[IC] 🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

[SilverPaw]

Wulfric & Ryn Part 2

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“There’s no need to fight them all.” His voice carried a note of weariness. They swayed to the music wordlessly until Ryn gasped. “Today or tomorrow? Adel, I’m happy you’re enthusiastic about our little outing, but we haven’t even settled on a destination yet!” Prince Wulfric regarded him with a blank stare. “You… are talking about my offer this morning? In the kitchen?” No response. “‘Then we should do this again, next time I’ll take you outside’?”

“The…outing,” Wulfric repeated. Hendrix was quite masterful in pretending nothing unusual had occurred. Well, the moment had passed, though it lingered heavily at the back of his mind. “I suppose. I will notify you when I am available, and I can act as a guard while you go about your business.” He had no preference for location, but given the usual constraints… “Unless we find ourselves with unlikely bouts of free time on our hands, it will have to be within the city.”

The prince’s words drew a playful smile across Ryn’s face, “So if we did find ourselves with bouts of free time on our hands, you’d consider venturing outside the city?” With a man he suspected to be an assassin?

“Why not?” he shrugged, confidently nonchalant.

He studied Prince Wulfric, as best as one could study another covered from head to toe, and moved on to another question, “Where have you never stepped foot in?”

“In Caesonia?” He found it strange the count was asking where he hadn’t been. “Some minor villages aside, I’ve been more or less everywhere.” Really, it was easier to answer in terms of where he had traveled. “I’ve been to Varian often, though the visits were usually to the major cities. I haven’t been to Alidasht much, but one of those times was a year-long stay.” In conclusion? “I have never been anywhere outside these three kingdoms.”

“... minor villages...” It ruffled in response.

That town was no different than countless others strewn across the kingdom; it boasted nothing to make it stand apart. A place of little consequence, bereft of resources and strategic value, just a humble place tucked within the folds of the kingdom. The soil was stingy, the view unremarkable. It was a place you passed through on your way to somewhere more important. But oh, the people! They danced when they felt like dancing, fought when the fight was worth it, and loved their neighbors as themselves. They had little but gave much, sharing whatever they could. So though the town was poor in coin and influence, it held the most coveted treasure: a home.

A home that had fallen to rubble and dust, its beating heart forever silenced. Bodies were heaped together in a charred, tangled mass in the square. She, the centerpiece.

He never visited, did he? That minor place of little consequence.

“Apologies, I meant where within Sorian have you never set foot in.” But if the prince did go everywhere in the capital… “If you have walked every corner of the city, where have you spent the least time in?”

‘Every corner’ might have been an overstatement. “The slums, low-end establishments, the mines…” he shrugged. “I do not go out of my way to mingle with commoners.” He was sure that was self-evident, and yet…

“Why?”

Wulfric sighed at the question. Nonverbally, he indicated for them to move off the dancefloor. If this was to become an involved conversation, he’d rather have it in a more appropriate setting. “I am aware that you are a proponent of personally involving yourself in every little thing, and acquainting whomever you come across. Yet why would I? I do not deem it necessary nor efficient.” Neither did he hold that kind of interest in most others. “You and I operate in very different ways, Hendrix,” he shook his head. “However, I take it that you are set on proving me wrong, or some such.”

What would have normally received a quip or two was met with sobriety. “Noblesse oblige.” The count let a moment pass to note the response the phrase elicited before pressing on. “Despite what you may think of them, they’re still your people.” Ryn’s mien was as unruffled as his mask, betraying nothing. “A kingdom is only as strong as its most marginalized. If you want to make a stronger kingdom, you must start from its foundation... or risk your castle toppling.” His gaze never strayed from the prince’s eyes, pinned into place. “Everything starts from understanding.”

Once again, the count sought to meet his gaze, even through the heavily obscuring mask. Wulfric acquiesced by staring him down. “Yes, it does,” he agreed with the literal meaning of ‘nobility obliges’. “I know my duties,” he stated coolly, a touch offended at the implication that he did not, or that he wasn’t performing them. “The poor are the foundation? That’s a bit of a stretch.” The ‘castle toppling’ bit was…an interesting threat, to say the least.

“Understanding,” he scoffed, disdainfully tossing his head aside before he turned a haughty look on Hendrix. “What you mean is that I should rule based on sympathies,” he sneered. “But it is exactly that which so often leads to favoritism.” That wasn’t his only grievance; someone trying to dictate how he ought to care or for whom and for what was not appreciated. That aside, there were advances he had in mind for the kingdom. “I will harness potential where it exists,” he proclaimed resolutely. “And there are certainly improvements to be made, that we can agree on.”

A guffaw erupted from Ryn, sudden and loud enough to turn the heads of those within earshot. As his laughter continued unchecked, however, their curiosity waned and they relegated the sound to the status of background noise. Soon, they all returned to their own affairs.

Eventually, his laughter subsided to sporadic bursts. “So,” he said between gulps of air, “you’re no different from him.”

With a last chuckle out of his system, Ryn sucked in a deep breath. “You know Adel, for someone who complains a lot about favoritism, you do tend to disregard ‘the poor’ and focus on very specific groups of people...” Instead of pointing out the obvious implication, he rubbed his chin and voiced another thought. “It’s like you use that as an excuse to avoid due diligence.”

Ryn frowned slightly, “I also hadn’t realized you’re the sort to rely on chance to find individuals with potential. Would you not rather nurture it so anyone can harness it?” His eyes fell onto Prince Wulfric’s neck, to where the scar was. “There’s no shame in admitting you’re intimidated because you don’t know how to handle them.”

“Not to worry,” Ryn reassured, patting the prince’s shoulders with both hands, “that’s what our excursion is for. Once you’ve witnessed the lives of your people—really seen them—you’ll be able to come up with the best way to improve things for everyone.”

“People are the foundation of a country. It doesn’t matter if they’re poor or rich.” His hands slid off Prince Wulfric’s shoulders. “If you can’t take care of the foundation… what’s your purpose?”

Ah, that laughter. Such a pointed, hysterical thing. So familiar. Was it an echo of the time when he himself had first wondered how similar he’d become? The prince experienced a rare feeling of contriteness. “Perhaps not so different after all…” His father did hate the destitute, the infirm, and all such ilk. Was indifference an improvement? Wulfric sighed. “I would ask why you bother,” with me, he didn’t explicitly say, “yet I can guess well enough.”

Underneath the calm exterior, Ryn’s heart stopped. “Oh?”

Wulfric merely hummed in answer, however, and moved on. “Bias and hypocrisy,” he lifted a hand, not seeking to defend himself. “I am aware I prioritize those in power,” he twitched his shoulder in a small shrug. Truthfully, it did bother him, the idea that he was overlooking an important problem. “An excuse…” He fell into thought.

It gnawed on him, at times, that it may be because of excuses that he hadn’t killed his father. The risks it would carry for him, to commit regicide and patricide. The risk of opening forth a path to more bloodshed; how such an act may wreak havoc upon the nation. The question of how it would all affect his siblings. Excuses aside, would it not be by becoming king, even if by force, that he could once and for all truly affect the changes he wished?

Then again, hadn’t a large part of him, too, genuinely believed in internal change?

So…was the notion that he didn’t have enough power in and of itself an excuse?

“Hm.” He’d adopted quite the stereotypical thinking pose, elbow perched upon a folded arm, balled fist set against his chin.

He reached no particular conclusion on that line of thought. Instead, he glanced back at Hendrix, shaking it off for now.

“Oh, I am all for education. Unfortunately, attempts to improve it have been limited at best.” He wasn’t a fan of the conclusion that he was ‘intimidated’, and found it a tad dubious that an excursion with the count would make such a striking difference to his plans. “We shall see,” he hedged.

He tilted his head at the question about his purpose. “My aim is to take care of them.” He could have expounded on their different views of caring, or regale him with his goals for the nation and its people. But that’s not what the count was saying, here.

However, those words seemed to be enough. Hendrix visibly relaxed, and his expression softened.

“You know,” Wulfric continued, a tone of revelation in his voice. “Since you are so heavily invested in the prosperity of this county, and appear to possess a desire to act as my arbiter…”

He stared down at Hendrix with more intensity than at any other prior point during their conversation.

“Take my advice to heart,” he intoned solemnly. “If you conclude that I am incapable,” he lifted an arm, and set a clawed finger against his own neck in a very telling manner.

“Do. Not. Hesitate.”

Ryn blinked a few times. “Is that a request?”

Wulfric straightened up, hand waving dismissively. “An advice,” he reiterated casually. “Make of it what you will.”

But he could not leave it at that. “No.” Ryn stepped closer. “What is it that you want?” His eyes desperately searched the prince’s, looking for that silver thread he thought he saw the glint of behind those words.

Wulfric considered the other man. “Would it not be a grand thing,” he began softly, “to have someone you could trust with both your life and with your death?” He paused, the question lingering unanswered. “I have a few people for the former…but the latter?” A wry smile formed. “It might be better to pick someone I mistrust, than to have no one at all. Why not you?” he prompted.

“You’re putting your complete trust… into someone you mistrust?”

Slowly, his shoulders lifted up, then dropped after a moment. “Well, it isn’t as if I would let you, but…you strike me as sensible and capable enough.”

“You wouldn’t let me, but you still ask me to… Is this, not-a-request, for insurance?”

Ryn stared up at Prince Wulfric for a long time. “Thank you for the compliments,” he finally said, “but I fear I may disappoint you.” He lifted up his open palms. “I’d make a terrible assassin.” He then shrugged. “So, you have no choice but to live up to my very, very, very lofty expectations, and be ‘capable.’”

Dark eyes twinkled behind the mask. For reasons he couldn’t explain, Wulfric felt as though he’d seen the count before, many years ago.

As he started wondering if he should be disappointed, Hendrix offered…an alternate offer?

Wulfric was vividly reminded, how not so long ago, he had been fiercely telling himself he wouldn’t live by someone else’s standards. Yet, had he not unwittingly fallen into the trap of listening to his parents far too much? Maybe, a counterweight was just what he needed.

“I know a thing or two about lofty expectations,” he quipped. Without the faintest clue of what exactly he was agreeing to – and frankly, why he was – the prince raised his right hand. “Shall we shake on it?”

Ryn eyed Prince Wulfric’s offered hand while his remained suspended. “Be careful, Adelard. Promises can be soul-bindingly powerful. If you want to shake on it, shake with intent to fulfill it.”

“Of course,” Wulfric said calmly, despite Hendrix’s outlandish manner of phrasing that. “I fully intend to use you to fashion this country into a better kingdom.” A note of amusement crept into his tone at his next words. “We could also term it…cooperation.” He studied the count for a beat. “I will do what I can to realize that goal,” he stated seriously. “And you?”

“Yes.” The answer came out without hesitation. “I am with you in this endeavor. We always have been and always will be.” For it was in their nature. The oath.

Ryn reached for Prince Wulfric’s outstretched hand, but stopped a breath away from it, waiting for the prince to bridge the gap—a chance to back out. “For a realm not just ruled, but truly served.”

“So be it.”

Wulfric bridged those last few millimeters with ease. Smoothly, he took ahold of Hendrix’s hand. It was a firm, solid grasp. Silent now by way of agreement to a common purpose, the two men shook on it.

The polished stone floor of the grand throne room ran slick with splattered blood as the figure stumbled forward. Before the other could retreat, crimson-stained fingers closed tight around fine robes and drew their faces close. The crown tumbled from its place by the sudden motion, somersaulting and caroming across the floor in glints and gleams.

Eyes, darker still than the night’s reign, supped deep of betrayal writ plain. With the last laborious breaths questions and curses might have passed drained lips, but only a gasp emerged—“Noblesse oblige.” A wretched cough sent flecks of scarlet flying. “Swear… you’ll care for them all.”

If they were going to take it all, let it come with the duty owed.

“I beg of you.”

Or someday face the consequences of one’s hubris.

Someday…

… ṣ̶̕o̷̪͙̐m̵̰͂ë̶̬́́… d̷̨͎̪͒̑ǎ̶̹̗͔͌̈̚͜ỹ̶̭͎̟͆̈́…

TL;DR

After a deep discussion Wulfric and Ryn agree to work together for the betterment of Caesonia.

[Lava Alckon]

Farim

Location: Deep within the Forest by Lover's Lake -> Sorian Castle
Time: Evening of the 23rd
Mentions: Torvi@Tae, Roman @Reusablesword, John/Frederick @Conscripts, Anastasia @princess, and Munir @Infinite Cosmos

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There was a lot that was happening in such a short time. As Torvi tiraded against those present, a giant wolf appeared and walked next to Farim. It was clear the woman and the wolf were companions. As a fellow animal tamer himself, Farim could tell the bond the two shared. As her chastising ended, she offered a solution to his problem, something he was truly grateful for. But he could not help but blush at her casually branding him as Anastasia’s lover. ”I - well. Perhaps that is bold to say. I have only just met her. But I do care for Annie all the same.” He was not sure why he was explaining himself like this, but the conversation thankfully shifted to Fenrys being directed to guide the young Shehzade.

I am simply making sure a good business partner and acquaintance is not kidnapped by some random forest hermit. I see you are more than that.” He turned the direction Fenrys had began to trot and noticed her walking across the clearing in a hurry. ”And if you plan to take the jewels, may as well take the entire package.” He shrugged at the threat, but also fully accepted the consequences if he did hurt the Princess somehow. He did not wish to dwell on the ifs, but the notion formed a pit in his stomach.

Farim walked to the edge of the clearing with Fenrys, slowly searching for the Princess. He half expected her to jump out and scare him - but when he saw her crumpled on the ground, he instantly shot down to her aid. ”ANASTASIA!” He firmly shouted. The man checked her for injuries and found the early markings of a bruise on her head, likely from when she tumbled. Farim gently picked Anastasia up, hands and arms supporting her body, and her head propped against his shoulder in case it was badly injured.

When he emerged from the clearing, he yet again saw the two cloaked figures and made a distinct connection. This was about where the pair of men had emerged in the midst of the fight. Farim wanted to believe they would not be responsible for harming such a high member of royalty, but his suspicions got the better of him. He would rather an uninvolved third party examine her. ”I am sure you both are busy. This is not just some woman. She is a princess of this nation. She has more than just me as her allies. I like to think the best in people, so I will not accuse you both. But if either of you were the cause of this….” He took a measured breath to temper this growing fury inside him - he did not wish to condemn a man who had not yet spoken. So he simply spoke two curt words while staring daggers at the pair of men who stood across the clearing. Tread lightly.

Up until now his demeanor and tone has been pleasant. But it was through those two words that a more sinister connotation bubbled forth. The frown and furrowed brows coupled with eyes that were brimming with calculated frustration. As if in that moment he was making a silent promise of what was to come. But just as quickly as it came, it vanished. ”Forgive me. The night has been taxing. I will be taking my leave, and I shall bring Annie home.” With that he followed Fenrys, who seemed to be sniffing the ground in a rather impressive show of tracking. Before long they happened upon a carriage, one that Farim recognized as one of Hakim’s personal carriage for Muni. With minimal effort Farim flagged them down and hitched a ride to the castle.

”What a situation we find ourselves in. Clutching the one we are interested in while they peacefully slumber away. Seeing you dash off like that had me concerned for a moment, cousin. But I am glad you and your…..moon and stars are both well~.” He said entirely bent on teasing his cousin’s fervant love. But there was still a kindness behind his eyes. Deep down he knew Munir needed a true love to break that poor shell of his. For the rest of the carriage ride there was likely banter and mild laughter amidst retelling of the two’s evening as they approached the castle.

It was then the pairs parted ways, with Farim making his way to Anastasia’s room. There was some mild concern from the guards, but a few quick dirty glances from Farim was enough to silence them. He did however make sure to reassure three things. One, the princess is okay. Two, he did not do this to her. And three, he would look after her until she was better, but if they so wished they could send a nurse to check in on her. Farim carefully opened the door, stepping in with Annie’s unconscious body and closing the door behind her. He breathed a sigh of relief as he finally felt the safest he had been in several hours.

And then everything went dark.

[PapaOso]

Cassius & Fritz

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“Hello there,” the whisper sounded so close to him, but when Cassius turned around, the raven-haired man was a good few feet away. “I’ve come to take you up on that offer.”

Cassius had been in his own world at the wine table, but he immediately recognized the voice. A curious smile curled across his devilishly handsome face as he turned to the man, ever so slightly perplexed as to why he sounded much closer than he actually was. The introspective demeanor he found himself in after his dance with Charlotte shifted into his usual, enchanting disposition with simple flip of a switch. “I knew you would come…” He confessed, his words coated with a sultry layer of charm. He closed the distance between them with a poised stride. “How could you possibly resist?”

“And risk losing the opportunity to better know you?” Leaning closer, he breathed the words, “Perish the thought.” As the count pulled away, he gave the lord a coquettish smile. “I am but a moth to a flame. And you shine ever so bright, my lord.”

Ryn chuckled, before asking, “So! What shall it be?” One hand rose, poised, ready to receive a partner’s hand for a dance. “May I have the honor of being swept from my feet by the dazzling Lord Damien himself? Or…” A bottle of deep red materialized in his other hand, called forth by a dexterous flourish. “Can I tempt Mr. Vael into sharing this lovely vintage with me?”

The smile, the subtle differences in demeanor…these things proved fascinating to Cassius; fascinating and enticing both. As he looked at Fritz with ardent eyes, he began to slowly circle the man with graceful steps. He considered the two options before him for a moment as he slowly moved closer to the one seeking his company.

Cas had already experienced the dance for the evening, so it was the impressive way in which Fritz presented the bottle out of nowhere that truly won his interest.
”It takes quite the adventurous moth to seek out light this bright…but we all know what happens to such a creature when it touches the flames.” Cassius spoke with angelic resonance, his practiced tongue as alluring and dangerous as ever. "Let's see how close we can get without you getting burned." His hand wrapped around the bottle in Fritz’s grasp, seemingly giving the handsome man his answer.

The count drew nearer to Lord Damien, close enough that the heat of his breath brushed against skin. “Very.” Then he withdrew, wine glasses now glimmering in each hand. Ryn asked cheerfully, “Would you like to drink here or take a seat somewhere?”

He met Fritz’s move with an impressed smile. It was fun to watch them weave their charm in a way that mirrored his own. There was something about the man that made it challenging to get a proper read on him, but that only made the prospect of spending a little bit of time with him one on one all the more enticing to Cassius.

“Would you prefer if I take a drink of you here or somewhere else, hmm?” Cassius’s eyes sparkled with mischief as a playful smirk tugged at his lips, “ I must say, indulging in such a public display might spark a scandal, don’t you think?” He raised his eyebrows suggestively. After a theatrical pause, his eyes widened with feigned innocence. “Oh of course… You meant the wine. Well.” A devilish grin painted his features as he spoke with some debonair flair. “I suppose the balcony will do in any case.”

Cassius then drew in just as close as Fritz had. “Never know where the night may take us.”

The lord’s feigned innocence, however, was met with an authentic one.

Ryn canted his head, perplexed by why drinking in the ballroom might “spark a scandal” until Lord Damien murmured the words “Never know where the night may take us.”

A surprised peal of laughter burst from him, as bright and effervescent as the bubbles in a glass of champagne. “Obviously I have much to learn from the master of seduction.”

Threading his arm through the lord’s, he steered them towards the doors leading to the balcony. “Quick, before everyone discovers I’m not nearly as suave as I pretend to be!”

Once they stepped into the night air, Ryn disentangled himself. “Now that I have you all to myself…” He put a careful distance between their bodies so that Lord Damien would not feel obligated to keep up with his flirtations. “You can relax now.”

Cas found himself grinning with fascination as Fritz dropped his little charade. Was he right in his previous assessment? Was his new acquaintance simply mirroring his own personality back to him? It didn’t matter to be honest, this little twist only made Cassius more curious than before. He walked to the railing at the edge of the balcony, leaning against it and looking out into the night. After another of his wonderfully dramatic pauses, he spoke.

“Oh, my dear Fritz…there is no need to play games with my humble, innocent heart like this.” The words came out impishly, with a hint of mischief behind them. “I am a man of business just as much as I am one of pleasure…If you wished to speak with me all you needed to do…was ask.” Giving the man a playful wink, he took the wine glasses from him and poured the two of them a drink before speaking once more. “Brilliant deception, though. I must say, it almost felt like I was talking to myself. But…alas…what is it that you actually desire from a man like me?”

“Trick you? I thought I was straightforward about wanting to get to know you better… I apologize if I misled you in some way.”

Ryn accepted the drink with a thank you. “I wasn’t sure how comfortable you actually were in there.” He turned his head to the doors that separated the two from the fanciful life of high society. “A drastic change in lifestyle can be overwhelming to some people. How are you holding up Mr. Vael?... Or do you prefer Lord Damien?”

Cassius simply nodded in response to Fritz's explanation, still a bit unsure of the man’s tactics. Taking a long sip of the wine, he let the liquid dance across his palate, unraveling a symphony of flavors on his tongue. The rich, velvety texture enveloped his senses like a warm embrace, while notes of dark berries and hints of oak whispered tales of distant vineyards. With closed eyes, he savored the intricate balance between sweetness and tannins, feeling the wine's essence linger on his tongue like a memory.

“You have good taste in wine.” He stated as a playful deflection before responding to the man’s final query first. “As for what to call me, that’s a good question…Cassius always has the perfect ring to it, but I can’t deny that I’m growing quite fond of the title Lord.” His words were still coated with the same flirtatious charm as before. “Call me whatever you wish, and deception or not…I can assure you that very few people in this world have what it takes to make me feel uncomfortable. Regardless, now you have me here on my lonesome. It’s just you and I, lover boy. My undivided attention is yours.”

“Then let’s go with the best of both worlds, Lord Cassius.”

Ryn swirled the deep crimson wine in his glass, watching the liquid catch the light as he leaned against the ornate balustrade. “You’ve got a hardier constitution than I, it seems. High society can be…” He paused, his lips quirking wryly, “brutally unwelcoming at times.”

Cassius raised a glass in agreement, an accordant smile teasing the edges of his mouth

Black eyes glanced sidelong at Lord Damien, studying the other man’s profile intently before drifting down to linger on the other man’s hands. A person’s hands could often reveal the stories of their life. “What was your life like before all of this?” he asked simply.

Letting the man’s question linger in the air in a similar fashion to how the wine’s resonance remained on his tongue, Cas mulled over the array of possible answers. He turned to bring his eyes up to meet Fritz once more as he spoke ”That depends entirely on how much time we have and the tone of conversation you’re in the mood to explore, friend.” There was a facetious nature to his words though his eyes held nothing but authenticity.

“I’ll leave the choice to you.” Whatever Lord Damien was willing to offer, Ryn would accept.

”As arrogant as it sounds, the truth is I’ve lived more life in my twenty seven years than most of the men and women that surrounded us in that ballroom could ever dream of…I could go on for hours about the things I’ve seen, the things I’ve done. But to narrow it down to its most pragmatic state, I have chased beauty and conflict all across Eromora. I have found glory, praise, infamy, and unfathomable pleasures along the way.”

Stopping for a moment, Cassius stared into the beautiful black voids that were the eyes of his new acquaintance as he pondered his next words carefully. And now…now I find myself engaged in a brand new hunt. One where perhaps I don’t even know what it is I’m looking for.” He raised his glass once more, this time with a wink. ”Or, perhaps I know exactly what it is I’m chasing…Guess we’ll just have to wait and see, won’t we?”

“I guess we’ll have to.” Ryn’s lips curved in a faint, contemplative smile. “I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

“In the meantime… Let’s entertain a game of sorts—a trade of questions, an exchange of stories.”

“Sounds like fun…” Cassius remarked eagerly. “But allow me to add a little twist to make things even more interesting. Everything, and I mean everything, is on the table. If you answer, you must be one hundred percent honest. If the question is too much, or if you’re not comfortable answering…you simply take a drink.” He raised his glass to his lips and sipped before beginning.

“Since you just asked, I’ll do the honor of starting us off properly. First question…Why did you come here to Sorian? Question two…What do you dream about at night when there’s no one around to influence your thoughts and it’s just you and the deep recesses of your mind?”

“Oh my,” The count’s teasing held the same flirtatious undertone Lord Damien had moments ago. “Going in hard without build-up, no turn-taking, and you only have two questions for me? Lord Cassius…” He tsked and shook his head in mock disapproval. “But, if that’s how you prefer to play…”

With a satirical roll of the eyes, Cassius shook his head proudly at Fritz’s clever little jest, his smile only growing as the man continued.

He upended his untouched glass into Lord Damien’s cup. A brazen breach of etiquette, but he did not want to waste perfectly good wine by pouring it off the balcony, and it carried a pointed message: he would not need to drink for this game.

Though Lord Damien must have been aware of the loophole in the rules he proposed. “I came here for many reasons. As a newly titled noble, I was invited to the annual gathering.” True. “Since there was no reason not to attend, and I wanted to make connections, I came.” Also true. Ryn leaned in conspiratorially, as if he was revealing a dark secret, “I’m hoping to make lots of friends.” Another truth.

All individually true, one hundred percent honest answers. But none revealed the whole truth.

“I’m also looking for the answer to a question,” he added nonchalantly at the end.

Cassius acknowledged his new confidant’s clever little statement with the wine by emptying the contents of his glass with one long drink as Fritz spoke, showing that he was not going to need the generously strategic reprieve from potentially difficult questions either. His eyes never broke from the man’s face as Fritz addressed his first question.

The answer to Lord Damien’s second question was quite dull. “This is going to sound boring, but… Nothing. I don’t dream. I haven’t had a dream in a very long time.”

Fritz’s statement knocked free an old quote from the recesses of Cas’s mind. ’A man who cannot dream is a slave to his own reality’. Cas wondered if Fritz had forgotten how to dream, or if he was actually evading the specters and dreads of nightmares. Either way, the thought intrigued him to no end.

“Let’s see, so two deep, hard-hitting questions.” Ryn mulled over some potential questions to ask. “What have you done in the past that haunts you to this very day?”

“Oh…my dear, handsome man. And you have the audacity to suggest that I was skipping the foreplay?” Cassius prodded with a playful level of tongue-in-cheek. “Here you are building straight for a proper crescendo. It’s a bold move and I must admit…I absolutely love it.” His amused smile soon turned slightly more dreary as his mind turned to addressing the man’s question. He leaned on the balcony himself, looking out over the night as he contemplated his truth.

“Where do I even begin?” He asked, partially in jest yet more honest than he would like to admit. “I was a mercenary for almost half my life, Fritz. To live by the sword, chasing gold and glory…There is an abundance of skeletons in my closet that come to haunt my moments of peace.” Cas pondered something more specific, wishing to honor the spirit of the game they were playing.

“For instance…the very first man I killed. I never even got his name, but the look on his face as he succumbed to my blade, and the sanguine warmth of his blood on my hands are sensations burned into my very being.” His eyes shifted to meet Fritz’s, a look of absolute stoicism displayed on his face. “By my count, you have another question. I am an open book…simply pick a chapter.”

Even with the mask obscuring his features, Ryn could sense how Lord Damien’s countenance hardened into one of stoicism. It was a mask not meant to conceal so much as to compartmentalize and shield oneself from feeling the weight of the truth.

Just as Ryn had learned to do himself.

From the bleakest depths of human depravity to nature’s most savage, uncaring devastation, Ryn had witnessed and endured more than enough to intimately know the myriad ways in which a person could be broken.

Through it all, he had learned the art of disassociation, to erect walls around his psyche, fortifying his mind against the horrors and desolation that sought to invade and corrupt. It was a necessary defense, a survival mechanism, lest his soul be lost forever.

Tempted as he was to ask a follow-up question, if there were to only be two questions, Ryn wanted to end on a more positive one. “What brings you happiness?”

Cassius paused, his eyes wandering over Fritz's face for a moment. The question seemed to hang in the air, mingling with the faint breeze rustling the leaves overhead.

"What makes me happy?" Cassius repeated, his voice low and thoughtful. His lips curved into a faint smile as he searched for an answer. A moment passed before his gaze drifted to the skyline, drawn to a distant point in the cityscape. A faint green light blinked on the horizon, barely visible against the backdrop of the evening. It was something that was almost inconspicuous enough to just blend into the night, except to Cassius…to any Iron Wolf, it was anything but subtle.

His mind raced with questions that felt all too soon to be asking. Were they here for him? Should he answer the call? Who could possibly be on the other side of the distress beacon? There was only one way to find out.

The realization that he had left Fritz unanswered hit suddenly as he turned to face him. “It’s not my style to leave before a good climax…but I admit, something has come up. I’ll give you a much better answer next time, handsome. I do expect there to be a next time, yes?” He asked with thirsty eyes.

“But until then…I’ll give you just a little tease. What could possibly make a man like me happy? Perhaps everything…or…perhaps not a damned thing at all.” Cas said slyly, giving Fritz a playful bow and one last signature smile before making his leave.

Ryn met the farewell with a curtsy, then turned to face the distant sky. The soft flutter of wings and the clicking of talons reached his ears before he shifted his attention to the nightjar that had alighted on the top rail of the balustrade. They exchanged a silent, weighted look, and then the nightjar took to the skies, vanishing into the horizon. Ryn remained alone on the balcony save for the silent, watchful presence of an owl perched in a nearby tree. The bird of prey’s unblinking stare fixed upon the window of the estate.

TL;DR

Fritz approaches Cassius and offers to take him up on the dance they spoke about earlier. Instead, the two head out on a private balcony for a drink. Flirtation and mutual admiration is shared between them as they get to know one another a little more with a game of hard hitting questions. However, the game is interrupted as Cassius notices something in the distance that pulls him away prematurely.

[SilverPaw]

Riona & Wulfric Part 1

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“I beg your pardon, My Lord.” Riona approached the crow man as soon as she spotted him. “The man you were dancing with, are you acquainted with him?”

“Hmm?” Wulfric turned towards the stranger. He had been on the lookout for Zarai, who had apparently got entangled in a drinking contest. But now that his attention was on this woman bearing an orange dress, a cat mask concealing her features, he was struck by a strange sensation of familiarity. “Count Hendrix and I have recently become acquainted, yes,” he answered, tilting his head as he studied her. “But if you are interested in him, you need only approach him,” he suggested, amusement colouring his tone.

The appellation “Count Hendrix” surfaced again, affirming that it was the name he was known by within this circle. “He is a foreigner?” Riona asked. The crow man had a point, but if the stag man had any relation to the people she was thinking of, then she’d prefer to approach him in a less public space.

“A foreigner?” That was a good question. Given how the count concerned himself with Caesonia, the prince suspected his family might have been one of those ‘political exiles’. Here, the woman acted as if she knew him, or should know him, yet didn’t recognize his name. Curious. “You could say. He is from Varian.” At the very least, Hendrix was a citizen there.

Varian. Her heartbeat picked up speed. “I see, thank you.” Echoes of memories rippled through her—those days when Ríoghnach had waited with bated breath, impatient for the carriage to emerge from the horizon, carrying people, gifts, and stories from faraway lands.

“Why all the questions?” he couldn’t help but wonder.

She opened her mouth, paused, and then said. “Because it is courting season, My Lord. If one must seek prospective matches, the least one can do is ask questions.”

“If one must, yes, but you were not inquiring for the purposes of courting,” he stated as firmly as he would a fact. “There were no signs of romantic, sexual and/or political interest, nor any indications that you were trying to hide such,” he noted. “No, it was more so,” he fluidly waved a clawed hand, “a weaving of the known and unknown, locating something familiar in the unfamiliar, connecting points of information new and old.”

He cocked his head at her again, his fixed gaze briefly revealing the intensity of his intrigue. “Since it is evident you have your reasons for secrecy, how about an exchange? Whatever you believe, hm, shall we say safe to reveal? Your information related to the count, and in return, I will offer the same. I would not mind even mundane matters, if you are seeking the same.”

Riona’s dark eyes narrowed as she tilted her chin upward to look down at the taller man. While the stag man brought feelings of nostalgia, this crow man also felt… familiar. Infuriatingly so. “Rather presumptuous of you. Who are you to dictate what I do or do not feel?” Even if his claim about her interest in the stag man was on point.

The woman’s reaction stirred the edges of faint memories of a time long past, but not quite to the point of recall. “I was not dictating your feelings, merely making an observation based on your behaviour,” he noted. “Of course, I may have been mistaken, in which case, I apologize,” he shrugged easily. “Though, your reaction does lead me to believe I was right on the mark.” He chuckled lightly, entertained. “Or is it that you let others’ words dictate your thoughts and emotions?” he pondered, almost half to himself. “Oh, but these are merely bothersome assumptions again, are they not?” he added rhetorically.

“More to the point, is my offer appealing to you or not? If not, it strikes me as rather pointless to exchange pleasantries. Especially given that it is rather presumptuous of you to demand my name without bothering to introduce yourself first.” Though he’d thrown her words right back at her, his tone was a contrast to hers; mild and light - almost bored, in fact. A hidden smirk belied his apparent disinterest, however.

The crow man sure did like the sound of his voice. Or maybe he was just bored senseless after no one wanted to chat with the oh-so-charming fellow, so he picked Riona to be his plaything. “Others’ words and attitude do shape my thoughts and emotions about them. And I’ve decided I’ve already wasted too much of my time and energy on you.” Her gaze fixed onto his. “I respect myself too much to keep this conversation going.” Without another word or gesture of farewell, Riona turned heel. At least she now knew Count Hendrix was a Varian noble. It should be easier to find out more about him from there.

That tone of her voice - even if now much older - combined with her fiercely oppositional words, and the number of mannerisms which reminded him of someone from the past…It all clicked together with sudden clarity. “Lady Dantès.” He hadn’t intended to call out to her, and was clearly surprised that this particular name found its way to his lips. Had found its way out to the world after years of silence. Years of being consigned to oblivion; to the belief that the whole family had met a most unfortunate end.

The dead name, reanimated by a too-familiar voice, seized Riona where she stood, rooting her feet to the polished ballroom floor. Slowly, she turned to face the crow man, studying him through narrowed eyes to discern which ghost precisely had found its way back to haunt her. For better and for worse, there weren’t that many options. “Fake Prince?” she asked at last.

Year 1720, Flora

The train raid to Javaria had been fun. Wulfric didn’t get to ride trains often, and he and his guards and servants had had it all for themselves. After the train ride, a carriage was waiting for them. A drive in that later, he and the company his parents had insisted on arrived at a small estate. It, and the whole town around it were so different from what he was used to. It all looked like something straight out of a fairytale. The young royal could easily imagine it having been built by elves, because the houses sort of looked as if they’d been grown right out of the forest. There was a mystical air to the area, and Wulfric was sure there were all kinds of secrets hidden within.

However, he wasn’t here to explore. At his arrival to Count Bernard’s estate, the few guests lingering outside burst into whispers. They did bow or curtsy, but they still reminded Wulfric of flies, what with their annoying buzzing. His guards loomed behind him, their presence serving to deter the buzzards from flying too close.

They made their way inside, the count’s servants announcing his arrival. The reception hall was on the smaller side; a good two dozen guests made for a crowd. Then, there were all the children; there were as many youths as there were adults. A large group of children was a foreign sight to the prince, so he watched them curiously.

There were those murmured greetings and buzzing whispers again. Wulfric looked from guest to guest, searching for the count. However, the first to approach was Duchess Edwards, who weaved through the crowd, and emerged right into the protective bubble formed by his guards with practiced grace and eerie focus. She had a predatory glint in her eye. Similar to Morrigan’s when was about to torture a ‘fun prey’, as she called it.

“Hello, Prince Wulfric, how lovely to see you!” She covered her mouth with a hand as she laughed merrily. But the emotion didn’t reach her eyes; they were all pure calculation.

“Good day, Duchess Victoria,” he smiled a smile as empty as hers. “You’re a very pretty lady, and that dress really suits you!” He flattered her the way he had been taught to do in etiquette class.

She blushed, and Wulfric wondered if that was acting, or if she was just a fan of compliments. “My, what a charmer you are!” As they talked, they slowly moved towards where he spotted the actual hosts of the party. “You will be a lady killer one day, I can tell.” Somehow, the rapacious glimmer in her eyes became even brighter, intenser. “I do have a very pretty daughter, you know? She’s only six now, but give her a few years, and she’ll be the best there is, I know she will!”

Wulfric hummed noncommittally. “Girls are boring,” he commented.

“Oh! At that age, are you?” She fake-laughed again. “Well, if you’d ever like a friend, I have a son too.” She suddenly clapped her hands as they came to a stop before the Bernards. “But! This is my brother’s birthday. This is Jonathan, Your Highness.” She leaned down slightly, holding her hand to her mouth, gesturing that she would relay a secret. “He is a bit odd, but please, do not mind him.” She wasn’t quiet enough not to be heard. Did she not realize?

“I’m not weird!” The young lord burst out, glaring at his sister. But at his father’s sharp, “Jonathan!” the child looked down, sulking. “Sorry,” he said without looking at anyone.

Ignoring what had happened, the prince greeted him. “Nice to meet you, Jonathan.” Wulfric went out of his way to smile at the child, but the boy was still looking down.

“Hi. Your Highness.” His reply was sullen, and he even kicked at the floor. Wulfric judged him as very childish.

“I brought a gift for you. I didn’t know what you liked, so there’s a few things in it. I hope that’s ok.”

Finally, the child looked up again, pleasantly surprised. “O-oh. Thank you…Prince Wulfric.” There was even a slight warm smile, genuine gratitude colouring his expression.

Easy.

“You are very generous, Your Highness.” Count Bernard bowed, taking over for his son. Jonathan gave his father an angry look when the count wasn’t looking, but Wulfric saw it. “Now, let us commence the celebrations!”

They were led into the dining room. Even though it wasn’t his birthday, he was offered the seat of honor. “You don’t mind sitting to my right, do you?” he asked Jonathan, who was still lingering by his side.

“Um. I guess…Is it true you’ve never been to anyone else’s birthday party - other than your family’s?” Wulfric nodded, and Jonathan brightened considerably. “Oh! That’s so cool! T-that I’m the first one, I mean…” he trailed off, slightly embarrassed. But the prince didn’t pay it any mind. Anyone would be honoured.

Their table was set just for the children. That was a shame. Wulfric had wanted to talk to the count, and ask him about this town. He supposed the youngest son would have to make do.

They sat down. For the first time, Wulfric could take a good look at the other youngsters. “Who are they?” he asked Jonathan quietly, who eagerly introduced them.

Immediately to the prince’s left was a girl in a ruffled, pastel seafoam dress who had white ribbons tied in her black hair. She sat all prim and proper, but had eyes only for him. She was the daughter of a neighbouring baron, Suzanne van Bergen.

Next to her were two girls, Margaret Laine and Jennifer Ilves, who were fervently whispering to each other. Here and there, they’d break into giggles after looking at him. They had dresses too, but even though they were multi-coloured, they were plainer than the first girl’s. Margaret had chestnut curls and a freckled face, while Jennifer wore her dark blonde hair in pigtails. The former was a merchant’s daughter, and the latter a banker’s.

Next were a pair of twins, Cora and Charlie McDowell. The girl had her hair braided and pinned up, while the boy wore a ponytail. They were both dressed in practical clothing. Maybe it was a local custom, but they just looked very poor to Wulfric. Their parents were owners of a mining company, and were the Bernards’ friends.

Close to the twins sat a child whose appearance left Wulfric puzzling over their gender until he heard the name Mariel. Her short, artfully styled ashen hair, coupled with a royal blue doublet and black trousers, could easily have led anyone to mistake her for a boy. She came from the minor noble family of Tveit.

At the other end of the table, a girl sitting somewhat apart from the others caught Wulfric’s attention. She had sun-kissed olive skin and dark wavy hair that was slightly browned from time spent outdoors. Her outfit was an unfamiliar, but harmonious blend of Caesonian fashion with accents of Alidasht. When asked about her, Jonathan admitted he wasn’t entirely sure himself. Like Wulfric, this was his first time meeting the girl. All Jonathan knew was that she was the ward of Lord Desmond Dantès. He guessed she may have been brought here to familiarize her with the social circles of nobility.

To the right, a pig—wait, no, just a very plump boy—by the name of Florian Lund occupied a seat. The emerald green tunic strained to contain his substantial girth. He was joyously engaged in devouring a pastry, blissfully unaware of the crumbs that scattered onto his lap. Each bite set his rosy cheeks and honey-blonde curls into a cheerful dance. Despite his unassuming appearance, he was the progeny of one of Caesonia’s greatest knights.

Next was a tall, gangly boy with wild black hair, who kept grimacing as he strived to avoid Florian’s flailing elbow and the spray of food particles. He was hunched over himself, as if to withdraw into a nonexistent shell. Subtly, he inched to the left, trying to get further away from the fat boy. This bony boy’s name was Juan Venegas, and he was the son of a lord.

Adjacent to Juan was a stocky boy who kept shifting around, jittery and restless. Though he kept looking around, he didn’t really seem to notice Juan getting closer. His hair was shorn right down to his skull. Wulfric thought he might jump out of the chair any moment. He was Tomás Meaghan, whose parents were successful in the wood industry.

Lastly, there was Lars Blundell, the scion of another lesser noble family. His presence was imbued with a palpable sense of arrogance, his posture and demeanor leaving no room for doubt about his high regard for himself. He seemed utterly indifferent, even dismissive, of the esteemed gathering around him. This included the prince, whom he viewed as an equal at best. His air of superiority was as unmistakable as it was unapologetic, setting him apart from his peers in both manner and attitude.

Since it was around noon, lunch was served first. The children were louder than Wulfric deemed polite, but the conversation topics were familiar. What such-and-such did, or how they’ve gained this-and-that, or did a good-great-charitable-or-some-other thing.

The last meal was dessert; a birthday cake, of course. Ooohs and aaahs ensued from some of the more eager children.

Then…

Then came the singing.

The children opened their mouths, and an ungodly cacophony emerged. Wulfric could only stare, slack-jawed, as they began to sing the happy birthday song.

Weren’t entertainers supposed to be hired for this part?

Was Count Bernard so poor he couldn’t afford them?

This was terrible.

Some of these youths must have had basic music training, but this particular group had never sung together, and it showed. Some started too soon – or too late – and others rushed to get through, while a few were either too loud or too quiet.

When it was finally over, Wulfric congratulated Jonathan, said, “Happy birthday,” and shook his hand. The same sentiment echoed around the table.

Jonathan blew out all the candles, mouth puffed and face growing red as he snuffed out the flames. That done, the cake was cut and distributed. Any decorum thus far displayed grew exponentially worse with the amount of cake consumed, Wulfric observed. Florian devoured his piece as greedily as the pig he resembled, the girls’ giggling somehow got shriller, Tomás knocked an elbow into Juan, and even the previously sedate twins were exchanging up-to-no-good grins.

After their meal, they were led into a drawing room, where the gifts awaited opening. Jonathan appeared warily hopeful, but not too enthused. There weren’t many presents, but wasn’t he excited about seeing what he’d get?

Yet, as the unwrapping commenced, it became apparent that very few gifts were actually intended for Jonathan. Several were gifted to him, but were meant to impress his parents; things like sample goods from various businesses and territories. A few were actually presented to his parents while Jonathan received a token gift only. And the ones for him didn’t seem like much in Wulfric’s opinion.

His gift, of course, was special. As he’d said, there were several items packaged together; a sheathed dagger, a leatherbound journal, an embossed fountain pen, and an intricate puzzle box. Jonathan marveled over each and every one, and turned to him with a huge grin. “Thank you, Prince Wulfric! These-these are great! It’s…it’s the best gift.”

Obviously. It was from him, after all, Wulfric thought with a smirk.

Jonathan bounded up to him, and Wulfric offered him a hand. The child took it, but also sprung a hug on him. That must have been one of those strange, touchy-feely practices from the north. Wulfric patted him awkwardly and got out of the hug as smoothly as he could. “Glad you like it,” he smiled politely.

“I don’t-don’t just like it, I love it!” Excitedly, Jonathan proceeded to tell him, and to everyone else how grateful he was, how generous the prince was, and how great the king and queen were, et cetera. Just as Wulfric had thought that was it for the gift giving, he noticed a girl who’d kept her gift to give to Jonathan herself rather than handing it off to the servants like everyone else had done.

It was Lord Dantès’s ward who lingered at the edge of the gathering. Clutched in her hands was a small package, plainly wrapped. She frowned down at it, no doubt realizing it paled in comparison to his perfect gifts.

Noticing her hesitation, Lord Dantès went to her side. He spoke gently, reminding her that thought and meaning mattered most of all. With a reluctant nod, the girl shuffled to Jonathan, presenting the package as she said, “I made this for you.”

Jonathan accepted the gift and peeled away the brown paper. Below the modest wrapping lay an equally modest handkerchief. Some of the children, and even adults, snickered at the present. But when Jonathan unfurled it, Wulfric saw the intricate embroidery—the Bernard crest, Jonathan’s initials, and symbols representing his birth month and blessings for his future. “I hope you like it.” The girl watched Jonathan’s reaction anxiously.

Thankfully for the young lady, the count’s son appeared happy. “I do,” he reassured. Gently, he traced the embroidered handkerchief, fingers going over each stitching. He ended up putting it into his pocket, then took her hands into his own. “You thought about me when you made it. That means…a lot,” he told her.

In fact, Jonathan liked it so much that when they went into the small ballroom, he danced with Lady Dantès first, regardless of what his parents thought about it.

Meanwhile, Wulfric, who was more used to dancing with adults, asked Duchess Victoria for the first dance. She was very easy to charm, and though he didn’t enjoy the way she spoke down to him, he was used to that too. Adults always underestimated him. For the second dance, he asked Countess Bernard, who laughed when he did so, told him he was adorable, and accepted.

Even so, the countess urged him to dance with ‘someone his age’ next, so Wulfric picked Lady van Bergen. He didn’t like Suzanne, but she never figured it out. She was blushing so hard, Wulfric wondered if she’d overheat from it. When he was done with her, she skipped to the gossipers to brag about dancing with the prince. Wulfric looked around for someone else. Lady Mariel Tveit was with Florian already, so he sought out the next noble.

He spotted the tiny girl off in a corner again, her guardian Lord Dantès close by. Wulfric approached and bowed to her exactly how he’d been taught to do when asking a lady for a dance. “Would you care for a dance?” he asked politely, and offered her his hand.

Among all the reactions he anticipated, the sheer dread etched on the girl’s face was not one. This wasn’t the timid nervousness of a maiden about to dance with royalty. Her fear was raw, similar to the terror visible in prisoners moments before their execution or the despair of a certain servant. Lady Dantès stared at Wulfric like her worst nightmare came to life.

Desperate and wide-eyed, she looked for help from her guardian. When Wulfric followed her gaze, he met the warm, welcoming smile of the brunet. His eyes, almost black with hints of green in the right light, reminded Wulfric of the gentle demeanor of the horses Aiden tended to. With this lord, Wulfric didn’t feel belittled for his youth; he only looked down at Wulfric because of being taller, nothing more.

Lord Dantès turned his attention to Lady Dantès, saying, “It is up to you, sunshine.” His tone lacked the coercive edge the other adults used to push their children to interact with the prince, truly allowing her the freedom to decide.

The Dantèses exchanged a long, silent conversation with their eyes. Eventually, the girl steeled her resolve, and her deep brown gaze pierced Wulfric.

She executed a proper curtsy but stood rigidly as if bracing for a duel rather than a dance. “It would be my honor, Your Royal Highness,” she said, though her body language suggested otherwise.

“Alright,” Wulfric answered casually, though his smile had grown befuddled. He had no idea why the girl was so scared. Her guardian seemed to know, but Wulfric had never even met these people, hadn’t heard about them either. Who were they, to react like that? “If you’re sure.” He looked from the girl to the lord one more time. The lady, however, had clearly made up her mind, and accepted his hand.

He led her onto the dance floor, and started with a very simple waltz. He couldn’t help but think that she might run away if she grew too scared. However, she was also watching him defiantly, as if trying to challenge him despite her fear. It was weird, so he asked outright, “What are you afraid of so much?” She was moving very stiffly, which made it for an extremely awkward dance, though Wulfric did what he could to make it less so. If they were dancing, then it should at least be a decent dance.

The girl looked like she was about to deny it before simply admitting, “You.”

Wulfric hadn’t expected that admission. He tilted his head, studying her some more. “Why?” he asked simply.

Lady Dantès returned his scrutiny. “Do you care?”

Wulfric gave her a look. “Yes,” he said firmly. “Why else would I ask?” Maybe this girl was a bit slow.

“Promise you won’t get mad?”

He considered that for a moment. He didn’t think he would. The people who’d been afraid of him so far, he wasn’t mad at them, except if they wanted to hurt him. “I promise,” he said eventually.

“Or tell your parents?”

Wulfric sighed. Lady Dantès seemed to think this was some terribly important thing. “They wouldn’t care about what some random little girl thinks – or says. They’d just tell me not to pay it any mind either. But fine. I won’t tell them.”

Her eyebrows knitted together as she weighed the sincerity of his words. “You scare me,” she paused, biting her lip, then continued more boldly, “because you’re mean and fake. Just like your mother and father, and their parents.”

“What?” Wulfric burst out, immediately indignant. Then he remembered the promise, and sulked for a while. “What do you mean?” he followed up when he felt less upset. He was still pouting though.

Even though Wulfric was the wounded party, the girl had the gall to be upset by his outburst. A sense of mistrust permeated from her. He managed to rein in his anger, but he had somewhat violated his promise. She must be wondering if he was also a liar.

Lady Dantès leaned in closer, determined to catch any lies. “You look nice and you talk nice, but it’s not real, is it?” She regarded the others in the ballroom. “You think you’re better than all of this,” she challenged.

“You think it’s fake when you try to be nice? Should everyone be rude and insulting like you are?” He scowled down at her, frustrated. “You don’t know me, you don’t know my parents, and my grandparents are dead. You’re the liar.” She wanted honest? She’d get it. “Everyone thinks I’m better.” He looked around the room. “Maybe not Lars,” he snorted. “You’re like him,” he accused, narrowing his eyes at her. “You’re just some stupid girl, and you’re jealous because you want to be better.”

The girl stared at him, bemused. Then suddenly a smirk spread across her face, and she let out a small laugh. It took a moment for Wulfric to realize his defensiveness caused it. “If that’s what you really think, then you’re stupid,” she retorted.

“They don’t think ‘Wulfric’ is better than them. Nana said these kinds of people will kiss up to anyone they can use.” Images of the gift opening crossed his mind. “And they can use a ‘prince.’ You should learn how to tell the difference, Your Highness.”

“So what? They can use me, I can use them,” he shrugged. Regardless of what Lady Dantès thought, he was better at it than others. And he’d get better still. Besides, many, many people really did believe he was special. What did it matter if some were pretending? It’s just how it was.

The look she gave him could only be described as pity. “It means you’re replaceable, dumb-dumb.” Lady Dantès sighed. “Kind of sad that the only way you can be nice is by faking it…”

The way he was watching her now was as if he was studying a new lifeform. He’d been told about the idea of ‘the heir and the spare’ when Auguste was born - a bit before, actually. If he ever died before he could get to be king, then someone else was there to do it. That was so obvious he didn’t even bother saying anything about it. As for the other thing, it’s not as if the girl was kind either.

When she spoke again, she didn’t look scared or wasn’t laughing anymore. She was getting bolder by the second. “You like hurting people. Lars is a bully, but at least he didn’t do what you did yet.”

So this girl thought she knew something. He wondered how. Could she be guessing? “No, I don’t.” Well, maybe sometimes, he did. “What did I do?” he challenged.

His answer seemed to cement her opinion of him. “Hurt people so bad they’d rather die than live another second with you around.”

“Is that what ‘they’ told you, too?” he wondered. This must be why she made him promise not to tell. Whoever ‘they’ were, they must be an enemy.

“They are the people who work for you.” She tilted her head to the side. “They know what you did to that man… what you like doing to others. But they’re scared because they know how mean you can be… But here you are pretending to be Prince Charming.”

“Whatever. You’re just pretending to know something more. And you think you get to call other people liars,” he scoffed. It was good the song was ending, because he didn’t want to spend any more time with this girl if he could help it.

The tiny girl lifted her chin to look down at him. “Are you talking to a mirror? It sounds like you’re talking about yourself.”

As the music came to an end, she said, “I’m scared of you, because a mean prince will only be a mean king,” and left the dance floor without him.

TLDR for the flashback: Wulfric visits Javaria in Montague, attending Jonathan Bernard’s birthday party as the young lord celebrates reaching 8 years of age. One of the invitees is the mysterious Lady Dantès, a ward of the Lord Desmond Dantès. During the event, Wulfric dances with her once, but the two clash, as the 6-year old girl accuses him of being ‘mean’ and ‘fake’ despite also being clearly terrified of him.

[JJ Doe]

Riona & Wulfric Part 2

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TLDR for the flashback: Jonathan’s birthday party goes on, and the children end up playing football. Lacking a referee, the game devolves into a free-for-all brawl towards the end. As the adults are informed, the fight is broken up. However, Wulfric happens upon the parents arguing soon after. Then, Lord Desmond Dantès speaks to him. The prince is impressed, but unfortunately has to leave. On the way home he saw Lord Dantès holding hands with the castle’s royal gardener, Gardner Haywood. Lady Dantès was holding hands with two other adults he didn’t recognize.

Year 1720, Flora

There were other dances after that, but they all blurred together in Wulfric’s mind. As much as he didn’t want to, the anger and frustration at that Dantès girl wouldn’t leave him. Thankfully, after a few more songs, Jonathan suggested they should do something else. He brought out one of his gifts - a ball from Lord Dantès - and said the boys could go out to play football.

“Isn’t that a peasants’ game?” Wulfric asked the young lord. His tone was equal parts scandalized and enthused. The only reason he’d come to this birthday party was because he had heard other people brag how fun they were. And this would be a new, unknown game, so he was really excited to try it out.

“Er…we play it at school,” Jonathan replied, embarrassed. Immediately, Wulfric blurted out, “You go to school?” This was even stranger to him. “I thought all nobles were tutored…” He looked at Jonathan in wonder, but the boy was growing very uncomfortable. “How is it?”

“What, school?” the youngest Bernard asked, a tad grumpy. “It’s just school…it’s boring.” He looked down, turned the ball he was holding in his hands a few times, then peeked at the prince. “This is much better, I promise! Will you play with me?”

“Of course,” Wulfric confirmed, slightly confused. Weren’t they all going to play? “But you’ll have to tell me the rules,” he grinned dazzlingly.

“Oh…alright.” On the way out, Jonathan related the basics. There were teams, there was striking, scoring, and defending. There were some rules about what you couldn’t do, because it was considered barbaric. Wulfric found himself comparing the game to dueling, except football wasn’t one-on-one.

Outside of the Bernards’ estate, past the garden, there was a neatly trimmed lawn. There were white lines running here and there - this was called the field. There were two simple structures on each end of the field; the goals. There were wooden benches far to one side, and Suzanne, Margaret, and Jennifer immediately sat down, chatting to each other. Wulfric’s servants and guards stationed themselves at the stands as well.

Lars set himself as the leader of one team, while Wulfric let Jonathan handle theirs. After much bickering, cajoling, and a sprinkle of insults, it was five against four. Lars had Charlie, Tomás, Florian, and had reluctantly accepted Cora. With Jonathan were Wulfric, Juan, and Mariel.

“You can handle being one down, can’t you?” sneered Lars mockingly. “Unless you want to take that one,” he laughed loudly as he looked at Lady Dantès as if she were a cockroach he wanted to squash. The young girl had remained closer than the three who’d sat down. Wulfric glanced at the youngest lady skeptically. Surely, that small child wouldn’t decide to play. “Just don’t complain it was unfair when you lose,” Lars jeered with a smirk.

“You’ll see who’s the loser when we beat you!” Jonathan shouted.

“Come on, let’s make him regret picking a fight with us.” Wulfric beckoned Jonathan. It was time to start. “You should get out of the way,” Wulfric said to Lady Dantès dismissively. Jonathan made that discomfited frown again, and said softly, “I…I wouldn’t want you to get hurt…Um…” The boy didn’t seem to want to chase the girl away, but was also reluctant to let her stay that close. “It…could be dangerous,” he eventually settled on.

Lady Dantès and, for some reason, Mariel frowned slightly in response. The younger girl recovered first, while the older girl continued to be mildly upset by what had been said. “Thank you for caring. But I’ll be fine, Jonathan. I played before.” Lady Dantès regarded their team with a critical eye. “Who’s doing what?”

“Positions?” Mariel asked, and when the little girl nodded, she finally stopped frowning and turned to Jonathan. “Well?”

“Um…” Jonathan scratched at his cheek, suddenly shyly embarrassed at all the attention. “I-I’ve played different positions…But I’m good at passing. What about you?” he turned to Juan.

The tall, lanky boy shrugged. “If you’re midfield, I can strike.” Quizzically, he looked at Wulfric, who admitted, “I’ve never played in a team.” He had messed around with a ball on his own, and had seen a game or two from a distance, but that was it. There was an awkward silence, and some of the children exchanged concerned glances between each other.

“Your Highness…” Jonathan started carefully. “Could you…keep the goal for us?” Wulfric tilted his head at the boy, expecting an explanation. When the other youth gave it, the prince grew sulky. “What?” he exclaimed. “You just want me to stand around doing nothing?

“It’s not nothing,” Mariel growled and glowered.

“Can you or can’t you do it?” Dantès gave him a challenging stare.

Juan merely stood there, looking uncomfortable, while Jonathan raised his hands in a placating gesture. “Er…n-now, t-there…uhh.” His gaze wildly darted around, seeking a solution. “T-the other team’s all ready! We, uh, we…n-need to decide soon. Could you pleeease do us a favour here, Prince Wulfric?”

It was only because of Jonathan’s pleading, and because he could see Lars gloating from afar that Wulfric agreed. “Fine, but when I’m bored, I’m switching.”

With three positions settled on, the boys turned to the girls. Mariel punched into her own palm, a fierce expression on her face. “I’ll play defense. No one’s getting past me.” Four pairs of eyes landed on the last member. The small child, Dantès, ended up as their second midfielder.

When they were all ready, they got into their designated spots. Wulfric was at the goal, so all he had to do for a while was watch. The ball was placed in the middle of the field. Rather than a clear signal, the opposing teams had a haphazard count-down, then the children launched towards the center, competing on who would get the ball.

Tomás, who was an attacker - the same position as Juan - had that boundless energy driving him, so he made contact first. He was quick, aggressive, and unpredictable. A wildcard that could whirl by all opposition like a sudden tornado, but also a reckless, easily distractible player who often had the ball stolen from him. However, he had Charlie and Cora supporting him as midfielders, and those two were the stars of teamwork. Unlike anyone else, the pair was clearly used to playing together. They moved fluidly in sync, giving Tomás plenty of opportunities to work his magic. Surprisingly, Lars was the defender; from the back, he shouted out orders to his team. Most of the time, they listened to him - and when they got it right, their play was a work of art.

Honestly, their team was weaker, Wulfric could see that from where he was watching. Juan was a decent match against Tomás, but the twins were good at blindsiding him, and Lars was a formidable defender. Jonathan was experienced, and even Dantès held her own, but compared to the twins? Unexpectedly, Mariel was their saving grace; she limited the opponents’ options so much that Wulfric could predict and stop most of their attacks.

There’d been several times where bickering had ensued in the game so far. Tomás had knocked down Juan, Lars had tripped Jonathan, Dantès had kicked Lars, and Mariel had nearly stunned Charlie once by barrelling into him. For each of these events, the team whose player was affected had called foul, while the opposing team had either claimed it an accident or a valid strategy.

The last accident-adjacent event involved Juan and Tomás knocking heads - literally. Juan came out of it with a swollen eye. Wulfric took that opportunity to switch out with him.

“Can you still see out of that eye?” the prince asked the other boy. Juan just shrugged, and mumbled unconvincingly. Wulfric hummed. “Watch out for your blind spot,” he warned.

Because both sides had been injured (Tomás had a bloodied nose), both teams got one point, and a rest period. Wulfric beckoned the others closer. “Juan, you know what to do?” he confirmed. The tall boy nodded, though not without sending a dark glower at Tomás. The young royal glanced at Mariel. “Can you defend with him like you did with me? They’ll want to shoot to his right.”

Mariel blinked, surprised at the acknowledgement, then gave Juan a considering look. The boy scrunched his face, looked away, then back, expression still sour. Then, he nodded haltingly. “Don’t let them score,” Wulfric directed this to the messy-haired boy, giving him a long look. That seemed to work, as Juan’s eyes widened, and he nodded quickly several times in succession.

“Alright,” Wulfric smirked. “I have an idea…” he motioned them all closer. “So far, Jonathan has stuck to Charlie, and Dantès to Cora, right?” The other children nodded. “Well, how about this? Both of you, get on Charlie.” Some started to protest, but Wulfric spoke on. “Lars almost always passes to Charlie, and then he and Cora to each other. Even if he’s forced to give the ball to her, you should have seen those two don’t work together. We’ll cut down on what they can do like that,” he explained, and most seemed convinced.

“Mariel, you can cover Tomás. Cora will be free most of the time, but we should be able to handle that…I’ll deal with Lars. If I can’t score, I’ll pass to whoever’s closest.” He gazed at the two midfielders. “So, be ready for that.” He looked from one player to the other, waiting for each to give confirmation. “Let’s go!”

They got into action. Now, Wulfric was the one leading the charge.

Finally, he got to move! He was smiling, exhilarated as he ran across the field. It was like the wind was with him, even as it rushed against him. It ruffled his hair, filled his chest, and tickled his skin. Hot puffs of air escaped him. He was so fast! The ground was hard as ever, but he bounded up from it with energy. He was like an unstoppable gale now, and he felt great.

Getting a grasp of who was where was more difficult now, but Wulfric got a hang of it soon.

Then, he was on the ball, and Lars was going right at him. Wulfric grinned.

The two faced off, Lars stole it for a moment, the prince launched right back at it…

…Unexpectedly, he slid sideways onto the grass, but got the ball. He somehow managed to aim it to a free player-

-Dantès.

As Lars was trying not to trip over him, Wulfric pushed himself off of the floor. “GO!” He started to run again, just in case. However, the little girl scored, getting the score even. Wulfric laughed, still enthused at the unexpected move he’d done against Lars by accident. It was so awesome, though!

“What about that? You even got beat by a little girl,” the prince pitched in slyly.

Lars got as red as a lobster, and Wulfric was still chucking as he turned around to get back to the game. The boy was shouting something, but the royal just ignored him. One more goal, and they’d be in the lead.

However, before they could resume, another fight broke out. This one was different. It got loud and messy, quick. Wulfric stopped in his tracks, and glanced back towards the players to see what was going on.

He turned around just in time to see Dantès launch herself at Lars, tackling him to the ground. They rolled across the grass, a tangle of flailing limbs, as each tried to gain the upper hand. They punched and kicked at each other as they grappled, twisted, and wrestled on the ground. “Get off me, you rabid half-breed!”

“Take it back!”

“You can go straight to the hells with your pillow-biting lord and take your diseases with you!” Lars grabbed a fist full of Dantès’s hair and yanked it back hard, causing her to scream in pain. But she refused to relent, pulling on his hair in return.

“Get off her, you fucker,” Mariel growled, immediately joining the fight to back up Dantès. “H-hey now,” Charlie tried to help, but somehow got tangled up into it all when Mariel’s kick landed on him. With her brother involved, Cora was at least half-in, trying to pull Lars away at one point, arguing with him at another, and intermittently attempted to get Dantès and Mariel to back off.

After it became apparent that the fight wouldn’t stop any time soon, Florian tried to help, “Um, guys! Let’s not fight.” Jonathan had been too shocked to react, but this startled him. “I-I’m getting the parents.”

Yet, even as he ran off, Juan drew closer. “You fat snitch,” he said meanly, eyeing Florian with a glint in his eye. Whether in an attempt to help him, or because he was itching to fight with Juan, Tomás jumped into Florian's defense. Now, there was a whole group of children brawling wildly.

Wulfric watched, both surprised and fascinated. He had never seen such a…chaotic, violent melee.

Maybe this was why his parents weren’t keen to let him commingle with other children.

“S-say,” Florian shuffled closer. “C-can’t you stop them?”

“Hm?” Wulfric turned to the rotund boy. “Oh, yes. Sure.” He whistled, and the guards who had previously been stationed by the stands came closer. They didn’t seem happy about the fighting children, but had obviously not judged this to be dangerous to him - else they’d have stepped in already. “Can you break them apart?” It was an order more so than a question.

In the following minutes, his guards wrangled the children with the tenacity of a cowboy dealing with a herd of raging bulls.

With the situation safer and partly handled, the three girls approached as well. “Oh, isn’t this so terrible,” Suzanne said to him. Wulfric just nodded. Margaret and Jennifer chattered too, but Wulfric was only half-paying attention. These three girls were like Duchess Edwards; skulking vultures looking to have fun by gossipping about a ‘terrible’ situation.

Soon after the guards had become involved, some of the parents arrived, led by Jonathan. Wulfric turned to his nearest servant; a man who had come to fuss over him, cleaning the mud and dirt off of him. “It’s time to leave.”

As he made his way back to the building, Wulfric passed by the Dantès. The lord was kneeling, asking what had happened. At first, the girl was fuming as she recounted what happened, but as she got to the part where she launched at Lars, her expression crumbled and tears welled up in her eyes. “Then h-he… he,” she choked up. “He called you a…” It was obvious the insult hurt the girl more than her guardian, because instead of repeating whatever offensive remark Lars had made, she burst into tears. Lord Dantès enveloped her in a comforting embrace, gently stroking her head with his hand.

He was murmuring reassurances into her ear when his gaze met Wulfric's.

The prince observed them for a short moment. Pillow biter. That’s what he’d heard Lars say about Lord Dantès during the fight. Wulfric didn’t even know what the insult meant. Obviously, it was some awful, horrible, and upsetting thing. He could find out later, however. The boy looked away from the pair, and went on his way. He would have to say goodbye to some people. It was clear everyone else had decided to leave too.

While people prepared to depart, Wulfric overheard angry shouts coming from one of the rooms. He went to investigate and found Lars's mother screaming hysterically at Lord Dantès, surrounded by several other adults. It mirrored the earlier fight between the children, except now the adults had sequestered themselves away to argue. And just like before, it turned physical. Lady Blundell struck Lord Dantès so quickly and hard it sounded like a whip crack.

Everyone froze. The room went silent, like the quiet before the storm. Except no storm came. Lord Dantès calmly faced Lady Blundell and addressed her and the others in a measured tone. His restraint seemed to shame all the adults present. Eventually, the matter was resolved, and the group dispersed, leaving Lord Dantès alone.

As the last person exited, he turned and opened the door behind which Wulfric had been listening. “I apologize you had to witness that, Your Highness,” he said, kneeling to meet Wulfric’s eyes. His green gaze, so dark it bordered on black, bore deep inside Wulfric. “How are you feeling? I hope this doesn’t deter you from attending any future birthday parties…”

There was a slightly pouting frown on the young royal’s expression at being discovered. “It’s alright,” he said, and tried to look as composed as the lord speaking to him was. “I could have left,” he added. Wulfric openly studied the bright red imprint upon the man’s cheek. The lord didn’t seem to care a whit; hadn’t even seemed to notice, really. Is that what it meant to be a real, proper adult? If so, Wulfric wished he could become one soon. He wanted to be just as unaffected when faced with pain. Still, he gave the man a weird expression when Lord Dantès asked him how he was feeling. “...I’m fine.” At the next line, however, he smoothed out his expression. Because he was a child, and still unpracticed, it was obvious what he was doing. “It won’t.” His parents, on the other hand?

Lord Dantès nodded, as if he understood unspoken thoughts. “At least it was an eventful, if not a little enlightening day?” He smiled.

A fleeting smile appeared before Wulfric made it go away. The way the lord said it, it sounded like they were both in on a joke, or sharing a hidden message. Mock-serious, he nodded sagely. “Very eventful.” The mischievous grin that wanted to escape warmed his gaze with a playful mirth. “And enlightening.”

“I wanted to thank you for your intervention, Your Highness. People might’ve gotten seriously injured if you hadn’t.” The lord bowed his head.

The young prince blinked in surprise, mouth opening. He shut it before the lord could see. He hadn’t imagined anyone could have found anything positive about this situation. His parents - like everyone else’s - would be upset that it had come to a fight, and that he’d been ‘involved’. They might scold or punish the guards, and would surely not allow him ‘unsupervised’ social outings any time soon.

“You’re welcome,” he eventually settled on. It didn’t cross his mind to mention Florian. He was sure the sincere gratitude he’d received was the only good thing he would get out of the scandal. This was for him - just for him. At a prompt from a servant, he said, “I have to go.” He frowned, disappointed but unsure of the reason for it. The lord was like one of his nicer teachers. He’d been impressed by how the man had handled those other adults. But he didn’t know how to say any of that; hadn’t thought of it so concretely. Instead, he went with what he did know: “It was a pleasure meeting you, Lord Dantès.” It wasn’t just empty words he might have said hundreds of times; he meant it. Same with the following bow.

After exchanging their last words, Wulfric departed for home.

On the carriage ride back, he caught sight of the Dantèses again. They were walking along the sidewalk with unfamiliar faces - except for one. Gardner Haywood, the royal gardener, strolled hand-in-hand with Lord Dantès. Wulfric didn’t recognize the other two adults swinging Lady Dantès between them, holding one of her hands each. One wore glasses over his honey-colored eyes, his features bearing the distinct characteristics of Alidasht. He had a deep complexion and even darker hair. The other was a fair-skinned woman who had auburn hair and eyes darker than either Dantèses.

“Fake?” Wulfric mused half-absentmindedly as mostly forgotten memories had been partially reawakened, and now sluggishly gathered at the forefront of his mind. “I resent that,” he noted, though he sounded almost– tickled, if meriness could ever be ascribed to the crown prince. “However, yes. It is I, Prince Wulfric. What a…thoroughly unexpected surprise.” It was largely a pleasant one, he thought, even if he and the Lady Dantès had never got along the one time they’d met. Recalling her name had also reminded him of the - sadly - deceased Lord Desmond Dantès. Yet another man who had been too good to die so early, to have been slain so horrendously.

“Quite.” Riona said, her tone brazen though her heart thundered in her chest. “No wonder I found you so irritating.” Truth be told, half of her wanted nothing more than to turn on her heel and flee, putting as much distance between herself and the Heir Apparent as possible. Why in the hells was Prince Wulfric here? Did he recognize the maidservant she had become too? No. After all these years working in that castle, he never so much as spared her a glance (not that she gave him a chance to, either). So he couldn’t have. Then why now? With a gods damn mask on no less? Was it the expensive dress? “It’s… been a while.” No, it hasn’t. “What are you doing here being a creepy crow when you should be… socializing with your prospective wives?”

“An evocative costume, is it not?” he agreed. To demonstrate, he swept an arm to the side in a dramatic gesture, feathers rustling in a riotous swirl of black, chains rattling against each other. “Hmm, well,” he smirked as she questioned him on his prospects. Notably, Lady Dantès had rescinded her decision to depart. Was it nostalgia, or was she trying to find out something specific now that she knew who he was? “It would be in bad taste if, immediately after Shehzadi Mayet’s departure, I would begin pursuing her sister.”

So his sights were set on Shehzadi Nahir or Shehzadi Layla? Interesting. Either would make a very powerful alliance if it came to fruition. All the more reason to find the evidence as soon as possible and expose them.

… Or else there’d only be one thing left to do.

“Besides,” a hint of slyness crept into his tone, “who is to say I am not socializing with a prospective wife at this very moment?” He laughed at the absurdity of the idea, longer than was strictly polite. After a moment, he cut off with a sigh.

Her body reacted—feet stepping a few steps back, arms wrapping around her to shield herself from the Prince’s very presence—before the familiar triad flared hot and bright. Anger. Repulsion. Hate. They seared through her veins.

She pierced him with eyes flint cold while he laughed at a joke that only he found funny. “You’d gain little from such an arrangement,” she said, “I have nothing left for you to take from me.”

‘Nothing left for you to take’ was a peculiar manner of phrasing on the lady’s part. Her reaction, too, had been worrying. It gave him pause, frankly. It was a reflexive loathing on her part - but what had caused it, exactly? While he chose not to comment on it, he had certainly noticed. “And yourself? What have you been up to?” he asked eventually.

“Do you care?” she repeated the question little Lady Dantès asked years back.

“Yes.” It was a simple assurance, but truthful. He wanted to know the cause of her abhorrence, of her hatred. He had to know. If his family had been involved in any way - if his past suspicions were more than just that - he ought to know.

A handful of breaths slipped by before Riona finally shaped the words. “What have I been up to? For fourteen years, I’ve endured a waking nightmare. One where the man and woman who slaughtered my home go unchallenged, unpunished.” Her fingers knotted in the fabric of her dress. “Did you know there’s no record left of the town or House Dantès? They’ve erased it all. Redacted from history. Convenient, right? It’s only a matter of time before we’ll be forgotten altogether as if we never existed at all…” Her knuckles become pale against the orange color. “Those monsters grow fat on the spoils of their atrocities.” She hissed, “Just as you reap the rewards sown at the expense of others, False Prince.”

“I see…” Well, he did in part. “I have noticed the suspicious lack of records,” he affirmed. In fact, it was that which had led him to believe that something other than ‘a bandit attack’ had been at play. But how could he have confirmed, when the king and queen never acknowledged such inconsistencies? There were several other instances where a lack of evidence was the only evidence. “I remember,” he informed her. “If only the two of you.”

She rolled her eyes. Not enough to recognize her as a maid. “How much of that memory surfaced only because we bumped into each other?”

“A fair amount,” he acknowledged, tone even. But the memories he spoke of were not merely the result of this happenstance. Why did she think he’d noticed the erasure of her family from official records in the first place? “However, Lord Desmond Dantès is not the sort of man I would simply forget about.”

The way Lady Dantès spoke of her family members’ deaths, it was as if the Danroses had had something to gain by killing them. He had always thought his parents’ reasons to be preventative in nature; to eliminate danger - or rather, suspected danger, or political inconveniences, as the case may be. “Do you know what happened there, exactly?”

Revulsion clawed its way up her throat. “You want the details of how everyone was butchered? Gods…” Riona shook her head. “No, why am I surprised? You were always like this...”

Wulfric blinked at her slowly, once, twice. “No, of course not.” That had been certainly unusually careless phrasing on his part. “I meant, why were they killed?”

“Why? You should know better than anyone why those monsters do the things they do.”

She wasn’t far off the mark; he knew his parents well. And yet… “I do not see what we could have gained by killing your family.” He said ‘we’ rather than ‘they’; he wasn’t that naive. “Were they – what, determined to be dissidents?” he questioned, highly doubtful. Even if they had been, that would never merit slaughtering a whole town, like she’d implied had been done.

“‘Determined to be dissidents’?” she half spat, half scoffed, the sentence out. “Perhaps you don’t remember much of Lord Dantès as you claim.” Of everyone, he had fought hardest against any whisper of conflict with the Danroses.

The Lord accepted every insult, every cutting barb from the preening Caesonian aristocrats, believing this self-abasement would keep their town safe, preserve the peace across the country. The naive fool even dreamed that one day, their kind might exist without living in fear. How disastrously wrong he had been. He underestimated the bottomless greed of those monsters and what fear could do to them.

“Then what?” Wulfric bit out, finally showing some of his own frustration.

“I’m ‘just some stupid lying girl.’ You won’t believe a thing I say because it’ll tarnish your family’s reputation and shatter every illusion you’ve had of yourself.”

“Have I not demonstrated that I am inclined to believe, or at the very least, to listen to your assertions?” he pointed out. “I am not someone who would cling to illusions, no matter how fanciful or entrenched.” He knew very well that reputation was a construct of lies, hopeful beliefs, and the occasional sprinkle of truth to tie it all in.

Riona’s defensive posture relaxed slightly. “If you do care… swear to me.”

“Swear what?” He inquired a tad cautiously. “I can swear that I care, because I do not wish to mistake convenience for necessity.” The difference between the two was something he had been mulling over lately. But he had no idea what Lady Dantès actually wanted or expected. All that was clear was that she hated him.

“If you actually care, find out for yourself.” She straightened up and faced Prince Wulfric properly. “And when you do, swear to me you’d publicly reveal what your family has done in order to stay in power. Every last one.”

“Oh, I shall most certainly find out.” He shook his head though he did not immediately deny the second part of her request. “In order to stay in power…” he ruminated on her words. How much of it was ruling through fear, how much a force of habit? Did she mean any and all executed criminals as well? He could believe there had been unjust killings, but equally, he was convinced that some deaths were necessary.

However, seeking out and rectifying those which had not been necessary, those which had been unjust was agreeable. Yet, it was very much a matter of finesse in how such a thing was to be done. “Total transparency with the hope that it would bring about appropriate accountability?” He had to wonder what results she wished for. Given her hostility, vengeance was easily believable. Perhaps she plotted for his family’s downfall, or for another to take the Danroses’ place. “You have a surprisingly naive and optimistic outlook of humanity. We are prone to excusing the unforgivable, and to turning a blind eye to the unjust.”

There were two ‘worst case’ scenarios he could foresee coming from her request. One, the complete disintegration of trust in the government followed by years of unquenchable rebellions and violent social unrest. Two, he or other parties could present all that had been done as if it had been inevitable - as regrettable yet crucial sacrifices. If the latter happened, then nothing would change, or worse yet, ever greater atrocities could be committed.

Personally, he wished for neither of those; it was a matter of finding a third path, then. “Very well. You ought to keep in mind, however, that I shall do it on my own terms.” Even if it was doing ‘the right thing’, he would certainly do it in a manner that would benefit him, if not necessarily his parents. “Too, if I ever come across something too dangerous to reveal,” such as magic, “it will be my prerogative whether I do, in fact, reveal it. Believe it or not, there are truths the general public is not ready for – not at the present time, and perhaps, not until many years in the future.”

Riona stood motionless, catching every syllable, reading between each carefully crafted line. It was a roundabout way of saying things, but clearly the answer was no. Never, to be exact. Because in the end, all of Danroses’ crimes were exactly that, “too dangerous to reveal.” The truth was a threat to their reign. And a Danrose would never act against their own interests. Nothing would change. Not under this “Prince.”

When the abomination’s spawn finished mimicking human speech, there was silence. Strangely, the lack of a face made it easier to see the thing for what it really was. “Greed and fear,” she murmured.

“Good to know you intend to follow in your parents’ footsteps, Edin the Second.” She would’ve used a different name that suited it better, but she knew that its sire’s name would cut deepest. “They must be proud. How many of your own people will you kill to ‘maintain order’? Was tormenting that servant at age seven ‘for the greater good’ too? Ah! But of course!” She threw her hands up. Her words dripped with caustic sarcasm. “You’re protecting the people from the monstrosities that are yourselves. How very noble! … Too bad you’re doing a gods awful job at it.”

Her hands dropped to her sides. “Is that ‘the truth the general public is not ready for?’... Huh. I wonder why anyone would find any of that upsetting.”

Despite the anger, she was surprisingly composed. Maybe because the thing confirmed what she’d already known, strengthening her resolve. “We have nothing more to discuss. Thank you for reaffirming that talking to you is and always will be a colossal waste of time.”

Rather than turn on her heel, Riona stepped into the thing’s space, thrusting the stupid crow mask up high enough to meet its gaze directly. “I pray your reign shall never come. But if it must, may we be fortunate that it is mercifully brief.” Her eyes blazed with a hatred that could choke the breath out of anyone. She held that smoldering look a beat longer before shoving the mask back into place.
Even as she raged and stormed, however, he stood there still and silent, as unaffected as a cliffside weathering a tempest, as calm as the proverbial eye of a hurricane he happened to find himself in the middle of. Even as she ever so rudely removed his mask, he faced her unflinchingly, his lack of expression only reinforcing the impression of featureless, insensate stone. Their gazes met, and if hers was an inextinguishable wildfire, then his was as inexorably, hauntingly serene and inscrutable as an ocean whose surface was wrapped in heavily lingering mists.

“How unfortunate.” It was a flat, toneless utterance, as uncaring to her pain as the universe was to them all.

Brimming with all that barely contained wrath, overfilled with it to the point of bursting, Lady Dantès was incapable of nuance. She wanted an immediate resolution, she expected a clear-cut outcome. Her desire for justice – for vengeance - would not be satisfied until he and his family were all six feet under. Her volatile nature would not stop at mere prayers and wishes for his death, would it?

How unfortunate then, that the last Dantès would have to be slain at the hands of yet another Danrose.

Just or unjust, good or evil, fair or not – what did it matter in the face of pure survival?

He watched her leave without another word. If you must be an enemy, then so be it.

[princess]

Time:Day
Date:Sola 24th

Interaction: @Helo @Tae @ReusableSword @Rodiak @JJ Doe @Conscripts @Infinite Cosmos @Potter @Tpartywithzombi @samreaper @Silverpaw @Inertia @Potter @FunnyGuy @SausagePat @Lava Alckon @CitrusArms @PapaOso @Apex Sunburn @masterducky

Good morning! It's now 11am!
It's a little rainy and cloudy today, so you may want to keep an umbrella on hand.
However, no need to worry about the humidity as it is pleasantly warm in Sorian this morning.

Regarding any unfinished business for Sola 23rd, please be clear that you are writing in for the night prior still or mark it as a flashback.

NEWSPAPER FOR SOLA 24

Map of Sorian

[princess]

Welcome to the Morning Blossom Cafe

Music/Ambiance

Music:
Ambiance:

As you step into the Morning Blossom Cafe, you are greeted by the soft melodies of a piano. The clinking of fine china and the murmur of conversation reach your ears as you take in the view. Tables are draped in crisp white linen, their surfaces gleaming under the soft light of elegant overhead chandeliers. Sunlight pours through the grand arched windows, casting a golden hue over the guests. Each table is adorned with bouquets of fresh, fragrant blossoms, and the gentle smell wafts through the room. Above each table, lush floral arrangements burst with color—peonies, roses, and lilacs intermingle with sprigs of greenery, casting delicate scents that weave through the air. The chairs, with their carved wooden frames and plush seating, invite guests to sink into comfort.

Today, the cafe is abuzz with the excitement of the Courting Mixer. During the courting season, events are hosted by royal staff as ordered by the King and Queen. These events often revolve around mingling to give opportunities to young nobles of marriage age. The Morning Blossom Cafe is always chosen for an event each year, renown for its wonderful hospitality and serene atmosphere. Attendees who are on the list are invited to savor unlimited mimosas or bloody marys, complementing a brunch menu that promises culinary delights crafted with the freshest ingredients at 11:00 AM.

Welcome to a brunch experience where every moment is infused with possibility, and every encounter could bloom into something more.
The following specials will be available for this event only.

Morning Romance Breakfast Platter
Enjoy bacon-wrapped dates, miniature breakfast tacos, savory croissant sandwiches, Caprese skewers, deviled egg halves, savory breakfast sliders, and crispy potato hash bites all served on a platter to share between you and your date.

Chocolate Fondue French Toast
Thick slices of brioche French toast served alongside a bubbling pot of rich, velvety chocolate fondue. Surrounding the fondue pot are an assortment of fresh strawberries, bananas, marshmallows, and bite-sized pieces of pound cake for dipping.

Menu

Menu

Arranged Dates

_{As you walk in, a brunette woman in waitress attire greets you, introducing herself as Mingyu. She presents a basket of small pieces of paper to you with a smile. She seems very excited for you and carries an enthusiastic demeanor. Each paper has a number that will guide you to your table. And as tradition...Ladies are seated first!}

"Welcome to the Morning Blossom Cafe! My name is Mingyu and I am so pleased that you have decided to come here today. I will be your guide for the courting event. I hope you love the food and enjoy the chance to meet a wonderful new person! Please take a number from the basket. There will be a table with a big sign that matches your number! Please let me know if you have any questions or even if you simply need someone to talk to!"

Please open the hider with your character's name to find out who your date is.

Zarai

Table Number 5
@Rodiak
Zarai, as you take your seat, a gentle breeze flutters through the open windows of the Morning Blossom Cafe, carrying the sweet aroma of blooming flowers and freshly brewed coffee. Your gaze might be tempted to wander through the beauty of the cafe, but soon, your attention will be drawn to the figure approaching your table.

A man approaches whose presence is subtly captivating. The sunlight dances through the cafe's windows, casting a warm glow on his short, curly dark brown hair. His eyes, a deep and thoughtful dark brown like chocolate, carry a youthful spark that belies his age. His hair is neatly kept and his face is clean-shaven. You will be able to tell he is a well-groomed and very hygienic man. When it comes to clothes, his style is understated yet elegant, which only adds to his charm.

As he reaches the table, you will realize your date is Dr. John Williamson.

Roman

Table Number 3
@ReusableSword
Roman, as you weave through the soft symphony of murmuring voices and clinking china, your eyes are drawn to the woman seated gracefully at the table by the window. She is the embodiment of an autumn, her hair a cascade of burnished copper that tumbles like the leaves in a fall breeze.

She is a portrait of elegance bathed in the gentle golden light filtering through the café's panes. Her eyes, fringed with dark lashes, are a mesmerizing green, look like sparkling emeralds under the sun's rays. They hold your gaze with an inviting intensity. She holds an otherworldly beauty that is not seen all too often.

Roman, your date goes by the name of Olivia.

Thea

Table Number 4
@Tae

Thea, as you sit in the Morning Blossom Cafe, a figure catches your eye—a man whose very presence seems to command the subtlest shift in the room's atmosphere. He moves with a grace and elegance. With a masculine beauty like his, he could have stepped out of a storybook.

His stature is commanding yet not imposing, especially with a gentle face like his. His hair, long and wavy, falls just shy of his shoulders, a rich dark brown that seems to capture the ambient light filtering through the windows. His eyes, the color of autumn leaves, hold a depth that's both intelligent and mysterious. His face is a blend of classic features—a smooth, well-rounded countenance with a cleft chin and a prominent jawline while his thick eyebrows add a touch of intensity to his gaze.

As he reaches the table, you will realize your date is Lord Drake Edwards.

Ryn

Table Number 2
@JJ Doe
Ryn, you approach a table in the center of the cafe, but realize that you're not just approaching a woman, but the introduction to an adventurous story. There's a subtle yet unmistakable aura of strength that envelops her, yet the freckles that dot her pretty face bring a lovely feminity to her appearance. Standing at an impressive 5'10", her presence is as commanding as it is radiant. The color of her long wavy hair, reminiscent of moonlight, gives her an ethereal quality, as if she has stepped out of legend.

Her golden yellow eyes catch the light, shimmering like captured sunlight. Her age, a young but experienced 26 years, is reflected not only in her confident gaze but also in the graceful way she holds herself—aware, alert, yet completely at ease.

Ryn, it appears your date is Torvi Jorviksdottir.

John

Table Number 5
@Conscripts
John, as you stride towards your table, the Morning Blossom Cafe envelops you in its sweet splendor, the air perfumed with the scent of roses and the gentle hum of quiet conversation. You're greeted not only by elegant surroundings but an elegant young woman seated at the table you're approaching.

She is beautiful, her strawberry blonde curls tumbling over delicate shoulders, caressed by the same breeze that makes the nearby curtains dance. Her eyes, a striking shade of blue, remind one of the clear sky on a sunny day, full of light and depth. Though she may be a woman of small stature, she's nothing short of a graceful date.

As you reach the table, you will realize your date is Lady Zarai Lesdeman.

Ariella

Table Number 1
@Tpartywithzombi
Ariella, though the Morning Blossom Cafe might not rival the thrill of a day spent darting through the woods, the approach of the gorgeous man coming toward your table could potentially set your heart racing as if you were indeed weaving between the trees, your feet bare against the cool touch of the grass, darting through a sunbeam filtering through the leafy canopy.

His presence is both majestic and gentle, reminiscent of a willow tree. The man's hair, the color of ripened wheat under the summer sun, is arranged in an artful manner that complements the classic lines of his face. His green eyes are a reflection of the lush greens that ornament each table. This allure is undeniable, as if he had stepped out of tale from a book you read. And perhaps he has.

Perhaps out of a tale you two have yet to write together.

Ariella, the man approaching you is Sir Matthias Larsen.

Olivia

Table Number 3
@Potter
Olivia, as you lounge at the table, the calm is subtly broken by the approach of a man whose very stride speaks of strength and resolve. A towering figure enters her view, casting a silhouette that combines the essence of power with an undeniable human warmth.

His hair, brown and cropped short in a disciplined, military style, contrasts with the bronze tan of his skin—a testament to countless hours working beside the fiery breath of the forge. His eyes, a lovely shade of blue, cut through the distance between them. The strong lines of his face are framed by bushy eyebrows and a neatly trimmed beard that add to his rugged, yet thoughtful appearance. His are like a map of his hard work; rough, callused, and etched with the stories of his craft in the form of scars and burns.

Your date is Lord Roman Ravenwood.

Drake

Table Number 4
@Lava Alckon
Drake, as you approach table four, the ambiance of the cafe becomes a mere backdrop to the enchanting woman who awaits you. She seems to capture the very essence of spring, a blooming flower in a radiant garden. Her pale blonde hair cascades in long, wavy locks down to the small of her back, each strand catching the soft light that filters through the cafe windows. Upon closer glance, her eyes captivate you—the right, a warm honey brown offering comfort and earthiness; the left, a bright blue as striking as the first clear sky of winter.

A playful array of freckles dances across her nose and cheeks, lending her a girlish charm that is both endearing and refreshing.

Your date is Lady Thea Smithwood.

Torvi

Table Number 2
@Tae
Torvi, as you await, the ambiance of the cafe brings you some peace. The piano's soft serenade is enchanting and the aroma of coffee is a sweet caress to your nose. Sensing a shift in the air, your gaze is drawn to the entrance of a man with a fluid grace that contrasts sharply with the strength that his physique suggests. His height, a modest 5’6”, does nothing to diminish the energy he carries.

Your golden gaze lands on his eyes, a deep and endless black that seem to reflect a depth of experience beyond his 29 years. There's a youthful softness to his pale face, yet it belies an inner resilience, an echo of a battle fought in silence.

His hair, black and wavy, brushes against his cheekbones. It frames his face artfully. He's beautiful in the morning sun.

Torvi, this man is Count (Ryn)Fritz Hendrix.

Matthias

Table Number 1
@Rodiak
Matthias, the cafe's beauty enchants you the moment you walk in. With floral decorations and large open windows to bathe the patrons in natural light, it's a work of art. However, you could find yourself even more enchanted by the woman you walk toward whose beauty is artistic in its own right.

She's a petite woman with a fiery cascade of gorgeous red hair. It tumbles in waves down her back, vibrant under the morning light. It frames a face dotted with freckles that speak of many a day spent under the canopy's embrace, scars that remain as whispers of childhood adventures. Her violet eyes, rare and mesmerizing, stand out against her pale skin, radiating with a life and intensity that captivates many she meets. Her freckles, like constellations mapped across her skin, add a unique charm to her natural beauty.

Matthias, your date is Lady Ariella Edwards.

[princess]

Welcome to the Royal Worship Event at

The Primitus Church of Sorian!

We are honoring King Edin today.

Music/Ambiance

Music:
Ambiance:

As you enter the Sorian Church, you are immediately enveloped in a beautiful atmosphere of intricate architecture and the sound of an enchanting hymn. The light, filtered through the stained glass windows, casts a kaleidoscope of colors across the polished stone floor, leading your gaze to the ornately carved altar where candles flicker.

Rows of wooden pews are filled with guests, each one adorned with a single gold-leafed hymn book. At the heart of this space, a large poster of King Edin is hung today for the event to honor King Edin.

Caesonian people believe that their country is a holy country created by Zivitas. It was said that the Danrose family, the ruling family for generations, were hand-chosen by the gods themselves as the perfect souls to lead the kingdom. Each eldest son is born with the most perfect traits due to Zivitas' influence. The people of Caesonia looked up to the Danroses as the embodiment of perfection, and they were considered to be the closest thing to gods on earth. King Edin Danrose puts great effort into keeping this belief alive.

Today we are taking a moment to honor King Edin Danrose, who plans to grace us with his presence. Please join us in this sacred ceremony.

Following the worship service, guests are invited to continue the Grand Opening of The Royal Curd, a prestigious cheese restaurant concept requested King Edin himself. Here, attendees will have the opportunity to dine in the presence of their beloved ruler, who graciously offers to pay for the meals of all in attendance. Enjoy a sumptuous feast fit for royalty, as we give thanks for King Edin's benevolence and leadership.

The Royal Curd

The Royal Curd

Music/Ambiance

Music:
Ambiance:

The Royal Curd is an exclusive, expensive new restaurant in the fine dining district of Sorian. The inside of the restaurant is gilded in gold and most everything is either gold or yellow. Portraits of King Edin holding cheese take up the majority of the wall space. There is a grand hall with a fountain with yellow water and the bathrooms are rumored to be extensively spacious.

The Cheese Girls are the beautiful waitresses here hand-selected by King Edin.

Menu

The Menu

The Primitus Religion

The Caesonian Pantheon - The Primitus Religion

The Origins
The universe as we know began from one immensely powerful being. Perhaps it had always existed even before existence or perhaps it came to be in a way not yet known. The being looked a solid formation of a galactic pattern and had limbs to move itself about. It was a reflection of the surrounding space. Legend had it this being, in its loneliness, it created the stars, the planets, and later all the creatures that inhabit them. The stars twinkled from above the same way they did on its body. With the power to create as it so chose, the being occupied its time creating more and more planets and galaxies. As much as it had the ability to fill the physical void around it, it longed to fill the void within. So what if it made beings like him? The God decided to create more Gods, ones that could provide the company it longed for.

The lonely god began to mold and shape the universe, creating new gods with unique abilities and personalities. They were all different, but they were all united by their common creator, the lonely god. As the new gods discovered their powers, they began to question their creator, who they decided to call Primitus. The gods asked Primitus what their purpose was and he told them companionship initially, and the Gods seemed disappointed, so Primitus pondered another moment. Subsequently, he added that they were to help him create a perfect universe together, utilizing each of their unique gifts. Primitus became known as the God of Gods and Creation. Originally, only nine gods accompanied Primitus:

The Original Nine:
God of Victory and Luck - Triumpheus
God of Water and Currents Aquena
God of Law and Order - Imperis
God of Love and Harvests - Amora
God of Pride and Inferno - Glorius
God of Storms and the Sky- Tempestes
God of Hunting and Forest - Vena
God of Metal and Forging- Duedon
God of Light and Life - Zivitas

As the new gods settled into their roles and explored their abilities, they began to develop distinct personalities and ideologies. They each had their own vision for how the universe should be governed, and they weren't always in agreement. At first, their disagreements were minor and easily resolved, but as time went on, they grew increasingly contentious. For example, Glorius, who believed in feeling superior to others, clashed with Imperis who championed diplomacy and compromise. The lonely god, who had created them all, watched as his creations argued and fought. He knew that their disagreements were only natural, but he also knew that if left unchecked, they could lead to chaos and destruction.

To avoid this, the lonely god decided to establish a council of the gods, where each god would have a say in the decisions that affected the universe. They also established a code of conduct to ensure that their disagreements would be handled peacefully and respectfully. They then relocated to a realm that was separate from the physical world. This realm is often referred to as the "heavens" or the "cosmos" and is where the gods reside, watch over and govern the universe. It is often depicted as a beautiful, ethereal place that is beyond the reach of mortal beings where the Gods reside in a beautiful huge temple and experience infinite sunlight.

One day, Primitus realized that darker Gods with different specializations to have a truly balanced universe. Creatures that were created needed to have an end or the world would overpopulate. If people had no hate or sickness, then they could not know love nor health. More importantly, they needed Gods to watch over the negative aspects of reality that the other ones would not. Thus, five more Gods were created.

God of Deceit and Greed - Avēre
God of Plagues and Decay - Sapreon
God Calamity and Chaos - Claedo
God Of Beasts and Hate - Fereo
God of Death and Darkness - Obitius

These gods were different from the others. Avēre had a strong desire for control. He believed that only one god should rule the universe and that god should be him. He began to spread his ideology among the other gods, trying to convince them to join him in his quest for power. Fereo and Glorius were easy to sway, while Claedo did his best to keep Gods on both sides angry with each other in the pursuit of war. At first, the other gods were resistant to his ideas, but as he continued to gain followers, the council became divided. Some gods were tempted by the new god's promises of power and control, while others remained loyal to the council and the principles of balance and harmony.

The division among the gods soon escalated into open conflict. The gods who supported Avēre formed an alliance and declared war on the council and the other gods who refused to join them. The universe was plunged into chaos as the gods fought each other. The Great War of Gods was said to last many, many years and they even dared to leave the heavens, meaning planets and creatures were destroyed during the chaos, hence why Eromora is the only planet habited by life in the galaxy.

Primitus watched in horror as his creations destroyed each other and the universe he had created. He knew that he had to intervene to stop the war and restore balance to the universe. He appeared before the fighting gods and spoke to them, reminding them of their purpose and the importance of balance. He urged them to put aside their differences and work together to restore harmony to the universe. He also reminded them that the universe was not just theirs, it was also the home of many other creatures and their well-being was also at stake.

None of the Gods listened except for Zivitas while others like Imperius and Amora had never been involved in the first place. Zivitas was the first God Primitus ever made and he was the only one bestowed with the ability to create life. He had been devastated deeply by the war and made a plea to the Gods who wanted to fight to cease. But Claedo did not want the war to end and had a counterargument manipulative enough to start some of the fighting back up. At that moment, powerful incoming blasts came from all sides and Primitus knew it might kill some of his precious children, so he threw himself in the middle and took all the hits, destroying himself in the process as his body was consumed by the bright light.

The war finally ended. Even Claedo had not wanted to see his creator die. It was the God's sacrifice that brought them back together as they realized the depth of his love. Additionally, the overwhelming feeling of remorse and grief made continuing the fight impossible. Zivitas had been told a final message before Primitus's death in gratitude for his consistent kindness. He let the Gods know that Primitus was not sad to die as he knew that he would never be lonely knowing all of them would remember him forever and that Zivitas would take on a leading role from now on.

The God of Love and Light, Zivitas, who had always advocated for unity and cooperation among the gods, was entrusted as the new leader by the remaining gods. He vowed to honor the memory of the lonely god and never let war tear their council apart again. However, it was clear now that nothing could make some of the Gods fit in. The following Gods agreed to be sent to a different realm where they could do things their way and all of the Gods were able to move forward without animosity.

God of Deceit and Greed - Avēre
God of Plagues and Decay - Sapreon
God Calamity and Chaos - Claedo
God Of Beasts and Hate - Fereo
God of Death and Darkness - Obitius
God of Pride and Inferno - Glorius

Any other Gods that were created going forward and could not adhere to the code would be sent to this dark realm. This realm is referred to as the "underworld," "hell," and sometimes as "Obitus's realm." Any souls tainted and showing signs of evil Obitius agreed to take to his realm while Zivitas would take souls of good to the heavens, utilizing winged-humanoid beings called angels to help carry souls to and fro. With the council restored, the gods worked together to repair the damage they had caused, and the universe was once again at peace.

Unbeknownst to all but Zivitas, the energy of the lonely god Primitus remained despite not existing as it once did. Primitus felt no need to regenerate. It was content that his creations had learned the importance of cooperation, balance and empathy for others.

Additionally, some believe that there are many, many Gods as this point as the original Gods were able to reproduce with each other. The beliefs of these Gods vary.

The Connection to the Danroses
Caesonian people believe that their country is a holy country created by Zivitas. It was said that the Danrose family, the ruling family for generations, were hand-chosen by the gods themselves as the perfect souls to lead the kingdom. Each eldest son is born with the most perfect traits due to Zivita's influence. The people of Caesonia looked up to the Danroses as the embodiment of perfection, and they were considered to be the closest thing to gods on earth. King Edin Danrose puts great effort into keeping this belief alive.

Principles of the Heavens
The Principles of the Heavens prescribe a code of conduct for the inhabitants of the world. These principles include:

Loving one's neighbor as oneself
Caring for the natural environment
Protecting the purity of the oceans and lakes
Living a life that brings honor to both the Gods and one's family
Adhering to the laws of the King to maintain order in the world
Giving thanks to Tempestes for providing rainfall to nourish crops
Seeking the blessings of Vena when taking the life of an animal during a hunt
Emulating the hard work of Duedon to attain rewards of equal magnitude
Paying homage to Zivitas for the light that the sun bestows upon all.
Principles of the Hells
There are also principles from the Gods of the hells, ruled by Obitus. It is expected that though those under Primitus understand the need for balance and acknowledge of the good and evil within us, it is expected that Primitus followers avoid these rules in order to live in the Heavens, otherwise you will be taken to the Hells by the angels upon death.

Practice the art of deception and manipulation, as your own interests and happiness should come first.
Embrace self-interest: Your life is a gift, and you have the right to do whatever it takes to live it to the fullest, without concern for others
Reject Consequence: The world is unpredictable and uncertain, and you owe nothing to anyone. Consequence is a weakness, and those who embrace it are doomed to suffer.
Embrace Violence: Use your superior strength and power to defend yourself and dominate the weak. There is nothing inherently wrong with violence.
Welcome Death: Embrace the mystery and darkness of death, and revel in the unknown. The end of life is a natural part of existence, and should be accepted and celebrated.
Embrace Pride: Be proud of yourself and your actions, no matter what anyone else thinks or says. If you are living life on your own terms, then that is all that matters.
Embrace Negative Emotions: Feel free to hate, be angry, or experience any other negative emotions that come naturally. Emotions are a natural part of life and should be embraced, not repressed.

[Helo]

Lord Leo Smithwood

Time: Morning
Location: Sorian Palace: Guest House
Interactions:

Flashback; Sola 23, Evening following the Damien ball

Leo, having received no help from the guards, set out to track down the possible watch thief himself. He exited the Damien estate and desperately glanced around looking for any trace of the dark blue-gowned woman who might just have his pocket watch. Just as he was beginning to think too much time had passed, and his only suspect had made a clean escape, he thought he saw a flash of blue toward Sorian’s Park. It was his only lead, even if it was a farfetched chance.

The lion-masked nobleman took off in a sprint toward the park, eyes wide and desperately searching for his suspect. Soon his pace began to slow, a brisk jog, as the dimly lit path through the park was illuminated only by the moon above. Would a thief even be on a path? Perhaps hiding about in the bushes? He wondered. Then he saw it, a glint of moonlight reflecting off what was unmistakably his pocket watch. It dangled, just out of reach, not from a woman in a blue dress but one in orange. The very same orange-clad woman he’d spoken to at the ball!

“Halt!” He shouted, before immediately quickening his pace. It was then that his cursed luck struck again, the unhinged fit of laughter he fought to suppress began to bubble out. It choked back his words as he tried to speak, You stole my watch! You wretched liar!, but all that roared forth, in a mist of manic laughter was “Liar!” As he ran, so did the thief, a brief chase through the park until finally, the thief was just within his grasp.

Return my watch! The stern order he intended to give was drowned out by continued laughter, all he could choke out as his hand grabbed the thief’s shoulder was, “Watch!” And then a swift knee collided with the jewels of the future Duke. The brief loss of air from the unexpected blow cured the laughter but he quickly crumpled to the ground from the shock of it. He let out a long string of profanities as the orange-clad thief made her escape, taking his prized pocket watch with her.

The night had been a dreadful and sleepless affair. His stolen pocket watch and the thief, a person he’d spoken with, who he’d taken at their word simply due to her proximity to Nahir at the time, replayed in his mind. He fixated on every word of their conversation, noting every strange thing the woman had said, how she’d seem to have been trying to goad a reaction out of him the whole time. He wondered if Nahir was also in it and then immediately felt guilt for suspecting royalty of such a petty act. His thoughts were occasionally interrupted by giggle fits that began to wane in frequency. As the sun began to break he noticed his voice had finally returned to normal. At least the strange illness had gone.

Leo had decided to start his day off early, sending one of his own servants out to fetch shoes the moment the shops opened and headed off to wash yesterday’s troubles away with a nice bath. He lounged in the tub of hot water until it grew cold, reminding himself that everything involving his voice was back to normal, his shoe situation would soon be fixed, and that he would find that watch even if he had to tear Caesonia apart brick by brick himself. It was a new day, yesterday’s problems were in the past. He breathed easier.

But as he exited the tub he noted a new disturbance. He looked at his hands, his arms, then he checked the mirror. He stood there frozen in a state of shock. What the fuck?

His skin, his hair, all of him was now hot pink. Several baths later he finally realized this was not washing off. In fact, the incessant scrubbing seemed to have only made it brighter.

And he was supposed to go to King Edin’s Royal Worship today! While sporting the plumage of a flamingo? It has to be the water here. He convinced himself, hoping that he was not the only one who’d soaked in water that was clearly contaminated with something. He dawned a robe and returned to his room, avoiding looking to see if anyone noticed the flamingo man walking through the halls. He continued pacing around his room, repeatedly checking the mirror there and noting that he was in fact, still very, very pink.

He wondered if he should seek out a doctor, what if whatever was in the water was toxic? Eventually, he decided against that, mostly because he hated seeing doctors and did not want to miss the grand opening of The Royal Curd. So he got dressed, several times, trying to find something that didn’t clash with his new shading. It was a fruitless effort, no matter what he put on he was still ridiculously pink. Leo left his room in a gray linen suit and headed to church. Almost fitting to look this ridiculous while attending an event that he guessed would be equally ridiculous.

Daily Misfortune: Leo's hair and skin are now hot pink. Seriously, what's in Sorian's water???

pink Leo

[Tae]

Farim & Thea

---

Night of Sola 23rd…

In the dimly lit chamber, Thea paced restlessly, the minutes dragging like weights upon her shoulders. For days, she had found solace within the confines of Anastasia's sanctuary, but now, boredom gnawed at her insides like a relentless beast. She had tried on dresses, sampled the remnants of Anastasia's feast that her friend had left for her, but the walls of solitude pressed in upon her, suffocating her with their silent vigil.

As midnight loomed on the horizon, a soft shuffling outside the door drew Thea's attention, her heart quickening with anticipation. Could it be Anastasia returning from the ritual at last? With practiced ease, she slipped behind the tapestry by the fireplace, a habitual gesture born of caution in the face of uncertainty.

But when the door swung open to reveal a towering figure carrying an unconscious Anastasia, fear gripped Thea's heart like icy talons. Panic surged through her veins, her mind racing with wild thoughts of danger and betrayal. Without hesitation, she seized a nearby little shovel used for cleaning out the fireplace, her hands trembling with adrenaline-fueled urgency.

With a silent prayer on her lips, Thea struck the intruder with a swift, decisive blow, the sound of impact echoing in the stillness of the chamber. The man crumpled to the ground, still clutching Anastasia in his arms, and Thea's heart plummeted as she recognized his face— one of the Alidashti princes.

A wave of self-recrimination washed over her as she frantically scanned the room, her mind reeling with the consequences of her impulsive actions. How could she have been so careless, so reckless? “Stupid, stupid, STUPID!” She cursed herself for her folly, for allowing fear to cloud her judgment in the heat of the moment. “You’re such an idiot, Thea! Why can’t you think before you act?!”

But there was no time for regrets, no room for hesitation. With trembling hands, Thea knelt beside the fallen prince, her fingers tentatively probing for signs of injury. She winced as she felt a tender bump on his head, her heart heavy with guilt for the harm she had inflicted.

Gently, she reached out and gave him a tentative poke, her breath catching in her throat as she waited for a response. When he remained unresponsive, panic surged anew within her, driving her to shake him with increasing desperation.

"Come on, wake up," she murmured, her voice trembling with urgency and tears began to form in her eyes. "Please, you have to wake up."

Farim’s vision was a blur. All in one moment he went from relief, to blacking out, and then immediately into a panicked mess as he jerked his head up. He had luckily landed so that his arms took the impact, bracing Anastasia from receiving another head bump. Farim lifted his head from the princess’ mid-section, a fate he would normally bless himself for having. But right now he quickly shifted his arms out from under her and turned to match his assailant.

”Abn aleahira! (Son of a bitch!) Explain yourself! Now!” His voice was stern, and he shot up quickly, despite the general dizzying sensation from getting smacked on the back of his head. He stared down at Thea with a building intensity that suggested he was ready to fight tooth and nail in that very moment.

Thea's heart raced in her chest as Farim's stern voice pierced the air, his gaze ablaze with righteous fury. Tears welled in her eyes, a sob escaping her lips as she met his gaze with a mixture of fear and relief that he was okay. A brief, sickening memory flashed in her mind of when she did something similar to someone else and her stomach lurched. But Farim seemed to be alright and she latched onto that fact, forcing the memories out.

"I-I'm so sorry," she stammered, her voice choked with emotion. "I didn't mean to... I thought... I thought you were... I thought you meant harm to Annie."

Her words tumbled out in a rush, a torrent of apologies and explanations as she struggled to make sense of the chaos that had unfolded as she sat there crumpled on her knees and wiping at her tears. The sight of someone carrying Anastasia's unconscious form had filled her with primal fear.

"It scared me," she admitted, her voice trembling with vulnerability. "I didn't know what to do, and... and I acted without thinking. I'm so stupid! Please, I beg your forgiveness. I'll do anything to make it right, anything at all."

Tears streamed down her cheeks unchecked as she pleaded for forgiveness, her heart heavy with the weight of her actions. She briefly thought of dear Charlotte in a similar situation in front of the Alidashti royalty, then the newspaper claiming her to be throwing herself at them as a whore. Perhaps she should do the same. Her arms nervously wrapped around herself as she stared at the ground. “I-I’ll even serve you, i-if you so desire. You can u-use me as you please.” She felt so small and her offer had panic threatening to grip her, but she swallowed her fears and held firm to her offer.

Farim’s eyes softened as the reality came forth. This was no assassin or cold-blooded killer. Her body language and sheer panic seemed to be genuine, and Farim spoke once more calmly to the woman, but still held a hint of frustration in his tone. ”Look no one will be doing any serving! I am not that kind of Shehzade.” He sighed and rubbed the back of his head, feeling the bump that already formed from the blow. ”By the gods, any harder and I would have been far worse off. But who even are you?! And why are you hiding in this woman’s room?!

He knew he technically should not be there. If any of Anastasia’s family caught him he would likely be in some trouble. But he still needed to know why someone who was not a Danrose was hiding in his friends room. ”Look, I have had a long day. So please just tell me what is going on and we can perhaps come to an understanding. I do not wish to cause anymore trouble today either.”

Thea flinched at the reminder of the potential severity of her actions, a flash of memory searing through her mind like a bolt of lightning. The image of a bloodied skull flashed before her eyes, a stark reminder of the consequences of her impulsive behavior in the past. She shuddered, pushing the memory aside with a shaky breath as she focused on Farim's questions.

"I-I'm Lady Thea Smithwood," she began, her voice trembling slightly as she struggled to maintain her composure. "Daughter of the Duchess of Stravy and sister to Lord Leo Smithwood, future Duke of Stravy."

She paused, her breath catching in her throat as she recounted the events that had led her to seek refuge in Anastasia's chambers.

"Annie is my best friend," she continued, her voice growing steadier with each word. "She offered me sanctuary when my mother deemed me a disgrace and too much of a risk to stay for the courting season. She ordered me to go home, but I couldn't... I couldn't bear to face the scrutiny and judgment of my family any longer."

A wave of nausea washed over her, threatening to overwhelm her senses, but she fought to keep it at bay. With a determined breath, she met Farim's gaze with a newfound resolve.

"Annie has been helping me stay hidden, away from my family's prying eyes," she explained, her voice tinged with gratitude and affection. "They currently think I'm on my way back home. Annie's the only one who understands, the only one who sees beyond the facade of propriety to the person I truly am."

She paused, her gaze flickering with uncertainty as she awaited Farim's response, hoping against hope that he would understand her plight and offer her the mercy she so desperately sought.

Farim listened intently as she explained herself. He turned towards Anastasia and leaned down to lift her up. After placing her on the bed, Farim placed both hands on hips and shook his head as he sighed. ”That certainly sounds like her. She is a kind woman.” He could not help himself and gently caressed her arm before finally turning around to Thea.

He looked at her up and down, and examined the expressions she had while sharing her story. ”You have earned my trust for now. Family troubles are plenty with people like us - so you have my sympathies. But surely you cannot plan to just live in her chambers forever? What if someone else found you?”

He held his hand up and stopped himself from going on another judgemental rant. ”Just…do not hit me on the head if I visit. And try not to share that I have been to her room - especially tonight given her state. I shall not share any tale of your presence here - so long as you do the same for me. Deal?” He held his hand out in the form of a handshake.

Thea watched with a mix of emotions as Farim gently placed Anastasia on the bed, a twinge of jealousy flickering within her as he tenderly caressed her arm. Suppressing the pang of envy, she focused on Farim as he turned back to her, his gaze scrutinizing her every expression.

As he spoke, Thea nodded in understanding, her heart heavy with the weight of his words. "You have my sympathies too," she replied softly, her voice tinged with gratitude for his understanding. "And you're right, I can't hide forever. I plan to reveal myself soon and take control of my own life, even if it means being disowned by my family."

With a determined breath, she pulled herself up from the ground, a small laugh escaping her lips as she met Farim's gaze with a newfound resolve. "I suppose I would have no right to rat you out, considering my own clandestine activities," she admitted, a wry smile playing at the corners of her lips. “And I promise not to hit you over the head again if you come to visit unless you ask nicely.” She said with a playful wink.

Reaching out, she clasped Farim's hand in agreement to his deal, sealing their pact with a silent handshake. Then, moving to sit beside Anastasia on the bed, she cast a worried glance at her friend's unconscious form.

"I promise to take care of Annie," she vowed, her voice filled with sincerity. "But... what happened? Why did you find her like this?”

Farim pointed his index finger upwards and gave an approving wag of his finger. ”Toxic family is not worth being so worried over. Everyone shall judge. I simply choose to tune them out.” He then raised his eyebrows at the notion of “asking someone nicely” to hit their head - but he let out a brief exhale in amusement and addressed her primary concern.

”Not sure. I was dealing with something dangerous, told her to stay safe, and naturally she did anything but. I can tell she was knocked out either by tripping and hitting her head or being struck hard. I have my suspicions, but I can hardly use it as proof.” Farim crossed his arms. ”It would seem Dr. John and his compatriot were nearby when this all happened. I do not liken the man to assaulting women but I know nothing of his friend. But if you see either of them approach her - keep a close eye.”

Thea's brows furrowed in concern as Farim mentioned the possibility of Dr. John's involvement, her mind racing with anxious thoughts. The idea that John or his companion could have been responsible for Anastasia's condition sent a shiver of dread down her spine, but she forced herself to remain composed as Farim continued speaking.

"That's... concerning," she admitted, her voice tinged with apprehension. "I've known John for a long time and I can't imagine him harming Annie. But his companion... that's another story entirely as I don't know them. If they were nearby when this happened, it's certainly worth keeping an eye on them."

She nodded in agreement as Farim instructed her to keep watch over Anastasia, her resolve hardening with each passing moment. "I'll make sure she's safe," she vowed, her voice firm with determination as she brushed a lock of hair out of Anastasia's face.

Then, a thought occurred to her, and she turned to Farim with a suggestion. "Why don't you have Dr. John take a look at your head in the morning?" she offered, her tone softening with concern. "I know he may not be your favorite person right now, but he's treated me for head injuries before, so he knows what he's doing. I'm quite clumsy, you see.” She said with a small laugh, but there was clearly more hidden behind her words. Something dark was hidden behind her eyes, there was a secret there that she was keeping pertaining to that statement. “Tell him I was the cause as well, he'll understand. It's the least I can do after... well, you know.” She said as she quickly looked away, once again trying to shut off her memories. What she would do for a drink right now.

The man looked at Thea with a slightly calculating glance. He took in her mannerisms and speech patterns with a grain of salt - he had only just met this woman but he could not help but feel like there was more than meets the eye to her. He rubbed his head once more and gave a slight shrug. ”I should be fine, truthfully. If it gets worse I shall contact a doctor soon. But I may have to talk to the doctor either way at some point. For now I just want to get some sleep and get ready for tomorrow.” The fatigue was clear on his eyes, and he was feeling his body sag slightly at the thought of a nice and comfortable bed.

”I would rather not leave her like this, but I also feel that I may be overstaying my welcome if I were to commit to staying the night.” Farim took a second to correct his posture and locked eyes with Thea. ”I suppose for now I shall head home, unless you have any better ideas or concerns yourself?” Farim felt conflicted. He wondered if it was smart to leave a vulnerable and defenseless Anastasia with some woman he had never met who bludgeoned him on sight. For all he knew she could just be waiting for Farim to leave and then make her actual move of taking out the Princess. But what he said was true - if word spread of some random foreigner spending the night in her room during the first week of the courting season, his whole country might get some backlash from the King and Queen of Caessonia. He simply waited to hear her thoughts, wondering if how Thea might respond to the notion of him leaving.

Thea met Farim's gaze with a reassuring smile, her eyes earnest as she addressed his concerns. "Go," she said gently, her voice soft but resolute. "If I wished to harm her then I would have done so while you were unconscious and pinned it on you, Shehzade. Annie will be safe, I swear it on my life. I'll make sure she finds you in the morning."

She could see the fatigue weighing heavily on Farim, the weariness etched into the lines of his face. The thought of a warm bed and much-needed rest was written plainly in his eyes, and Thea couldn't blame him for wanting to seek refuge in the comforts of home. She could feel her own fatigue settling in and she was also beginning to wish for rest.

She made a strong point - he was vulnerable for quite some time, and she had ample time to hurt either of them while he had backed out. So he decided to take his leave. He once more looked longfully at the Princess, and then turned to Thea. ”Well, despite the initial….rough introduction. It is a pleasure to meet one of her friends. Perhaps we can meet in better conditions another time.”

Farim turned to leave, but a moment of hesitation stopped him as he thought about the story she shared - of shedding familial burden. ”And I hope you can find your real family. One that will not shun you for who you are. Goodnight to you, and tell Annie I said the same. The Shehzade opened the door and sauntered out of the room, leaving the two woman alone in that room.

Thea watched as Farim took his leave, a sense of relief washing over her as the tension in the room eased. Despite their rocky introduction, she couldn't help but feel a twinge of gratitude towards the man for his understanding and compassion.

"Thank you," she called after him, her voice tinged with sincerity. "And goodnight to you too."

As the door closed behind him, Thea was left alone with her thoughts, the weight of Farim's parting words lingering in the air. The notion of finding a real family, one that accepted her for who she was, struck a chord deep within her soul. For so long, she had been taught that blood and lineage were paramount, but now, for the first time, she dared to entertain the possibility of a different path. What would Leo think if she pursued this path? Would she become a disappointment to him as well?

With a heavy sigh, she rose from her seat and crossed the room, her movements deliberate as she sought out one of Annie's nightgowns. Carefully, she changed her friend into it, tucking her in with gentle hands before attending to her own preparations for bed.

As she lay down beside Anastasia, the soft embrace of sleep beckoning her into its comforting embrace, Thea couldn't help but wonder what the future held. Perhaps, just perhaps, there was another way—a path illuminated by the promise of acceptance, understanding, and love. Love, something she believed she didn't deserve, but was now something she was realizing she desperately craved. Could someone truly love her? Could she actually pursue finding that for herself? It was a beautiful thought. And as she drifted off to sleep, she allowed herself to dream of a world where she could truly belong.

[ReusableSword]

Time: before noon
Location: the Morning Blossom Cafe
Interactions: Olivia @Potter
Mentions in order: Dr. John @Conscripts
outfit: white long sleeve shirt with dark green vest, silver pocket watch, brown comfortable pants, leather boots. right arm in a white sling, dark brown leather duster and wide brim black hat for wet weather.

---

---

The night before,

Erik and the Ravenwood entourage, with the assistance of Dr.’s John and Fredrick, were successful in getting roman and the rest of the party members heading back to the city safely. Through their care the Dr.’s was able to determine the extent of Romans injuries which included a dislocated right shoulder, several bruised or cracked ribs, and several bruises covering his body. Roman slept through all of it.

---

The next day,

Morning came early and with significantly more pain than he was used to for the Ravenwood lord. He tried to adjust, tried to move but only found pain and resistance, soon coming to the realization that he had several bandages that wrapped his right shoulder. Roman rested back down on the bed trying to remember the night before, a splitting headache was all he got in return.

“So, your awake.” A gruff voice spoke near the bed in the native language of the northern people. Erik was diligently working on several correspondences by the light coming through a high window. He took his time to complete the document he was working on setting the pin down and walking over to his friend. “I did tell you that rushing that ceremony was a bad idea. We could have been more prepared for it.” Erik took a deep breath and leaned up against a near by wooden beam, “do you remember what happened?”

The last thing Roman wanted was to be scolded but if Erik was doing it then it was for a good reason. “The last thing I remember is setting the circle with Astri. Everything else is strange.” He replied in kind in their native tongue. The look Erik gave him told him to elaborate, with a casual roll of his eyes Roman continued, “I remember the battlefield, the villagers... him… and my grandfather. Who basically said that I need to stop acting like a child and take things seriously.”

Roman started to sit up with the help of his friend slowly and steadily, “I agree with him you haven’t been taking this seriously, playing too much into this big oaf role. You do have to find a wife at some point here at the very least to keep up appearances.” Erik walked away for a moment and came back with some light pain killers and a glass of water, handing it off to the bear. “Back to the event, you still should have been careful. We all knew this place was unstable and out of everyone you are the most susceptible to possession. Which you were.” Gesturing to the bandages. “Just be glad he didn’t take over and it was just some pissed off spirits.”

A pang of guilt sat in his stomach for a moment, the thought that he might have hurt someone or worse lost control to him only made his anxiety worse. Losing control of that demon was something that held a near inescapable fear. He would not let that thing take control again. Even now he could feel it smiling at him. “Was that all?” It was all he could ask of events he could scarcely remember himself. Even now the very act of trying to remember the ritual only brought pain. He downed the glass of water and the pills then looked for the time.

“You still have plenty of time to get dressed for your next event. Come on ill help you.” The man offered his hand to help the lord up and began helping him get dressed around his bandaging. “Im sure by the end of the day these bandages will bother you more than the injuries themselves, try to keep them on for at least a couple days.”

“Worried about me already?” roman asked with a slight laugh that immediately made him wince from the pain in his ribs.

“We don’t need you to draw more attention to yourself. You’ve made enough enemies here as it is, expect to be watched.”

Roman simply replied with a nod of agreement, “it was bound to happen who did I piss off this time?” At least this way he could still feign the injuries and look weaker than he really is.

“probly whichever dobber sent the interruption..." Erik grumbled. "Remember, Any fool can judge strength just by looking at someone, we need them to keep seeing you as just another man and you can not underestimate them either.” Erik continued to assist Roman with his undershirt and pants opting for a neutral color pallet with lighter brown colored pants a white shirt with long sleeves and a dark green vest with a silver pocket watch covered with a long dark brown leather duster. His wallet placed carefully in an inside pocket of the green jacket.

Erik snapped his fingers at a couple of their men who were sorting through and organizing gear at the other end of the building. Both men turned to look, without seeing if they are paying attention Erik made a fist. In short notice the two began shouting and arguing with each other about a girl the other stole from them the night before. Roman looked at his friend for a moment, "This bloody place has ears everywhere." the older man replied.

“What is our mission?” Erik asked as he fashioned the hidden reinforced bracers under romans sleeves.

“To protect the Varian nobility and citizens in Sorian.” Roman recited this as if he had said it a hundred times.

“What is our primary objective?” Erik again asked while placing the hidden blade inside Roman’s boot.

“To maintain our intelligence network and not to reveal our true identities unless the safety of our people has been compromised and immediate evacuation is absolutely necessary.”

“What is your goal?” Erik arranged Romans rings on his right hand with his signet ring and a few of his favorites. They were not flashy in any sense other than the signet ring they didn’t look particularly interesting other than their odd shape. A shape that made it when rotated just right connects together to make a form of brass knuckles.

“To make allies and find a wife… someone I can trust. Someone we can trust.”

“Good, try not to be so much of an oaf. It might make you look cute but not strong, show them how strong you are, not just in presence but wit and resources.” Erik sinched a leather belt around romans waist with a small dagger attached to his hip.

Roman looked like he belonged on the western frontier but still nice enough to fit in to most but the classiest of events. The long duster was just to help with the rain after all. The last thing he wore to really tie in the look was a wide brimmed black hat. The right sleeve of the duster lay limp at his side with his right arm held in a sling.

Erik placed his arms on Romans’ shoulders and gripped hard for just a moment, enough to get the lord to flinch in his grasp. “You’re going to be fine lad, now get going your going to be late since you’re walking.”

“Im guessing its some sort of punishment?” roman asked Erik just nodded, “a couple of the boys will walk with you on their way to run an errand. Most of the others, including Astri are out in the forest cleaning up today. I could throw you out there to help but something tells me you would enjoy that more.” The two shared a quiet laugh and a hug, roman tipped his hat to his friend and headed out Erik just shook his head and sat back down at his desk signaling for the others to stop fighting, "would you wankers stop yer squabbling before I put you back on ship duty."

---

The café,

The walk was wet but uneventful, most people preferred the carriages over a little rain if they could afford it. Still even though he had a bit of a limp with the pain in his right leg where he likely received some kind of blow the night before, he enjoyed the walk. The sound of rain on the cobblestone was soothing to his aching head. Before he knew it, they had arrived at the café a little later than he hoped but not by much.

He was greeted by a lovely hostess introducing herself as Mingyu that explained the event to him and even helped him take off his coat and hat, a small act that he thanked her for. His arm resting in its sling was clear to see. He reached into the basket and retrieved his number. With a smile he headed in the direction of the table that was numbered.

The lovely face he found when he came upon his table was one he recognized, one that brought a genuine smile to his face as he formally greeted Charlotte’s friend that he met at the beach. “Hello again Olivia im glad to see you’re doing well. I must say you are looking absolutely stunning this morning.” His words were sincere, from her clothes to her copper red hair. He always liked that hair color. With only the slightest amount of pain he sat across from her, his smile never faltering. “am I safe to assume that you and Charlotte had a wonderful evening last night. I haven’t heard much from the masquerade.”

((italicized words are spoken in a their language.))

[Tae]

Time: Morning
Location: Munir's Room
Attire: Munir's Shirt
Interaction: @Infinite Cosmos Munir
Mentions:

As Mina slowly blinked her eyes open, she was greeted by the soft gray light filtering through the window and a soft pattering of rain hitting said window. For a moment, she lay there, allowing her senses to adjust to her surroundings, trying to piece together the events of the previous night. The memories came flooding back in fragments, the chaotic ritual, Torvi's unexpected intervention and kidnapping of her, the assault from the spirits, and the comforting presence of Munir.

Taking a deep breath, Mina sat up slowly, her movements careful as she glanced around the room, taking in the familiar furnishings and the crackling fire in the hearth. She glanced down at herself to see she was now dressed in a linen tunic that held the familiar scent of Munir. A sense of calm washed over her as she realized where she was, a sense of safety enveloping her like a warm embrace.

Her gaze drifted to the figure sleeping peacefully on the floor, his features softened in slumber. Her heart swelled with affection as she watched him, a rush of gratitude washing over her for his unwavering devotion and care.

But as she studied him further, a furrow formed between her brows. Why was he sleeping on the floor? Shouldn't he be in the bed with her? Concern tinged her thoughts, but she pushed it aside for the moment, focusing instead on the overwhelming feeling of affection she felt for him.

Wrapping the blanket around her shoulders, Mina carefully made her way down to the floor, her steps quiet as she approached Munir's side. She knelt down next to him and gently brushed a lock of hair from his forehead, her touch feather-light as she leaned down to press a soft kiss to his cheek.

"Munir," she whispered, her voice barely above a breath as she watched him, a fond smile gracing her lips. "Thank you... for everything."

Curling up next to him, Mina nestled into his side, her head resting against his chest as she listened to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. In that moment, surrounded by warmth and love, she felt at peace, knowing that she was exactly where she was meant to be.

[Tae]

Time: Morning
Location: Morning Blossom Cafe
Interactions: @JJ Doe Count Fritz “Run” Hendrix
Attire: Dress

---

As the sounds of rain pitter-pattered on the windows of her chamber, Torvi stirred from her slumber, her mind already buzzing with anticipation for the day ahead. Today would be different from what she was used to, for it marked the beginning of the Courting Mixer, an event she had been both dreading and secretly looking forward to. She'd decided to attend as it was a good opportunity to meet new people and continue her investigations of those here in Caesonia.

With purposeful movements, she rose from her bed, her bare feet padding softly against the polished floor. The air was cool against her skin, a welcome contrast to the warmth that had settled in her bones.

Today called for attire unlike any other, and Torvi wasted no time in selecting her ensemble. She bypassed her usual leather armor and instead reached for a gown that shimmered like molten gold in the dim light of her chamber. The fabric flowed like liquid around her frame, accentuating her curves and lending an air of regal elegance to her form.

Her hair, usually bound in practical braids, cascaded down her back in loose waves, each strand catching the light and reflecting a thousand hues of silver and moonlight. She adorned herself with delicate jewelry, each piece glinting softly in the morning light.

As she made her way through the halls of the castle and eventually put into the world, Fenrys padded silently at her side, his large form a comforting presence in the quiet solitude of the corridors. His amber eyes glinted with amusement as he regarded her attire, a scoff echoing through the air. Torvi shot him a playful glare, urging him to silence with a gentle pat on his sleek fur.

Arriving at the Morning Blossom Cafe, Torvi felt a sense of calm settle over her. The soft melodies of the piano and the gentle murmur of conversation enveloped her like a warm embrace, soothing the odd nerves that had been fluttering in her stomach since dawn.

She had told Fenrys to stay outside, observe those passing by, and so that's what he did. He found himself a comfortable spot outside of the entrance out of the way, yet still under some cover from the rain. He looked almost regal and a bit frightening as he sat there gazing at those who walked in.

As Mingyu greeted her with a smile, Torvi returned the gesture as best as she knew how. She reached into the basket and plucked a small piece of paper, glancing at the number scrawled upon it. With a nod of thanks to Mingyu, she made her way further into the cafe, her steps light and purposeful.

As Torvi awaited her date, a sense of possibility hung in the air, mingling with the scent of fresh blossoms and the promise of new beginnings. But she wasn't here for the same reasons many others were. No, instead she was scanning the room and observing everyone there.

[Tae]

Time: Morning
Location: Morning Blossom Cafe
Interactions: @Lava Alckon Lord Drake
Mentions: @princess Anastasia
Outfit: Dress

---

In the quiet sanctuary of Princess Anastasia's chamber, Thea stood before the ornate vanity, the soft morning light filtering through the gossamer curtains. She traced the delicate contours of her reflection, the mask of indifference concealing the tumultuous storm raging within.

Anastasia, her dearest friend and confidante, had offered sanctuary in the labyrinthine halls of the palace, shielding her from the prying eyes of society and the suffocating expectations of her family. But even within the cocoon of safety, Thea couldn't escape the weight of her mother's disappointment, the cold disdain that chilled her to the bone.

Her mother's words echoed in the recesses of her mind, a haunting refrain of duty and obligation that threatened to suffocate her. "You are a Smithwood, Thea," she had admonished, the weight of their tarnished legacy heavy upon her shoulders. "It is time you stopped making a mockery of our family."

But Thea refused to be bound by the shackles of tradition anymore, to be a pawn in the game of societal expectations. She had tasted freedom, felt its intoxicating embrace, and she would not relinquish it without a fight.

And so, with a defiant spark in her eyes, she hatched a plan, a daring gambit to seize control of her own destiny. Swapping places with a willing servant, paying the girl well, she slipped away into the night, leaving behind the confines of her gilded cage in search of true liberation.

But amidst the chaos of her escape, a newfound determination took root within her, a resolve to chart her own course and find love on her own terms. For too long, she had allowed others to dictate her fate, to mold her into the dutiful daughter society demanded. The end of her engagement with Felix had felt devastating at first, but now she felt like it was a godsend.

Two days had passed since then, as she prepared for the mix and match mixer, Thea embraced the uncertainty of the unknown, the thrill of possibility coursing through her veins. For in the dance of chance and destiny, she would find the freedom she so desperately craved, and perhaps, just perhaps, the love she had longed for all along.

---

As Thea stepped into the Morning Blossom Cafe, the elegant ambiance enveloped her like a warm embrace, soothing her nerves with its serene beauty. She couldn't help but marvel at the opulence of the surroundings, the soft melodies of the piano mingling with the gentle hum of conversation, creating a symphony of elegance. She handed her borrowed coat and umbrella to the coat check, revealing a beautiful mint green dress that seemed to embody spring. She was oh so thankful to the fact that her and Annie were of similar sizes. She also hoped that Annie would find Farim to assure him that she was okay as Thea had instructed her to do this morning before bidding her farewell.

Taking a deep breath to steady her racing heart, she approached Mingyu, who greeted her with infectious enthusiasm. Thea couldn't help but smile at Mingyu's warmth, feeling a flutter of excitement in her chest as she reached for a piece of paper from the basket.

"Thank you, Mingyu," she murmured, her voice tinged with anticipation as she glanced at the number on the paper. With a quick nod of gratitude, she followed Mingyu's guidance, her pulse quickening with each step as she scanned the room for her designated table.

As Thea settled into her seat, her gaze wandered across the elegant surroundings of the Morning Blossom Cafe, taking in the beauty of the floral arrangements and the soft glow of the chandeliers above. Her heart danced with excitement as she eagerly awaited the arrival of her date, her mind buzzing with anticipation.

And then, like a vision from a dream, he entered the room—a man whose mere presence seemed to cast a spell over the atmosphere. He had to be Prince Charming.

Her breath caught in her throat as she watched him move with effortless grace, his commanding stature drawing the attention of everyone in the room, or so she thought. Her pulse quickened with each step he took, her eyes unable to tear themselves away from his captivating form.

As he drew closer, Thea felt a rush of nervous energy coursing through her veins. She smoothed her hands over the fabric of her dress, suddenly acutely aware of every detail of her appearance. Was she dressed appropriately? Did she look presentable enough for someone as distinguished as Prince Charming?

But as he finally reached her table, her worries faded ever so slightly into the background, replaced by a sense of exhilaration at the prospect of getting to know him. She greeted him with a warm smile, her heart fluttering with excitement as she prepared to embark on this new adventure. Quickly, she decided to stand up, smashing her knee against the table and feeling the utter humiliation begin to take hold. She dipped her head, trying to hide the deep blush and she dropped into a curtsy.

"Hello," she said, her voice tinged with anticipation. "It's a pleasure to meet you. I'm Lady Th-.” She suddenly cut herself off as a thought occurred to her and her stomach soured. ”I…I’m….Forgive me, but I fear that revealing my name to you may scare you away as it is known in a negative connotation.” She began to shuffle from side to side, her nervousness and fear palpable now.

[princess]

Time: Morning
Location: Her Bedroom --> Outside of Farim's bedroom in the Guesthouse Hallway.
Attire:Dress, Flats, Crown and Earrings
Mention: @Tae Thea
Interaction: @Lava Alckon Farim

---

---

Anastasia slowly blinked her eyes open to the familiar sight of her ornate ceiling. As her vision gradually adjusted, the grand architecture came into focus, each detail sharpening under her gaze as a deep throb pulsed at the base of her skull. The room spun slightly as she cautiously tried to sit up, each movement sending a sharp jolt through the back of her head. With a low groan, she reached up to gingerly touch the tender spot where she had been struck, the pain vivid and startling.

The memories of the previous night flooded back to her in disjointed flashes—the sudden blow, the sensation of tumbling into darkness, the chaos of the forest. She furrowed her brows, trying to piece together the fragmented events, but the effort only seemed to exacerbate her headache.

Drawing a shaky breath, Anastasia forced herself to focus on the present. Slowly, she took in the familiar surroundings of her bedroom - the opulent furnishings, the soft glow of the morning light filtering through the curtains, and then the plush pink bedding that enveloped her legs in silken warmth. She could hear the distant sound of servants moving about in the castle, their footsteps echoing down the corridor.

She glanced around the room, her gaze falling on her reflection in the mirror across the chamber. Her ashen blonde hair was tousled and tangled from sleep, strands falling haphazardly around her shoulders. Then she looked to her side and there, amidst the sea of silk and down, lay Thea, her chest rising and falling with the peaceful rhythm of sleep.

Annie couldn’t help but smile softly at the sight. Moving closer to the bed, she brushed a loose strand of hair from Thea's forehead, waking her friend gently. Lying down beside her, she embraced her friend, their whispered conversation protected by their private cocoon.

Thea, with a hopeful spark in her eye, confided her desire to attend the courting event at the cafe. Anastasia had immediately agreed it would be a wonderful opportunity to help Thea mend her heart after the Felix ordeal. Together, they perused the royal wardrobe, selecting a gown that not only flattered Thea but seemed to reflect the fresh start she so yearned for. Anastasia then assisted with her friend’s hair and make-up, lending her expertise to ensure every detail was perfect.

With a final, heartening squeeze of hands, Thea departed, leaving behind a recommendation to go see Farim.

A short while later, swaying slightly with a trace of dizziness, Anastasia stood before Farim’s door. She was dressed in a peach gown that embraced her figure, adorned with off-shoulder sleeves. Without hesitation, she knocked with a playful lightness in her heart despite the dull ache in her head.

"Farim! Guess what! I'm not dead!"

[Rodiak]

_{dress ♖ hair ♖}

_{D A M I E N E S T A T E | E V E N I N G
I n t e r a c t i o n s :
John, @Conscripts
M e n t i o n s :}

“Mama, you are making a fuzz out of nothing.”

“Nonsense! I wish for you to look perfect today, who knows? You might find a husband this morning.”

“You think so? Oh, I really do hope so! It’d be wonderful to run my own estate. I would finally be able to host on own dinner parties and balls!”

“Oh honey, I am sure you will do great. Now, let me fix your hair. You’ve got some a cowlick.”

Zarai watched the two women laugh and smile at one another. The older woman gently smoothed out her daughter’s hair, ensuring no hair was out of place. The daughter smiled and laughed when her mother said something else only the two could hear—perhaps an inside joke or a playful tease about her hair. She rolled her eyes and turned her attention to her own mother.

Duchess Francesca watched her with blue icy eyes that made her feel as if she were standing under a waterfall. “Don’t speak too loud, smile, and nod. Do not mention anything unseemly, and keep your opinions to yourself. No respectable man wishes to hear a woman speak of politics,” her mother said. She reached out to fix Zarai’s sleeve, but her daughter pulled back and fixed it herself.

“Yes, mother.” Zarai nodded politely, eyes down. "Shall I not speak at all, then? Perhaps some Duke or Count fancies mute girls—” She winced when sharp nails dug into her underarms as her mother pretended to fix her sleeve. “Fine!” she hissed.

“This is exactly what I am referring to,” Francesca huffed, pulling her arm back and putting on that sweet smile again. “Don’t embarrass me; Gods know you’ve done that so many times already. And for your sake, do not stuff your face with food. Any more of it and your dress will burst at the seams.”

『 °*• ❀ •*°』

Zarai stared down at the number 5 scribbled on the small piece of paper. She shot Mingyu one last smile as she walked past and toward her designated table. Despite her initial reservations about the event, Zarai couldn't help but feel a sense of thrill at finally being at Blossom Caffe. It was her first time setting foot in the place, and for as long as she could remember, she had dreamed of visiting. The exterior of the building was a sight to behold, its beautiful facade promising an evening of elegance and sophistication. Every time Zarai had peeked inside, she had caught glimpses of graceful ladies sipping from dainty cups and indulging in culinary delights that could be described as art. She had often imagined herself among them, adorned in a fancy hat and delicate lace gloves, exuding an air of refinement and charm that she did not possess.

Now, she was finally here, not by choice but to fulfill her social obligations. Determined not to let that bring her spirits down, Zarai was to make the most of the morning, even if it meant entertaining a randomly selected date. It was another opportunity to meet potential suitors, something she had been considering more seriously lately, despite her very limited list of prospects.

As she sniffed the air, the aroma of the pastries and delicious food drew a growl from her empty stomach. She did not care if her Sir Barrios was outside watching her from the windows; he wouldn’t barge in if she dared to eat. It would be impolite not to indulge, considering the effort the cafe and the royal family had put into the event. With a playful smile, she decided to fully appreciate any of the culinary delights that would be presented before her.

Zarai only hoped not to see him here. She had avoided talking to him for days, and by some stroke of luck, she had managed to keep her distance. She wished to continue this for a few more days, at least until she felt more prepared to face him.

Lost in her thoughts, she almost forgot her surroundings until an unfamiliar figure caught her eye. Her heart skipped a beat as she watched him approach. Handsome and well-groomed, he seemed different from the typical snobby nobles she was accustomed to encountering. It was a welcome sight, and she felt a glimmer of hope that this evening might not be as tedious as she had anticipated.

Zarai put on a smile and waited to greet her date.

[SilverPaw]

Wulfric & Zarai Part 1

The 23rd of Sola, at night: After the masquerade

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---

Wulfric nodded as he noticed Zarai signaling him from the distance, acknowledging her nonverbal gesture, and subtly motioned for her to go ahead. After he and Lord Drake Edwards had drifted apart, the royal idled by the buffet. Perplexingly, he was soon drawn into a rather…intense interaction with Fritz, of all people.

When he and Zarai met up, it was later at night. Wulfric found her lounging on a couch in one of the guesthouse’s drawing rooms. He was still in his full costume; he must have just returned from the masquerade. “Zarai,” he greeted her. His tone was a notch warmer than usual.

However, as he examined her closely, his eyes narrowed. Her black sleeves were sheer enough for him to notice something off. Suddenly, he stepped closer. First, he removed his gloves, storing them into an inner pocket. Then, with gentle motions and a featherlight touch, he pushed the sleeve of her dress up her arm, revealing the bruise forming beneath. “Who.” His voice took on a deeply frigid quality.

He was asking because given its size and shape, the handprint must be a man’s. Had it been a woman’s, he’d have assumed the culprit to be her mother. In which case, he would have said nothing. Zarai wasn’t the only one with a hands-on parent. A shared commonality of theirs they had noticed years ago, and had decided not to speak of by way of silent agreement.

But because the mark was left by someone he didn’t know about, Wulfric reiterated, “Who needs to die.”

As she contemplated the bruise, Zarai's mind raced with thoughts and emotions. She knew she should be furious at Monet for even daring to lay his nasty, grubby hands on her, but the lingering dread and fear outweighed her anger. The realization that she had finally stood up to face Lord Monet's aggression left her feeling vulnerable and exposed.

Feelings she did not wish to linger on.

“Lord Marcus Monet,” Zarai spoke his name with disdain, her lip curling in distaste. Uttering his name felt like expelling venom with every syllable and left a bad taste in her mouth. She knew Wulfric’s options against him were limited due to Monet’s strong ties with the Varian crown. Despite this, the idea of his death brought some satisfaction. “He is my mother’s top choice for my hand.” And only one, so far. She sniffed her arm, “He didn’t leave his stench on me, did he? Ugh, I ought to burn this dress, but that would be a waste of perfectly good fabric.”

At the mention of that name, Wulfric clicked his tongue, as if dismissing the off-handed notion of assassination once he learned who the man was. But he didn’t.

Oh, no, indeed he did not. He merely shelved it for the moment.

Gently, he rolled Zarai’s sleeve back down, once again concealing the bruise. “And for once in your life, you are listening to her?” he questioned. He could surmise that the lord was her last option, what with her reputation in Varian. “Is that why you spoke to Auguste?” he suddenly recalled. Her question led to an amused huff. “A moment,” he drawled. He removed his mask, and put it on the nearest surface. The silver metal gleamed brightly, its curved, menacing shape set against the marble end table.

Wulfric shook his hair loose, and carded a hand through it. Because it was rather warm, he removed his feathered cloak, and threw it onto the couch where it landed with a soft clanking of chains. Underneath, he wore a simple if elegant black tunic lined with silver. Taking off the cloak revealed his weapons; a shortsword belted at his hip, and a revolver holstered at the small of his back.

"Yes," Zarai sighed. There was no point in lying to Wulfric; he’d just see right through her anyway. “Although, I fear my proposition may have been a touch too bold for dear Auguste,” she admitted, leaning back on the couch, her gaze fixed on Wulfric. She couldn’t help but let her eyes wander over him, taking in his every movement. He was undeniably attractive– and pretty, too– but she would never admit to it aloud. Zarai refused to stroke his ego.

Freed from his costume, Wulfric settled in next to Zarai. “Allow me…” he offered his hand palm up, waiting for her to set hers into his. When she did, he delicately scented the air around her. Immediately, his nose wrinkled, and he pushed her arm away - largely in jest. “It’s faint. I’m sure you’ll be fine,” he waved a hand dismissively. “So, are you now seriously considering courting?” he gave her a look, eyebrow quirked.

She appeared momentarily offended before realizing he was only playing with her. "What? Is it truly so difficult to imagine?" she retorted, a wry smile playing on her lips. "Mother left me with no choice; it's either I find someone else—someone who meets her demanding standards—or be shackled to that," she added, a shudder of disgust running through her at the thought. There was only herself to blame; had she fought against the rumors of her tainted reputation, the search might have been different.

“No choice?” Wulfric repeated. “No eloping, absconding, relinquishing your status and becoming a commoner?” he wondered. “Were those not the choices you had had in mind once upon a time?” A hint of that sharp criticism she despised so much crept into his tone. Yet, he genuinely was curious, and at least attempted to curb the sarcasm.

Zarai scoffed at the suggestion. “No, I won’t run away.” She glanced down at her hands. “Got any suggestions for me?” Zarai returned the quirked brow, “Any handsome, ridiculously rich gentlemen looking for an experienced wife?”

With a sigh, the prince leaned back against the backrest, observing his - as much as it pained him to admit it - friend. He seriously contemplated her question, sensing it was far more important than Zarai’s joking tone might lead one to believe. “Well, despite what you’ve said about Auguste, he isn’t one to balk easily. As I recall, you were the one to run away.” His gaze narrowed, and his chin raised haughtily as he gave her a warning look. “Yet, even if he were to permit it, I would not allow you to continue your openly promiscuous ways if you were to marry my brother.”

Yes, he too, was demanding; as Zarai liked to say, just as much if not worse than her mother.

But when the tense seconds passed, he eased up. “Then, in recent memory…Cassius Vael, now Damien. A bastard, but Calbert’s, and one he clearly intends to treat as a legitimate son.” Despite his personal distaste for Cassius, there was no indication of it, his tone entirely factual. “Shahzade Munir has a reputation similar to yours, I believe.” He did not know much else about the man, unfortunately.

“If rich is enough, even a merchant would do.” He was sure Duchess Lesdeman had in mind a landed noble, however. By way of association, something occurred to him, and he snapped his fingers. “Ah. How close are you to Count Fritz Hendrix, exactly?” He recalled having seen them together at the ball his family had hosted. “And before you say, yes, I am aware your mother would disapprove.” The mild grimace indicated he had experienced the duchess’ vitriol against anyone bearing the name Hendrix.

Zarai's fingers played with the edge of her sleeve as she considered the suggestions laid out before her. Among them, Shahzade Munir stood out as a viable option. However, she was much more drawn to his sister, Layla, who exuded a commanding presence that could persuade Zarai to do almost anything. Yet, she knew her mother would never entertain such a union, regardless of Layla's wealth or potential future role as a Sultana.

A memory surfaced, accompanied by a voice that made her stomach clench, and her heart flutter. “Your hands are beautiful… You are beautiful, Zarai.” She pushed the memory aside as shame overtook her. "Count Hendrix is a friend," she said firmly. And if he were to be safe, he’d remain so.

At her assertion, Wulfric gave her a look – the kind that made it clear to her he thought she was being silly. “Zarai…A friend is exactly who you should consider. Marriage with someone you can get along with— It is a valuable thing.”

“Tch.” Zarai slumped against the back of the couch, grateful for the tightness of her corset that provided some cushioning for her still-bruised ribs. “I could marry Monet,” she mused, her voice laced with bitterness. “Endure for a night or two, then kill him in his sleep. A nice soft pillow over his head for a few minutes.” She didn’t meet Wulfric’s gaze as she continued. “Or poison. They say poison is a woman’s weapon, don’t they? A bit of it in his morning tea or porridge would do the trick.” She was unsure if she said it in jest or was seriously considering it. Though, it would be her last resort.

While Zarai was averting her gaze, Wulfric studied her, free of judgment. “If you could endure it,” he pointed out, tone serious. “It might have to be for longer than you are thinking. Weeks. Months. Years,” he warned. He knew from his mother just how difficult it was to get rid of an unwanted but well-positioned husband. He told her as much: “It wouldn’t be difficult for him to guess at your designs. He could blackmail you. Threaten you. Manipulate and pressure you until you feel you have no choice, again.” He waited as long as it took for her to absorb that. When she did, he moved closer, within whispering distance. “If we are to arrange an accident, it will have to be very, very thorough,” he relayed quietly, the smirk audible in his tone. Then he leaned back, as satisfied as a cat who got the cream.

She considered his words for a moment, reluctantly acknowledging their truth. As much as she hated to admit it, Wulfric was right. Despite Monet's repulsiveness, he was a man of power who could indeed make good on his threats. How else did such a man turn a crumbling House into what it is today? However, Wulfric’s last sentence echoed in her mind like ripples in a lake of red. Yet, the fact he was saying those words to her felt somewhat comforting.

"And what about you?" Zarai inquired, suddenly intrigued by Wulfric's marital status. "I mean to say, not with me—gods, no—but has anyone caught Your Highness's eye?"

Immediately, the inquiry had him raising his brows. For a moment, he thought Zarai had taken his advice to marry a friend far too liberally. As she clarified, however, he grew visibly relieved. “Oh, good. You had me worried you had gone insane,” he flashed her a knowing smile and she returned the same smile, rolling her eyes. Wulfric was sure both of them would sooner see the world end than entertain marrying each other. He hummed and stretched as he mulled over the question.

“Well…There was Mayet, but she proved too immature, and had to return home. Before we could duel, even,” he sighed, evidently disappointed. “The dinner!” he suddenly exclaimed, as something occurred to him. “Had I been at that damned dinner, I could have demanded an honour duel.” He stood up, agitated, and paced across the room. He stopped at the alcohol cabinet, and collected glasses and a drink. “Oh, look, there’s one of your favourites.” He poured himself a shot, downed it, and followed it with another. He brought the drinks over, poured for the both of them, and handed a glass to Zarai as he retook his seat.

Zarai snorted at his reaction, unsurprised over his very obvious disappointment. “I did hear that the dinner was a complete shitshow, plates thrown and all. I would have paid to be there.” She took the glass and sipped from it as Wulfric continued. At least now their future dinners with the Alidasht would be more peaceful with Mayet gone.

“A shitshow indeed,” he confirmed. After a pause to ruminate on the event, he went down the list of the candidates for marriage.

“Of the Alidastht, there was that cousin of theirs,” he referenced Saiya, “but the Grand Vizier is her adoptive father,” he shook his head. “Then there is Layla,” he smirked at Zarai, “who is more your type, I believe?” Frankly, the woman’s age was an issue too; with her being almost 30, they would need to get to the whole procreating matter very quickly. “I have yet to acquaint myself with Shehzadi Nahir, but I would like to.” From his assessment, they were both manipulative, diplomatic, and secretive. Given their similarities, perhaps they would be compatible - or perhaps, they would clash.

“From Varian, I would consider only Princess Beatrice, but I do not believe she or her parents would be inclined to the union. In Caesonia, there are a few more choices…” he trailed off, unenthused. “I suppose if I had to pick someone, it would be Priscilla Edwards.” He did not mean the reluctance as a slight against her. If anything, it was a sign of his esteem that he considered her an acceptable option.

“The Edwardses are incredibly wealthy,” Zarai nodded, contemplating his choices. “What of the Damien girls; what was it? Violet and Crystina?” She tapped her fingers over her glass, humming in thought, “Doesn’t Duke Vikena have a daughter too?” She paused, recalling the rumors she had heard about Charlotte. She didn’t think the rumors about her were true; she found them stupid and unfounded. And still, they mirrored her own predicament back in Varian and she couldn’t help but feel a pang of pity for her.

“Although, if you are seeking a strong union, I'd suggest considering the Ganasea princess. It's unfortunate that Mayet couldn’t be here, you two would have made quite a cute couple.” She flashed him a teasing smile before taking another sip from her glass.

“I do not wish to allow Calbert of all people to marry into my family,” he told her. “As for the ladies themselves…There is something off about Violet - have you seen her lately?” he commented. “And Crystal is like a rabbit,” he waved a dismissive hand. A sheltered, naive, fearful woman was difficult to see as anything but a child.

He grimaced at the mention of Duke Vikena. “Good Gods, to have Lorenzo as an in-law,” he mock-shuddered. “Charlotte is fine, though, I suppose. But I am expecting her to take the reins of her duchy as soon as possible.” In which case, she couldn’t exactly double up as a queen.

There was also the matter of his general lack of interest, but that wasn’t something Zarai needed to know.

“Believe me, I am considering all options,” he sighed lightly. He raised a nonchalant shoulder at her attempt at teasing; he frankly only regretted not having been able to duel Mayet. “She was far too volatile. Throwing a knife, and holding a foreign dignitary at blade-point in a fit of rage?” he shook his head.

"I found her arrogance rather charming," Zarai hummed as she not-so-gracefully rose from her seat. Almost instantly, the room began to spin in a pleasantly numbing manner, just the way she liked. With a carefree attitude, she kicked off her heels; they were just an accident waiting to happen. She sauntered over to the bookcases that lined one of the walls.

“Of course you did,” he snorted. “Yet, I distinctly recall you saying in the past that, and I quote, my arrogance was one of my most unfortunate traits,” he paraphrased with an eye roll. It’s not as if it offended or upset him, but it was a mystery why she favoured women the more insolent they were. Granted, he too, had found Mayet’s haughtiness intriguing, so he wasn’t in much of a position to criticize Zarai for the same.

“And still is,” Zarai shot him a pointed look before returning to her search.

[Rodiak]

Wulfric & Zarai Part 2

The 23rd of Sola, at night: After the masquerade

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---

WARNING:

The following segment involves Wulfric and Zarai reading a terrible erotica. You have been warned.

"Did you happen to catch a glimpse of Shehzadi Layla this evening? She looked absolutely stunning. It sucks– a shame I couldn't spend more time in her company," she sighed with a wistful shake of her head. Zarai imagined how nice it would have been to dance with Layla, perhaps even making the entire dancing thing enjoyable. Her fingers lightly grazed the spines of the books as she casually perused the shelves, in search of nothing in particular.

However, as she neared the end of the row and glanced toward the bottom, her eyes caught sight of a familiar-looking spine. "Aha!" she exclaimed, extracting it with an exaggerated and theatrical flourish, nearly causing her wine glass to spill over. "Well, would you look at this? It still has the bookmark we left! I thought one of the maids might have snatched it up by now." As she neared the coach again she tossed the book to Wulfric’s lap.

“I have noticed you together. Matching costumes?” he remarked, curious. He hummed at Zarai’s expression of disappointment. “Was there running away involved again?” he questioned, eyebrow arching at her back. Zarai shrugged, unsure herself. The prospect of running away dwindled by the day.

He lazily watched Zarai browse the shelves, reclining on the couch. As he noticed the book she grabbed, however, he instinctively grimaced at it in distaste. “You do have a way of picking them,” he complained. Even so, he curled his fingers at her, and she threw the book at him. The way Wulfric was looking at it, it might as well have been a bucket-full of vomit which had landed in his lap. “Let’s see…” Carefully, he picked it up, and paged through the first few chapters, seeking where they’d left off.

‘The Master’ was embossed upon the book’s cover in an overly flamboyant golden script. There was a stylized black-and-white sketch within the first few pages. A dashing if generic looking noble, and a woman of presumably Alidasht descent staring at the noble, starstruck.

Indeed, it was a romance novel. Its summary promised vague hints of tantalizing erotica as well. Yet, so far the book had been…Exceedingly dull and worrying at the same time. In their past readings, they’ve discovered that the male lead - Maximilian ‘Max’ Trevis Le Velin - was a hedonistic, womanizing, irresponsible layabout with a penchant for drugs. “Almost as if I were reading about Callum,” Wulfric had succinctly noted in their first reading session.

The fellow, Maximilian had inherited his family’s county after the unexpected death of his older brother. He had whinged and complained about his ‘unfair’ fate in equal measure as he had expressed resentment and an inferiority complex towards his now deceased brother. The brother whose funeral was approaching, and whose widowed wife the lead was arranged to meet with.

“Fuck. I woke hungover, with the knowledge that Karoline was arriving today. ‘Fuck’, I swore out loud,” Wulfric began to narrate. Uncomfortably, the book was written from the first person perspective of the sleazy lead. The main character had a propensity for swearing. Presumably, it was meant to be liberating, yet Wulfric found it thoroughly dull due to the sheer repetition. Too, it made the man sound like a neanderthal.

“My stumbling steps carried me across the cool wooden paneling. I clutched a hand to my head, wincing in pain at the sharp headache. My string of sotto voiced curses was interrupted by a loud yell, startled from me as I hit my toe against a desk corner. ‘Fuck!’ I glared at the dim surroundings through half-opened lids, yet I didn’t dare risk lighting a lamp. I didn’t want my pain to get any worse…” he forged on. The text was chock-full of everyday minutiae, at times described in exceeding, exhausting detail.

After a chapter, the widow, Karoline, was introduced. “I met her on the doorstep. I wanted to be the one leading the conversation, but I gave myself away the moment I saw her. I gasped, my breath stolen away by the sight of her. I had nearly forgotten what a stunning woman she was. A perfect face framed by riotous blonde curls. Full lips slightly opened, pouting at me invitingly. Even with tears brimming on her lids, dried tracks of past sorrow visible under her red-rimmed gaze, she was beautiful. Made even more beautiful in mourning, I speculated. Her bright hazel eyes blinked at me, long lashes granting wet kisses upon her cheeks with each feather-light flutter. She heaved an anguished breath, ripe breasts the size of melons bouncing into my view. I was aroused.”

He had read all of that smoothly, his skills of rhetoric arguably the one thing that made the book somewhat bearable. But at that last bit he paused. “Aroused,” he repeated, incredulous as he was aghast.

He put the book down, picked up his previously abandoned glass, and drank from it deeply.

Laughter erupted from Zarai, unable to contain herself from Wulfric’s reaction. “Aroused,” she drawled as she took the wine bottle and traded it with the book.

“Why is it always melons? Why can’t they be… I don’t know, coconuts, pineapples, or watermelons? Gods, why is it always fruits anyway… at least they didn’t write ‘mountains’ or ‘mounds’.” She shifted in her seat, reclined against the back of the couch, and cleared her throat, ready to continue reading.

Wulfric shrugged. “Because women are made of ‘sugar, spice, and everything nice’?” he quoted. He snorted at her suggestions. “At least it wasn’t ‘fearful virginal breasts’ or ‘shy peaks rising to greet me’ or ‘perky peaches anointed in the holy redolence of our lustful exertions’,” he drawled, reminiscing on some of the more…memorable pieces of texts they’d read in the past.

“‘Karoline,’ I said softly, stepping ever so closely to her. The temptation to press myself against her soft curves clawed at me from the inside, so much so I could have given into desire at any moment. ‘I am so sorry for your loss.’ She looked up at me, her eyes now brimming with tears that made them glisten in the sunlight. So captivatingly stunning. In that instant, our gazes locked, and I saw a flicker of something in her eyes, a spark of longing that mirrored my own. I wanted nothing more but to comfort her, to hold her in my arms and make her forget all of the pain.” Zarai scrunched her nose and continued.

“‘Max,’ she whispered, her voice barely audible over the sound of her tears–’ Huh? How does one ever hear tears?” She re-read the same line two more times but trying to figure it out would be a wasted effort and decided to go along with it, “Without thinking, I reached out and brushed a tear from her cheek, my fingertips lingering on her hot soft skin. I could feel the heat between us, the unspoken desire that hung in the air like a tangible thing, swirling around us in a heady mix of grief and passion … This guy might be delusional.”

“Hmm,” he agreed with a hum, and accepted the book as she passed it over. “Her amber orbs caught the light, shining with a familiar lust. She’d always known how to attract a man, and had played around with more than I care to know, the little slut.” Wulfric gave the book, then Zarai a look. “Now that’s a tone shift,” he commented, then went back to reading. “I could give her what she wanted, but I had to stay strong. It was too painful, being reminded of my brother, of how she’d left me for him - for his money.” He paused. “Huh.” He poured himself another glass to sip at, but didn’t comment further.

What followed were several pages describing how oh so holier-than-thou Maximillian was for not succumbing to ‘the wiles of a devil woman’. It was mind-numbingly boring, but there was finally another scene to break up the monotony.

“She strolled out of the bathroom, only my thin, oversized, silken bathrobe hugging her body. She was all wet,” Wulfric snorted lightly, “so I could see more than I should have. Fuck! I was sure she had to know, though, so maybe I was seeing exactly as much as she wanted me to. Her hair was dripping water onto the floor, enticing–” he tilted his head, bemused.

“Water puddles on the floor are enticing?” he interjected. With a shake of his head, he read on. “–enticing me to go over to her. I reached out, brushing her sopping hair. ‘You’re wet,’ I rumbled. I was eager to explore down there, to check if her lower parts were the same. But I had to show restraint,” there was another eyeroll. “‘I’ll fetch a towel for you.’ She stopped me with a hand on my arm. ‘Max, please,’ she whimpered, pressing herself against me. She was breathy, damp, and warm. It was like I was lost in a tropical marsh.” He couldn’t believe that was an actual line he’d read. “Lost. I was lost. Fuck! It was my loss. I gave in to her.

We spent the night together.”

He turned the page. There was a mark for a new chapter. That was it for the ‘sex scene’. “Is this a joke? Where is the eros in this so-called erotica?” He closed the book, and discarded it onto the couch. He glanced at his glass, but left it alone where he’d last put it. He had had enough alcohol for today. “Can we please burn the damn book now?” he turned to Zarai. However, he already knew that she’d want to read the trainwreck to the end. But they’d have to postpone the rest until the next reading session.

“No way we are burning it without getting to the end! It’s already so bad, it can’t possibly get any worse.” But it most likely would; most, if not all, of the books they’ve read of that genre usually did. Zarai simply had to know how bad it could get.

“Do you think the writer hasn’t loved before? Is that why there is no actual love in their book? Probably some ugly-looking man in his fifties writing out his fantasies. Oh! What if it’s a nun writing the books? Someone bound to the life of celibacy?” Zarai suddenly sat up, gasping at her revelation. “It would make sense; they’d be super pent up if that were the case, and no one that pent up would care if there was some actual eros in their erotica.”

Wulfric slowly nodded as he thought about it. “I bet it’s a woman. Men don’t usually value male abstinence.” He gave in, and allowed himself one final drink. Though, he mostly nursed the glass without drinking much from it. “A nun would make sense,” he agreed with a smirk. From somewhere within his coat, he withdrew a pocket watch. “It’s late,” he remarked. “Can you stand up and walk on your own?” he asked, because Zarai had drunk far, far more than he had.

Zarai hummed, looked at Wulfric, and nodded. “I can stand, don’t you worry about me.” She stood, just to prove to him she was fine. How could she not be? Zarai could hold her alcohol as well as any sailor could. She easily stood up, but took a second to orient herself before walking a small circle around the room. “What I told you, huh?” She grinned and began to wave off the prince.

The royal stood up slowly, ready to leave, but then Zarai practically collapsed onto the sofa.

Her world began spinning like she'd just gotten off a merry-go-round that had been spinning for an hour. “I take that back,” Zarai took a few seconds to swallow back the nausea that threatened to bring back all the crab legs she had managed to eat with Layla. “Just give me a second. I can do it. Or you know what, you can leave me here. Yes, this couch is very comfortable.” Zarai laid back, draping one arm over her eyes and the other over her stomach. “You don’t need me to walk you back to the castle, right? The prince is all good, yes? Yes. Wulfy is always all good. Oh fuu– I’m going to be sick.” She swallowed again, trying to steady herself. “No, no. I’m fine. You go.” She waved him off. “Go on, I’ll see you tomorrow. Or the next day, or the next next one.” In truth, she wanted Wulfric gone so she could enjoy a nice long cry by herself.

“I am not the one who requires an escort,” Wulfric pointed out. He gathered the glasses and bottle and deposited them near the alcohol cabinet. “I cannot possibly leave you in the drawing room,” he stated. He felt languid, relaxed, and overly warm. He was in no rush to leave either. However, as soon as she mentioned being sick, he jumped into action. “Whoa, whoa! Just — hang in there, Zarai,” he spoke in a rush. He nearly dashed out into the hallway, called on a servant, and ordered “whatever’s useful for someone who’s about to be sick”. While they were both waiting, he paced around the room, keeping a careful eye on her. Then there was a knock.

Relieved Zarai hadn’t vomited onto the floor yet, he opened the doors and retrieved the items from a servant. He first carried in the empty bucket, placing it next to Zarai. “Vomit there if you must,” he told her. Then he brought in the rest; a tray which bore a bowl of hot water, a towel, a tea cup and a pot of chamomile tea, and some powdered medicine. Once done, he promptly dismissed the servant and closed the door.
“...Are you going to vomit?” he questioned cautiously. “If not, there’s some tea you could drink,” he offered.

“No. Yes? … I don’t know.” Zarai remained in place, a mix of nausea and regret swirling within her. She didn’t want to ruin her dress with the remnants of the crab legs and alcohol. The regret over the drinking game was growing with every passing moment as she found herself blaming Peter. Zarai knew it wasn’t his fault, but shifting the blame to him momentarily gave her a sense of control in her drunken state.

As Wulfric ignored her and offered his assistance, she lowered her arm to watch him with a mixture of amusement and gratitude. “Look at you being all sweet,” she couldn’t help but tease, though she knew his actions probably stemmed from a sense of responsibility. When the tea was offered, she sniffed it, and when no wave of nausea hit her, she sipped from it. Alongside chamomile tea, the prince fed her anti-nausea medicine too.

After she had finished her tea, she looked up to Wulfric, offering a small smile. “Thank you.” She stared back down at the floor, fighting the stinging in her nose. Zarai would not cry in front of Wulfric. “I should get going; I wouldn’t want Mother to barge in and—” She shook her head, standing up—this time a lot slower.

Wulfric stood up as well, having crouched down next to the couch to help Zarai drink the tea. He set the tea cup aside, and approached her, holding out an arm for her. “Let me escort you to your room.” Speaking of escorts… “Where is that knight of yours, anyhow?” he questioned. “Do you have a lady-in-waiting? Maids? Or do I have to assign you some of ours?” In the state she was in, she’d need the help.

“I escaped Sir Barrios after he kidnapped me from a very lovely lady.” Zarai took the offered arm, very much grateful for the added support. The floor felt like it would give out under her with one wrong step. “He must be looking for me if we haven’t heard my mother stomping around the halls screaming,” she joked weakly, trying to lighten the mood. Her room wasn’t too far, and for that she was glad. Zarai would rather spare Wulfric another panic of seeing her cry. He’d think of her as considerate if he only knew. “It’s all good, one set of eyes keeping track of me is enough. Besides, it would be harder to slip away with another set.”

The prince sighed as he opened the doors leading to her room. “Don’t make his work harder than it needs to be,” he chastised lightly. Wulfric helped her to her bed, but for propriety’s sake, he did not linger in her room once she was safely seated. “Someone will come check in on you in about an hour, and once in the morning,” he informed her from the doorway. “Have a good night.” Before she could protest at the idea of servants being ordered to look after her, Wulfric closed the door, leaving her to her solitude.

"Thank you," she whispered, though she doubted he heard her. Now, finally, alone in her chambers, Zarai sought solace in the confines of her room. She climbed into one of the large, ornate wooden wardrobes, surrounded by skirts, dresses, and blouses. Nestled among the fabrics, she allowed her tears to flow freely, the clothes muffling every one of her sobs.

[Infinite Cosmos]

Location: The woods
Interactions: @TaeMina.

In Munir's dreams, all of his anxiety and uncertainness came to a head. The fear he felt when he first saw the hulking creature carrying Mina. The uncertainty he felt when Mina disappeared from his sights. The sadness he felt when he saw his mama. The loneliness he felt when his mother left him once more. All of it replayed over and over in his head. In his dream world, he was tortured. In the real world, his body remained motionless, sat by the side of his bed, caused by overexertion.

In the hours that passed, it felt like minutes to Munir. When Mina approached Munir, he made no motions to acknowledge her, at least not initially. This is very unlike Munir, who is usually a light sleeper. When Munir blinked his eyes open, he noticed that Mina was nestled against him, still wearing the shirt that he had slipped on her the night before. He made a small, soft, groaning sound as he leaned down to plant a small kiss through her hair on her forehead. In one swift motion, he scooped her into his arms and patted over to his bed where he set her down gently before climbing in himself. His arms were wrapped around her whenever anatomically possible. He groaned slightly once again as he snuggled up to her in a spooning position.

"Good morning, Lady Blackwood... or should I call you my wife?..." Munir said sleepily while planting small kisses on whatever exposed parts of Mina's neck and collar that he could find.

[princess]

Count Calbert Damien & Countess Liliane Damien

Location: Damien Estate --> Calbert leaves for the church and Lily goes to Cassius's room
Time: 10am
Mentions: @Tpartywithzombi Violet @PapaOso Cassius

---

The morning sun peeked intermittently through the parting clouds, offering a muted light that filtered through the large windows of the Damien estate's dining room, setting the polished silverware on the table aglow. The room was painted a gentle shade of lilac. At the center stood a long, dark wooden table surrounded by chairs with tall, ornate backs.

Above, a chandelier with dangling crystals scattered light all over the room. A fireplace with a detailed mantelpiece housed a quietly crackling fire that provided a warm contrast to the cool, rainy morning. Occasional raindrops pattered against the windowpanes, adding a rhythmic counterpoint to the room’s silence.

This serene backdrop was all a juxtaposition to the family's current unease.

Calbert sat at the head of the table, his impeccably tailored suit and neatly combed long hair a testament to his outward control, but the tight set of his jaw and the occasional clenching of his fists betrayed the storm raging within him.

As he glanced across the table at Liliane, his expression softened momentarily. She appeared fragile this morning, the worry for their missing daughter Violet etching deeper lines into her face. Her hands trembled slightly as she held her teacup, her gaze lost in the swirling steam.

"I simply cannot fathom this," Calbert's voice cut through the quiet, a restrained growl of frustration. "An entire night has passed, and there’s still no word on Violet. " The sigh that followed was heavy with the weight of accumulated woes, "...Haven't we been through enough?"

Liliane looked up, her eyes filled with a mix of sorrow and resolve. "We will find her, Calbert."

Calbert rose, his movements resonant with pent-up energy. "When? And what then of tonight? Will she vanish again? ...We need action, decisive action. I will not have our family threatened constantly."

A glance from Liliane towards their daughter Crystal, silently observing the scene, seemed to bring him back to the moment.

His voice softened, tempered with a tenderness that underscored his words. "Lily, please rouse Cassius and bring some of our guards, scour the town. Visit her frequented spots... The city guard continues their search, but I cannot abide idleness." Approaching her, he lifted her hand to his lips. "Cassius will protect you, my love... I must attend the church event, as appearances must be upheld for the time being, otherwise, I'd come with you. I will request further assistance from King Edin whilst I am there."

Setting her teacup aside, Liliane stood decisively. "I’ll see it done, Calbert. But remain steady; our endeavors from the shadows will come to fruition. Your actions last night have set things in motion for the better, you'll see."