk, despite the storm clawing at her insides. He will not see me break.

"Broken?” Her voice was steady, too steady, like the calm before a storm. She tilted her head slightly, her gaze narrowing into something sharp and dangerous. "Tell me, Hafiz, does it haunt you? Knowing that no matter what you did to break me, I’m still standing?"

Hafiz's eyes flickered, a brief flash of something unreadable. He tilted his head ever so slightly, studying her with arrogance. "Still standing," he repeated under his breath with twisted amusement, the words tasting like irony in his mouth. His smirk only deepened, the expression one of near-mocking delight as he rolled his wrist within her grasp, testing her hold as if it were nothing more than a child’s attempt at restraint.

Her grip on his wrist loosened and she let go, knowing if she injured him it could spell trouble for her. No, she would have to resist that. The ghost of the pain he'd inflicted on her tried to claw its way through, but she shoved it back, forcing a smile that dripped with false sweetness. "You may have made me bleed, but I’m still alive. And you? You’re just a rat playing king in his own little kingdom. Tell me, does it taste as sweet as you imagined, knowing you’ll always be lesser than your brother?"

The words were a dagger, cold and cruel, meant to wound just as deeply as the ones he'd left in her past.

Hafiz laughed. A low, rich chuckle that held no mirth, only amusement that slithered beneath the skin like a whisper of something dark. He stepped closer, leisurely, as if he were not a threat but something worse—something inevitable.

“Lesser?” He echoed, as if tasting the word. “Oh, Kalliope… my sweet little phantom. Do you truly believe I have ever envied my brother?” His fingers toyed idly with the end of his braid, his gaze never wavering from hers.

“Raif was made to be a symbol. A golden, glimmering puppet dressed in virtue, a fool who only exists to be paraded before the people so they can pretend the world is kind.”

He leaned in slightly, just enough that his voice dipped into something softer, something almost intimate…like a secret shared between old lovers.

“But you and I? We are not fools, are we?” His head tilted, his eyes narrowing with a cruel sort of knowing. “You should thank me, really. You have only ever become something because of me. It was I who gave you purpose, I who carved out the woman standing before me. Every ounce of strength you think you possess—every bitter sip of defiance—it is what I molded from the pathetic clay you were. Without me, you are nothing but a lost little girl playing pretend in silk she doesn’t even deserve.”

He sighed, feigning disappointment as he took a step back, letting his gaze drag lazily over her once more. “And yet, here you stand, gnashing your teeth, trying so desperately to convince me you are whole. But tell me, Kalliope…”

His voice dipped, honeyed and venomous all at once.

“When the night is quiet, when no one is watching, do you still hear it?” He paused deliberately before continuing even softer. “The sound of your own screams?”

He smiled, slow and satisfied, watching for the fracture in her carefully constructed armor. “Or have you fooled even yourself into believing you don’t wake up gasping?”

Kalliope had endured every manner of cruelty Hafiz could devise, but this…this was what he did best. Not the scars he had left on her skin, nor the pain he had inflicted on her body, but the way he wove words into weapons, wrapping them around her like a noose.

She could feel it tightening.

The air felt thinner, her limbs heavier, as if his voice alone could drag her back into the abyss he had once thrown her into. His words slithered into her mind, curling around memories she had spent years trying to drown.

The screams.

Not just hers–though those were the ones that haunted her most–but the cries of those she had been forced to silence, the echoes of every night spent in the darkness, waiting for him to come, waiting for the next lesson in pain, waiting for the next piece of herself to be stripped away.

Her pulse roared in her ears. She could feel it happening–the fear clawing up her throat, the instinct to run, to fight, to break just to make it stop.

No.

She swallowed down the bile, forced her breath steady, and lifted her chin. She would not let him see it. He would not have the satisfaction.

Her lips curled, slow and deliberate, the ghost of a smirk playing at the edges. Not forced–no, she made sure it looked genuine, like amusement rather than defiance. Because if there was one thing she knew Hafiz loathed, it was being laughed at.

"Oh, Hafiz," she purred, tilting her head, her gaze flicking over him like she were examining something particularly pathetic. "You always did love the sound of your own voice. Tell me, is that what you get off to at night? Whispering to yourself, pretending you’re more than just a parasite clinging to the legacy of better men?"

She let the insult sink in.

"You think you shaped me?" Her smirk deepened, though her fingers curled against her palms, nails biting into flesh to keep her steady. ”You forged a weapon, I suppose. But you were never smart enough to realize…" she leaned in slightly, just enough to let her voice drop into something sharp, something cruel. "Weapons don’t stay loyal to the hands that wield them."

Her heart hammered. She knew she was playing with fire, but if she let him see the cracks, if she let him see even a sliver of that terrified little girl he had once controlled, he would win.

She took a slow, measured step back, though the walls behind her left no real escape as she felt her back press against it. Still, she let her expression settle into something unreadable, something unshaken.

"So no, Hafiz," she continued, her voice lighter now, mocking. "I don’t wake up gasping. I wake up breathing, free, knowing that every day I live is another day you failed."

She let that sit between them, the weight of it thick in the air.

Then, with a quiet, taunting laugh, she added, "But tell me, old man, when the night is quiet—when you’re all alone—do you ever hear it?"

She tilted her head, watching him carefully, her voice dipping into something almost conspiratorial. "Not my screams—no, those were never enough for you, were they? But the whispers? The ones that slither through the cracks, the ones that call you a failure.”

She let the word drag, slow and deliberate, her smirk sharpening like a blade. "You clawed your way to power, shed blood for it, shaped me into a weapon for it…but deep down, you know.” She lowered her voice, letting it slither between them like his own venomous words. "You will never be anything more than a shadow in another man’s kingdom. Never feared the way you want to be, never respected the way you crave. Just a dog who bit too hard and got thrown the scraps of a throne."

Her chin lifted, her amusement razor-thin but unbreakable. "So, tell me, Hafiz… when you close your eyes, do you still hear that?"

She watched, searching for it—that flicker, that flash of something beneath the arrogance. Because if there was one thing she knew about Hafiz Kadir, it was that power was never enough for men like him. He wanted to be more. And nothing would ever be more damning than knowing he never would be.

Hafiz’s smirk twitched at the edges as something darker, something colder slithered beneath the surface of his expression. For a moment, he merely stared at her. Then, like a venomous beast stirred from its slumber, his face twisted.

It was not a snarl, nor an immediate explosion of rage, but something far more dangerous. His nostrils flared ever so slightly, his fingers flexing at his sides, before the corner of his lips curled. A moment of triumph flickered in her chest even at the smallest indication her words were close to hitting their mark.

Then he laughed.

It was not a sound of amusement. It was more like the scrape of a dagger being unsheathed in the dark.

“Oh, Kalliope,” he mused, shaking his head as if she were nothing more than a wayward child. “That was quite the performance. Really, I must give you credit. I almost believed it myself.”

He took a slow step forward. She met his step forward with a step back of her own, trying to hold herself high still. “‘Weapons don’t stay loyal to the hands that wield them,’” he repeated, the mockery clear in his voice, “Is that what you tell yourself at night? That you are something more than what I made you?” His voice was dripping with condescension. “That you are free?”

Another step toward her.

“Do you think that’s why you’re here now? Why you’re standing in silk instead of chains?” He chuckled, “How convenient for you to believe that. To pretend that you have crawled out of my shadow by your own strength.”

He reached out slowly, dragging a single finger along the scar on her cheek.

Her back bumped into the wall and Kalliope felt it. It was subtle, like a crack in the stone beneath her feet, small enough to ignore but dangerous enough to cause a collapse if left unchecked. His words had always been poison, but now they felt like they were slipping into the cracks of her resolve, finding their way into her mind where they had no business. She wanted to snap back, to twist her tongue into a dagger of her own, to show him that she was still in control.

I am Kalliope Arden and I am not afraid. I do not yield.

But his touch… it lingered. That damn scar, that reminder of what he had taken from her.

“And yet, every time you look in the mirror…” His voice softened, almost gentle. “I am still there.”

Her chest tightened, and for a moment, she felt a strange, uncomfortable heat rise to her face—an anger, yes, but also something far more insidious: the creeping fear of his truth. Of his hands still being there, even if they were never touching her anymore. His words dug deeper than any blade ever had.

His hand dropped, but he kept talking, “Do you want to know the truth, Kalliope?” His tone darkened into something venomous. “You can drape yourself in pretty things, slather yourself in perfume, whore yourself out to whichever man is foolish enough to believe you are his…”

His lips curled as he leaned in, his breath warm against her skin, “But you will always be mine.”

Kalliope’s breath hitched.

It was slight—so slight no one else would have noticed, but Hafiz would. Of course, he would. Because he knew exactly where to press, exactly how to sink his claws in and twist.

Whore yourself out.

Sjan-dehk’s face flickered in her mind—his touch, the warmth of it, so different from this filth, so different from him. But the thought of Sjan-dehk, of their unspoken….whatever they were, tangled with the nausea rising in her throat. Hafiz didn’t know, didn’t deserve to speak of things he had no claim to, and yet the sheer gall of it made something in her snap.

Hafiz’s breath was warm against her cheek, and when she felt her back press fully against the wall, the panic slammed into her, sharp and suffocating. But something else flared hotter.

Rage.

I am Kalliope Arden and I am NOT afraid.

Her laugh was quiet, shaky, but not with fear—with something far more dangerous. Her nails dug into her palms as she tilted her head, baring her teeth in something that wasn’t quite a smirk, wasn’t quite a snarl.

"You delusional, pathetic old man. Is that what this is about?" She mused, voice dripping with venom. "Jealousy?”

Her pulse pounded, her breath coming quicker now, but she clung to the anger, let it fuel her. If she let him see the fear, he won.

"You can talk all you like about ownership, Hafiz, but let's look at the facts, shall we?" She leaned in now, pressing into the fire in her veins. "You came to me. You sought me out.” She gave a sharp, humorless laugh. Her lips curled, vicious and unhinged. ”Sounds more like I own you.”

Hafiz’s expression darkened, his amusement curdling into something more intense… Something vicious. His hand shot out, gripping her jaw, his thumb pressing just beneath her ear—not enough to bruise, but enough to command.“You own me?” he snarled, repeating her words as his voice dropped into a low, seething growl.

“Then tell me, Kalliope—why is it that no matter who you’re with, no matter how much you pretend, you still feel the ghost of my hands on you?”

The moment his hand clamped around her jaw, Kalliope’s breath stilled. She had braced for this—the weight of his touch, the sharp dominance of his grip—but nothing could have prepared her for the way her body reacted. Her muscles went rigid and she couldn't move. She should have fought. She should have spat in his face, wrenched herself free, something....but his words coiled around her like chains, tightening until she couldn’t breathe.

Because he was right.

No matter how much she bathed, no matter how many times she tried to scrub him from her skin, she still felt the ghost of his hands. It sickened her, ruined her, and as much as she wanted to deny it, the truth was already sinking its claws in. He hadn’t needed to lay a finger on her to remind her who had left the deepest scars.

He leaned in, closer, his lips nearly brushing her ear. His breath was now hot against her skin, intimate in the most sickening way.

“Even when you’re alone, when the room is silent… you feel me, don’t you?” He laughed maliciously as he pressed on, “Do they feel it? The way I shaped you? No matter who fucks you, no matter how much you spread those pretty thighs, they will never rid you of me.”

Then, he snapped. In a single, vicious movement, he slammed her back against the wall, his other hand seizing her hip, his grip bruising, possessive, and cruel.

No. No, no, no—

Her breath hitched, panic clawing up her throat, and when he slammed her into the wall, her mind shattered. The room shrank around her, walls closing in, suffocating, swallowing her whole. His breath was fire against her skin, searing, burning through years of carefully constructed walls, ripping her open like he always did. The words slithered into her mind, wrapping around her ribs like a vice.

Memories surged, unbidden, unwanted—dark rooms, locked doors, the weight of him pressing her down until she thought she might drown. She could feel it, still fucking feel it, as if no time had passed at all. She had fought, screamed, bled…and still, he had shaped her.

She wasn’t here anymore. She was back there, trapped, helpless, no one coming to save her. A choked, ragged sound tore from her lips, and for the first time in years, she felt like that girl again.

“Do you remember, Kalliope?” He asked in a venomous tone. He waited, letting the silence stretch suffocatingly. “Do you remember how you’d beg?”

“I should remind you.” His voice was a hiss, his rage boiling over into something terrifying. “Should prove that you are still mine.” He pressed closer, “But no—” he then jerked away, laughing.

His words ripped her from the depths of her memories, dragging her violently back to the present. Remind you. The implication slammed into her like a dagger to the gut, and sheer, unfiltered terror took hold.

Her body moved before her mind could catch up—a feeble, desperate struggle. Her hands pushed against him, weak, trembling, useless. A choked whimper escaped her lips as she turned her face away, as if that alone could make him disappear. No, no, not again. Please, not again.

Then, suddenly, he was gone. The weight of him vanished, replaced by laughter, sharp and cruel. But the relief didn’t come. Her body still trembled, still burned with the phantom of his touch.

“You’re already ruined.”

The Grand Vizier’s smirk was victorious, cruel in its certainty as he stepped back, watching her.
“And besides, I haunt you wherever you go already.” He tilted his head, voice dipping into a whisper of mockery. “Now tell me, Kalliope… Who really owns who?”

The words settled into her skin like a poison, each syllable sinking deeper until they twisted, consuming everything that was once Kalliope. Ruined. His voice echoed in her head, relentless and unyielding. His laughter had stopped, but the cruel certainty of his words lingered, clinging to her like the stench of rot.

Her chest tightened as a hollow ache spread through her, swallowing her whole. She felt like a broken thing, a shattered glass whose pieces could never be put back together. There was no fighting it. No denying it. Every part of her that had ever fought, every piece of her that had hoped to escape, was now buried beneath the weight of his claim.

He didn’t need to touch her. He didn’t need to force her to bend beneath him again. He had already destroyed her, piece by piece, with words that were more suffocating than any physical strike he could land. He haunts me. The thought sent a wave of nausea through her and it took every last bit of strength she had to keep from vomiting. It was true. He was always there—lingering, lurking in the shadows of her mind. She didn’t have to look over her shoulder to know he was watching her. His presence was an indelible mark on her soul, one that no amount of time or distance could ever erase.

Her throat burned, and she couldn’t swallow the sob that was rising inside of her. His words had cracked her open, exposed every inch of the brokenness she had tried so desperately to hide. But there was nothing left to hide now. Not from him.

Who owns who?

Her lips trembled, the weight of the question choking her. She couldn’t answer him. She didn’t even know if she was capable of answering. She had never been hers to begin with. Not truly. She had been his—always his. And in the end, maybe that was the cruelest truth of all. He had won.

Time: Afternoon of the 27th
Mentions: Ariella [@tpartiwithzombi]

Drake sat at the dining table, alone with his late brunch. He enjoyed a light meal of triscuits and freshly made jam with a side of apple cider that had been pressed only a few days ago - a luxury only a family of his status could enjoy with such regularity. He took some time to think over his day, what needed to be done, and what meetings had to be made. That was when a sudden thought had crossed his mind. ”Sebastian.” Drake said plainly.

The young help had sprung up from their neutral stance and quickly walked to Drake’s side with proper posture. “Yes milord?” With a dismissive hand wave, Drake grinned and replied. ”At ease, lad. You aren’t even 5 years younger than me, yet you treat me like a commanding officer.” The pair shared a light chuckle. ”Would you be troubled if I asked for you to summon Guard Captain Durmand to the estate? I wish to have a word with them about their time with Ariella, if they are curious as to the nature of the summons. You may take my carriage…and a triscuit for your trouble!” He smirked and scooped up some more of his special jam before handing the treat to Sebastian.

The enthusiastic servant swiped up the triscuit, inhaled it in one gulp while Drake watched wide-eyed. He then nodded and quickly walked off towards the front door to fetch a carriage and arrive at the most likely spot the Guard Captain would be at 10am on a weekday, the Barracks!



At the barracks, Captain Stratya Durmand would be found conversing with her lieutenant in soft voices, at her lieutenant’s desk in front of her office. A basket of muffins and cinnamon rolls, all glazed lighty with fruity icing, sat on the desk, as well. At the approach of someone not native to the barracks, Stratya glanced over before nodding to her lieutenant, ”aah, I’ll leave t’ rresearch o’ prrecautions tae you. I c’n put ye in touch, if y’ need.” She motioned with her head and the lieutenant saluted, locking a drawer in the desk before leaving. The captain then turned to the.. butler. A butler? ”Hail, wha’ c’n I do ya ferr?”

Sebastian was, for the briefest moment, stunned by the captain’s thick accent. A professional, however, nothing showed on the man’s face. “Captain Stratya Durmand?”

”Aye.”

“Sebastian, serving the Edwards. Captain Durmand, Lord Drake summons you. If you are not busy, the carriage awaits.”

”O-oh? Lorr’ Drrake, is i’?” Stratya hesitated. She’d gotten pretty drunk at his birthday party and heckled his mother rather publicly. She wasn’t sure what their relationship was like, internally. Family relations could be so dreadfully complicated. If he viewed his mother favorably, if he took issue with her behavior, it could be trouble. Was that what this was about?

“Yes, Lord Drake is curious of your time with Lady Ariella.”

Relief washed over her, ”ooh, is tha’ all? I ‘ardly think ‘at’s worth an ‘ole summons, but.. ah, aye. A’rrigh’.” She chuckled and picked up the basket of breads, then followed the butler out to the waiting carriage. A summons from someone besides the castle, huh? She settled into the carriage and, as they pulled away, offered Sebastian something from her basket, ”frresh t’is morrnin’, if y’r peckish.” A muffin was taken. The muffins were banana-strawberry, and this one was topped with a blueberry icing.



Every time she saw it, the grounds impressed her. Immaculately kept, tastefully elegant. She’d gotten used to all the grandeur by now, naturally, but she had no taste for it. Everything was so big, and it all took so much walking. She liked walking. Outside. Walking for another quarter mile inside of a building after a mile outside felt like a chore. Maybe she’d have to start taking a carriage more often.

The staff had been expecting her, and knew where to lead her for Drake’s summons. The cape of today’s armor bore the Caesonian colors, with the bright yellow on the interior.

Drake stood to meet the woman, whose armor and billowing cape allowed him a moment to rise just as she entered the room. ”I see my summons has made it to you in good health, Captain.” He offered the best attempt at a salute befitting Stratya’s rank as he approached her for a firm handshake. The young lord had welcoming grip and a steady hand, all while he pulled out a chair and gestured for her to take a seat if she so wished.

”I shan’t take up too much of your time - if you are famished I believe there is still some fresh jam and triscuits available if you are so inclined?” He paused and would rush Sebastian to fetch more brunch food should the Captain wish to partake. Drake continued, ”I hear you are tutoring my dear sister on the art of combat, particularly of a more melee variety. Care to share what sort of teachings you have covered thus far?” The man sat back into a chair nearby rather than the one at the head of the table he had been at earlier, his hands crossed together and fingers interlaced with baited interested in Stratya’s response.

The captain reflexively met his salute, not even really processing the motion before she realized his gesture. Yes, the next Duke should be so prepared for working with the military, just as the Crown Prince. She smiled, ”ye’ll struggle tae find me ill, Lor’Drrake.” Her handshake was quite strong, though she also knew how to mind her strength. When he pulled her chair for her, he hadn't been expecting it, but she'd been around the upper echelons long enough to recognize the gesture. She carefully positioned her shortsword to slip underneath the armrest. She could get used to this kind of treatment, but maybe she shouldn't.

Her, famished? The captain chuckled softly at the idea, ”y’ know, I've ‘eard t’ las’ perrson in a village tae go ‘ungry is t’ baker. In fact, y’ man thar caugh’ me wit’ a baske’.” When she came in, a servant had taken her basket for her, and now brought it in for the table between them. ”T’ Prrincess wan’ed tae lend an’ ‘and, t’is morrnin’. Said she'd like tae learn tae bake.” Cinnamon rolls and strawberry-banana muffins, with two icings, one red and one blue. Strawberry and blueberry, respectively.

”Ooh, y’ dearr sistah? Aye, aye, Lady Arriella seemed keen on me knives, yeh? So I asked, an’ she agrreed, she'd be in’errested in a bi’ o’ blade trrainin'.” The captain accepted a triscuit and spread a bit of the jam over it, the spreading knife nimble and effective in her hand, ”a’ prresen’, I'm having her accustom ‘erself tae t’ prresence of a weapon at ‘er side, an’ t’ use of a blade as a tool, ‘forre I go tryin’ tae teach ‘er swingin’ it ‘rround. We wen’ forragin’ durin’ t’ campin’ event, she used a lit’le daggerr o’ mine tae harrves’ some things.” She took a bite of the triscuit and gave a pleased hum, covering her mouth to offer a brief, ”good jam.”

He watched with mild amusement at the manner at which the Captain handled her newly acquired snack. He then nodded to her response. “Yes, the jam was freshly made this morning. I will let the chefs know they did exquisitely.” Drake rubbed his chin. “So she feels the need to arm herself does she? Does my sister feel threatened by something or is she simply expressing a curiosity?”

His wrist rolled his hand in circles as if to help come up with what to say “Your tutoring services….are they exclusive? Or perhaps this is simply a kind favor of a generous knight looking to help a lady in need?” The lord paused and took a brief sip of his morning coffee. “I do not mean to badger you with inane questions, but I am merely a concerned and curious elder brother.” He smiled and placed the cup back down on the table, each movement serene and calm while his words peacefully rumbled in his usual political tone of voice.

Stratya gave an approving, non-chalant nod at the mention of telling his chefs. She managed to swallow before feeling compelled to answer anything, the first question of his sister’s intent, “t’is a curriosi’y of ‘errs, I think. She was in’erested in my arrms at yerr parr’y, but I,” she chuckled, ”dinnae think i’ wise tae le’ my blades off my perrson at th’ tyme. A sound judgement.”

When Drake asked her if her lessons were exclusive, the captain looked him over thoughtfully. Was he asking for lessons, himself? She put the rest of her first tristcuit in her mouth as he offered an apology before she could form an answer. he offered him a warm smile in return, “as any elderr sibling should, Lor’Drrake. Aye, ye should take care o’ yerr kin. They’rre some o’ t’ ones that c’n underrstand ye best, and you them. It’s best tae stick together.” The captain could still taste the triscuit in her mouth with the jam and felt compelled for another. She prepared another, but did not bite it yet, ”even though I’m ‘ere in Sorrian, I still take care o’ mine back in Verrmillion. Set my brrotherr up wit’ a prroperr meaderry. T’ same one that made those meads I gave ye ferr y’ birrthday, migh’ I add.”

Finally, she took a bite and gave another pleased hum, swallowing before she would gush more, ”ooh, if I hadn’t put icin’ on my muffin’s, I’d try some o’ t’ jam on one, instead. Tsk.” The rest would disappear into her mouth and she would, minding her manners, chew and swallow before she’d say anything more. Oh, right, ”werre ye lookin’ for sworrd lessons? My kynd favorr is nae exclusive. As it ‘appens, I think Lady Arriella could use a similarrly skilled sparrin’ parr’nerr. Someone tae imprrove alongsyde, aye?”

The lord nodded. “A partner would be ideal. I just hope she wouldn’t see it as me coddling her. She deserves the right to have her own space, hobbies, interests, and whatnot.” His fingers tapped on the polished wood table. “I think it would be wise to start with individual lessons and see how she would fare if we integrated such things together before throwing us together. Give her some agency in the matter.”

Drake recalled Stratya’s earlier comment about the mead and motioned for a nearby servant before whispering in their ear to fetch some for the table. “I also do recall you presenting me with that fabulous looking mead the other day. Would you care for a sip? Something savory to start the day and a thank you from me for travelling out of your way on a possibly busy morning?” Not too soon after the butler came by with two standard tall glasses and the container of mead. He poured the drink into Drake’s cup and then paced over to Stratya and motioned the jug as if to ask “Would you like some as well?”

Aah, Drake was no fool to training with others, then. Stratya gave a gentle chuckle, leaning forward slightly on the table, “t’is so, t’is so. Naturrally, t’ thing tae do is starr’ ye both off, firrst. T’ idea woul’ be tae ge’ ye sparrin’ each otherr, but t’is somethin’ tae apprroach first, aye.” All good signs from the son of Duke Edwards. With the duties expected of him when his time would come, the army woman was pleased that he seemed so sensible and reliable.

Stratya smirked playfully as Drake mentioned savory as a tasting note, leaning back then, “ye’ve not ‘ad mead ‘afore, then? T’is sweet. Like a wyne, but ‘oney, nae grrapes.” She considered whether she should join Drake for one drink. The rest of the day would be.. not dense, but intense. Ah, but with her tolerance for drink.. one regular pint of mead would be fine. She smiled to the servant and nodded, ”please.”

“There's two varrie’ies I brrough’. This.. looks like t’ orriginal brrew,” Stratya lifted the glass to the light for a moment to see the color better, ”which is made frrom ‘oneys local ‘rround t’ village. He bought ‘oney frrom anotherr arrea tha’s got more berries ‘rround.”

He lifted the glass and let the drink sift around as he witnessed the semi-viscous fluid danced against the rim. With a smile and a nod he took the briefest of sips. The first thing to hit him was the sweetness - the apparent infusion of honey made the drink go down easy. Drake’s eyes lit up. “My my! What a lovely infusion! Such sweet savory flavor. I must applaud your brother for his craftsmanship.” He paused to take a deeper sip while still keeping a refined composure. “I look forward to trying both jars. I may even have to see about regularly purchasing some stock from your brother’s supply if he would graciously offer some here and there. But that is a talk for another time…”

Drake cleared his throat. “What sort of blade work is common these days? Swords? Daggers? Perhaps the occasional scimitar? Or even….a claymore? All of these are advanced tools for my novice self but I am intrigued at the prospect. How often does one find themselves needing to wield a blade in this city? I am no stranger to admit my life is a sheltered one - and I usually am carrying my reliable flintlock if I find myself in a shady part of town. Thankfully I have never needed to resort to it - but the curiosity does remain on how often your blade has seen action, Captain Durmand.”

Infusion? Oh dear. No, Sean had told her plenty about cheap imposters. She’d just taken a finishing bite of another of the triscuits that were individually no match for her appetite at any time, when she’d heard the word. Her chewing hesitated for a moment as she listened. She had to correct him somehow, her brother was too proud of his mead for that. “My blade ‘as, thankfully, been rather still, since my comin’ tae Sorrian. Tha’s t’ way i’ should be. Peace and prosperi’y, nae blood. Tha’s the way I like i’.” An idea struck her and she scoffed softly to herself, before offering, “y’ could always poin’ me at someone sellin’ fake mead. Grape wine infused wit’ ‘oney, aye? Prroper mead is ferrmen’ed ‘oney.”

Drake’s ignorance of mead was an important indicator to her, of mead’s lack of popularity, or at least, lack of upper echelon popularity. She wanted her brother to be successful, and his mead really was very good! Drake had said so himself. She had to make sure the man knew what was what, if she was going to introduce him to a beverage presently in a niche, with hope of its success. She couldn’t be pushy, either, though.

She chuckled, waving a hand dismissively in front of herself, “no, no, tha’d be too much. I migh’ rough ‘em up a bi’ ferr t’ insul’, but takin’ sword tae ‘em?” She paused for long enough to consider it, then gave her head a cheeky turn, “naaaae.”

“Y’say ye’ve go’ a flintlock? Mm, aye, intimida’in’. ‘at’s one shot, though, aye? Then ye’ve got to go through the whole rrigamarrole of rreloadin’. I s’ppose y’ could clock a fella over t’ ‘ead wit’ t’ aft end, but ye’d be sore for rreach ‘gainst even a shorr’ sword afte’ yerr shot’s spen’.” She sipped at her mead, humming contentedly as she took a moment to moisten her mouth and throat from talking. “Swords nae rreload, o’ courrse.”

She swirled her glass of mead a moment, staring into it as though it would take her back through her memories, before taking another sip. Her last years in Encia were not pleasant. “‘at’s been a savin’ grrace ferr me, once or twice. In tigh’ corridorrs, like an alleyway, a gun has a grreat advan’age. Y’ ge’ funneled in. However, ye also only get tha’ one shot beforre yerr advan’age is spent. Against multiple armed opponents, yerr at a sore disadvan’age.”

She looked at Drake for a moment, thoughtful. If Lord Drake wanted to know about her experience, she would tell him, but first, “‘ow familiar arre ye wit’ t’ events leadin’ tae my knigh’in’? Or.. Barron Maximillian Lancaster, of Encia in Vermillion?”

There was much wisdom and experience in the battle tactics that Stratya spoke of. Drake could only imagine such events that a knight had to deal with on a regular basis, let alone in the midst of the chaos of a battle. “On the matter of my choice of primary weapon - you are correct in the current nature of most pistols. One shot is all she wrote - so it better be a good one.” He paused to tap his chest, and then motioned towards the Captain. “But armor is tricky and gets in the way.”

Drake leaned back in his chair and held up his hands, three fingers in each hand pointing up. “But technology is getting more advanced. There are now models circulating that can shoot up to six times before reloading. Imagine that.” His mind wandered to the new gun Cassius had gifted him. There could be something to be said about the carnage such a weapon could bring - but Drake hardly figured himself the type to let such intrusive thoughts wander for long. He would never resort to using a dangerous weapon so brashly.

After straightening his posture, he rested one hand on his knee and rolled his other hand in a circle to motion towards Captain Durmand. “My apologies. I got distracted. I believe you were talking about the circumstances around you gaining your knighthood?”

“Nae fuss.” The knight shook her head, “I do rremember ye go’ tha’ rrevolver f’rr ya birrthday, aye? Six shots, huh..” Her gaze lifted to a memory, she frowned as she considered a possibility, and closed her eyes with a sigh. “Fortuna’e tha’ I dinnae ‘ave to figh’ one in Encia.” Dread was kept at bay with a soft sip of mead, “Maximillian Lancaster was conducting.. experrimen's, trying tae..” another sip halted her for a moment, before she continued at a deliberate pace “crreate such circumstances tha’ ‘e could cause someone tae become violen’ on ‘is command.” Yes, that was enough. “Nasty work. He was doing qui’e well, in fact. With ‘is position, ‘e was able tae cover ‘is tracks qui’e well, ‘e was verry difficult tae pin down. ‘e would field test ‘is work and ‘ave eyes out, watchin’ ‘is resul’s. T’ guard was kept qui’e busy, as ye can imagine.”

“Two years, it's been. I'd been folded into the army by then, with command of some men. I found Maximilian’s black market hub, brought the men under my command with me and shat’ered it. Nae more missin’ kids. Nae more changed or dead spouses. Maximilian Lancaster was a piece o’ work, but ‘e’s dead now.” She lifted her glass before downing a portion of her mead. Analise was still somewhere.

Drake took a melancholic look at Stratya and felt his frown deepen at the thought of all of those families ruined by a mad man’s delusions. “Were they drugged into some form of hypnotic and complacent state? What would bring a man to do such things…” Drake trailed off. He coughed and brought a fist to his mouth as if to mask the shudders that riddled through him as he thought of such barbaric things.

The captain shook her head, “I c’n only guess at ‘is mo’ivations.” From what Raynor had told her, perhaps Analise had something to do with it? The less said about his not exactly mundane methods, the better.

“It sounds like you did plenty of good work bringing him to justice, into the light of what should be and not what could be. Many people often get lost in the possibilities that they don’t stop to think ‘why’.” Another sip of the mead, and Drake placed the mug back down, his gaze casting downward in perplexive thought. But was his firearm any different than just the measured temperance of a man who wants to bring more power into the world? Oh gods the mead is making me philosophize again…

“And because of your heroic deeds, this led you to claiming your knightdom? Well I would say that’s well deserved in this case. The people need more reasons to have hope that the next day is coming for them.”

The future duke’s words lifted the knight’s thoughtful gaze from her glass to meet him, a soft smile slowly lifting the corners of her mouth, “I’m glad ta ‘ear ye think so.” If he really meant that, then she could look forward to his service as Duke in the future. “All tha’ ta say tha’ I’ve go’ plen’y of comba’ experrience under me belt. As well, m’ father trrained me starrtin’ as a wee lass. Mm, s’ppose tha’ migh’ve been more pleasan’ tae lead with..” Well, Drake’s an important guy. He should be informed about her professional history and capabilities. “I’ve known how tae ‘old a weapon f’rr a long time, and my trrainin’s nae wasted.”

Drake nodded, taking a bit more confidence in stride as she shared her credentials with him. “Sounds like I shall be in good hands.” He took the final swig of the mead and with a satisfying ‘clunk’ placed his glass back onto the table. There was a slight rosiness to his cheeks, but he kept himself rather composed as he rose and motioned to shake the Captain's hand.

“When can we start?”

A chuckle escaped her as she, too, rose, to meet his handshake, “soon as yerr sober. Though, I’m jus’ a touch busy toda~ay, we’ll starr’ tomorrow morrnin’.”

Speaking of sober, those drinks from the party.. while it had been a mostly harmless stunt, Shezahde Farim had made a good point. Those drinks were too strong to go unwarned. Consent. “Aah, ‘forre I go. Those drrinks serrved two days ago were incrredible. I’d like tae learn t’ make ‘em, m’sen. You wouldn’t ‘appen tae know who?” Armed with a basket still full of baked goods, she’d have a little warm-up investigation before hitting the hospital, figure out how those strong drinks were made. She was willing to believe they were mundane, but she wasn’t sure. They were so very tasty and yet so very alcoholic. How did they do that?

Drake frowned slightly at the mention of the drinks from his birthday. The sight of him stumbling around like a buffoon were ones he hoped would fade away soon enough - and the slight blush on his cheeks that followed were a physical sign of that. “As embarrassing as it is to admit - The mixologists were informed not to make things that strong - I assume there was some foul play involved, and Mother has already launched several complaints and prompted a few investigations, but nothing solid has turned up. All we can assume is someone either made a huge mistake or simply does not like my family…” He hung on those final words for a moment - the notion of which only served to make him somber.

Stratya added under her breath, without really thinking, “or donnae like yer mother.” The coarse noise of a cleared throat barrelled through the instance before she followed with another thought to wash away her slip of the tongue, “well, maybe I'll have a bit o’ luck?” After she'd very publicly heckled the duchess, perhaps the staff would feel more trusting of her? Herself, she’d hate to work for the woman.

A gloved hand rubbed her chin as she considered the situation, a thoughtful hum escaping her before she wondered aloud, mostly just rhetoric, “I migh’ assume yerr mother did t’ plannin’, aye? I’d guess she delega’ed jus’ abou’ everrythin’ except th’ plannin’ itself, though. Er..” Stratya had to be careful of speaking too freely, if “is she home?”

Drake raised a brow at Stratya’s murmuring and chose to ignore it - for better or for worse. “She was a rather huge part in the planning, aye.” Drake found it odd he adopted the sudden slang of his conversational partner, but he chose to embrace it a little with a smirk. Delegation was her strong suit, as the Captain accurately surmised. However he shook his head at her next question. “She is not, I'm afraid. If you want you can ask the help, there are plenty of hands that had a part in that celebration. Surely someone saw something.”

The Captain offered a surprised, slight smile as she heard his “aye.” Someone was enjoying themselves. “Oh, nae? Rreyt, ‘at's fine. T’ staff migh’ be more rrelaxed, ‘a’ way. S’ppose I'll go poke my ‘ead arroun’, then. I’ll star’ wit’..” the captain tapped a finger to her lip for a moment as she considered options, “was t’ barrkeep a special hire, or is he in-’ouse? He’d probably know who was messin’ wit’ t’ alcohol, or who else would know who.”

Drake shook his head. “Pierre is one of our regular mixologists. Not necessarily part of the house staff but he’s our regular hire for events like this.” He leaned onto his hand, thinking about the implications. Drake began to think on every little interaction he and any of his other staff may have bad. Did he piss anyone off? Say something rude? Forget something important? He certainly hoped not.

“Pierre handled the open bar, the cocktails came from somewhere else. We had them prepared in the kitchen if memory serves. Maybe start with them - but paying Pierre a brief visit wouldn’t be a bad idea either.”

“The kitchen staff, then. I’ll bother Pierre if I must.” Stratya studied the young man for a moment, noticing the troubled look in his eye. She sighed softly, kindly, smiling at the young man, “I’m surre t’is all just a rrude prrank made ah frrustrration. I nae carre tae imagine what it’s like tae werk fah herr, if tha’s ‘ow she trrea’s you, yer Lordship. An’ on y’ birrthday, no less. Tsk, shame on herr.”

“Honestly, I’d just want t’ knowin’ o’ tha’ drrink’s makin’,” she caught herself easing back into her dialect, “I’m sure Sean could make use o’ tha’.”

Drake nodded, rising from his chair and offering the Captain a bow. “I give you my good graces to explore and investigate, within reason, at your discretion. For now I’m afraid I must part ways with you - I wish to let this drink settle a little before finishing my daily routines.” That was fancy talk for “file some paperwork and go for a stroll”, but Drake didn’t want to be rude. He pushed the chair aside and began his exit.

“We shall keep in touch, Captain Durmand.” Drake said with a smile.

A warm smile met his, as the Captain took to her feet, “Il’l brring some nice boffles fah t’ two ah ye. Pleasan’ skies, serr.”

Stratya was pleasantly surprised. Drake wasn’t as stuffy sober as she thought he might be. He’s certainly the picture of an upper crust nobleman, but pleasantly so. She was glad she got to have a nice sit-down with the man and get a glimpse at the future of Sorian nobility.

Now, about the staff…

Stratya made her way about the manor, taking a moment to explore and greet some of the staff while she figured out where the kitchen was. The knight did eventually make her way into the kitchen, where she found more staff, cleaning up after lunch. It was a shame she’d come in her armor, or she might have had the chance to blend in. Ah well. She stepped right in, “anybody rremembah them cocktails from couple ah days ago?”

“Ah, y’mean t’-”

“Who’s asking?” A sterner voice interrupted the light voice that spoke first.

“Ooh, jus’ somebody that migh’ need such a strrong drrink tha’ tastes s’fine tae ever enjoy Rroyal Curd cheese, again.” That had been a ridiculous joke. Ridiculously funny.

A bit of cajoling and a joke or two at Victoria’s expense and Stratya got herself a recipe. She’d have to try it out, sometime.

Time: 6pm
Location: The Castle Dining Hall
Interactions: None
Attire:Dress, Hair

---

Princess Anastasia Danrose sat amidst the splendor, draped in an ethereal gown of champagne and rose gold. A matching gold tiara sat upon her head catching the glow of the chandeliers above, and her hair was pulled into an elegant yet messy updo. Her dress shimmered with the ambiance around her, yet, for all the finery around her, Anastasia was preoccupied with something far more important—her drink.

She twirled the stem of her wine glass between slender fingers, watching the amber liquid swirl with fascination before taking another sip. The warmth of the alcohol unfurled in her chest. As she pondered how many more sips it would take before the room felt even funnier, her free hand drifted absently toward a pastry on her plate. A soft, flaky bite of something sweet met her lips as she chewed.

"Anastasia," suddenly came a warm greeting from behind. Her head whirled around to find her darling brother pulling out his chair beside her.

"Auguste!" she chirped, instantly brightening as she set down her wine glass. Without hesitation, she reached out and gently squeezed his arm. Auguste chuckled and asked, "Enjoying yourself?"

Her expression turned sheepish as she cast a glance at the half-finished pastry and the very refilled glass of wine before her. "Mm, well… let's just say I’m thriving." She giggled, shifting slightly so she could nudge a plate toward him.

"But! I was thinking about you," she declared proudly, gesturing to the carefully arranged selection of meats and roasted vegetables in front of him. "I know how you are about eating healthy stuff, so I already gathered some of the best cuts and greens for you! Everything here is good—no weird sauces or suspiciously buttery things. Only Auguste-approved foods!" She beamed at him, clearly expecting some sort of big-brotherly praise for her effort. "See? I can be responsible." She gave a playful toss of her hair, though the effect was somewhat undercut by the way she nearly knocked over her wine glass in the process. She gasped, staring at the spill as if it had personally betrayed her. "Oops."

Auguste exhaled through his nose, an amused smirk barely hidden beneath his more composed demeanor. He reached for a napkin, clearly prepared to clean up after her, when suddenly—

CLANK.

There was an abrupt weight behind them and the unmistakable sound of silverware against the table. The Grand Vizier of Alidasht swept into the seat on Anastasia’s other side with all the force of a storm. His movements were graceful on paper, but there was a distinct edge to them. The kind of restrained power that did not need to announce itself to be felt. The utensils before him trembled slightly from the force of his arrival, though his face remained composed, save for the unsettling gleam in his eyes.

His expression was controlled, but his aura was unmistakable—he had come from something unpleasant, something that had stirred his temper, but he had emerged victorious. The flicker of self-satisfaction curled at the corners of his mouth, though it did little to soften those eyes.

Then, in a calculated shift, he smiled. Not quite forced, yet not entirely natural, like a mask carefully placed back into position.

"Your Highnesses," he greeted smoothly, inclining his head toward both Anastasia and Auguste. Yet,his gaze did not settle on them for long.

Instead, his eyes flickered, subtly, seemingly seeking something—or someone—else. It was brief, a mere flicker before he returned his attention forward, but it was there.

Anastasia, still mildly distracted by her wine mishap, barely noticed. She brightened at his presence, oblivious to the undercurrents in his demeanor. "Oh! Grand Vizier, you’re just in time!" she chirped, brushing away the minor catastrophe of her spilled drink as she gestured toward the plate. "I was just telling Auguste how I saved him from the horrors of carbs!"

"Look! All healthy, all Auguste-approved!" She lifted her goblet once more, nearly tipping it over again. She caught it at the last second with a triumphant little giggle.

Hafiz’s fingers traced the rim of his goblet. He did not comment immediately, instead taking a long sip. Then, with a slow exhale, he spoke.

"Ah, a thoughtful gesture, indeed." His fingers tapped lightly against the stem of his goblet as he regarded Anastasia with something unreadable behind his gaze.