[IC] 🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

[Potter]

Olivia

_Persephone

Time: Evening
Location: Castle Dining Room
Interactions: Lorenzo/Alexander, Charlotte, King Edin, Queen Alibeth Prince Wulfric, Callum, Auguste & Princess Anastasia
Mentions:
Aesthetic:
♞ Dress
♞ Hair
♞ Shoes

---

Olivia stared around at the fancy banquet hall. Nothing she’d seen had come close to the grandiosity and arrogance of the Danroses. She glanced around and wondered how much of it could have been put to good use-such as, feeding the poor. The thoughts caused her blood to boil. She had to remind herself to relax.

With a sigh, Olivia turned to Lorenzo. As he announced their presence, she raised a brow subtly. Vikena? She pursed her lips and curtsied without a word. She knew correcting him would be dangerous. She accepted it and straightened up after Charlotte had. Prince Wulfric, or Wulfdick, greeted her; she noticed he’d skipped greeting her, though she’d been part of the Detective Meeting. As expected.

She waved her hand in acknowledgement to the royals gathered. Her gaze flicked to Prince Callum who looked rather put-together than the rumors claimed he was. ”A pleasure to make your acq.. acquaintance!” What a stupid word. She smiled and took her seat across from Charlotte. She nervously glanced around and spotted a taller and dark haired gentleman. Without knowing who he was, she bowed her head respectfully and looked at the food. Her stomach rumbled, and she resisted the urge to grab the food with her hands to begin stuffing her face.

I’ve got this.. I hope!

[Potter]

Time: Evening
Location: Castle Dining Hall
Interactions: King Edin, Queen Alibeth, Prince Wulfric, Auguste, Callum, and Princess Anastasia & Hafiz
Mentions: Cassius
Aesthetic:
☁ Hair
☁ Dress
☁ Shoes

---

The preparation for the noble banquet was not as cheerful. It would be the first time she’d be in close quarters to him. The anger flowing through her veins powered her through the stupidity of dressing up for these shithead nobles. How she wished she…. Kira pushed the thought out of her mind. At least, she could watch the rest of these insects. There would be plenty of opportunities to mingle with everyone and create friendships. Now she stood outside the banquet hall doors. With a big sigh, she strode confidently into the room.

The royals were seated at the head of the table. Typical. She smiled, curstied politely, and then glanced at the seating chart. Her eyebrows rose. Next to Shehzadi Nahir? The Gods were in her favor for once. With a grin, she strode over to take her seat. While she passed the tables, Kira noted who had arrived; the Vikena clown trio, Alexander Deacon–she avoided eye contact–, and Grand Vizier. He seemed to be in wonderful spirits, she noted dryly. Without a trace of emotion, she seated herself at the end of the table.

”Good evening, Princess Anastasia, Prince Auguste, and Grand Vizier Hafiz, my name is Kira.” She smiled and bowed respectfully to each of them. Kira folded her hands together and rested her chin on top of her hands and looked at them. ”How are we this fine evening?”

[Lava Alckon]

Farim

Location: Castle Dining Hall
Time: Evening of the 28th

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Farim getting dressed

The night was mentally eventful for Farim. The thrill of the performances and the mental pacing that took place after his questionably fortuitous meeting with Count Fritz were enough to make his hair turn grey at the roots.

But now it was time for some new trials. This royal banquet is full of several faces, old and new to Farim. Most of the attendees he had some familiarity with, but the thought of some new faces in this political quasi-romantic landscape did present some interesting opportunities.

Standing in his bedroom in nothing but his smallclothes, he took a look at the foldable wardrobe with all his latest choices in outfits laid out before him on neatly filed clothes hooks. Farim tapped his foot in thought while his darling avian companion happily chewed on small bits of feed left at the bottom of her cage. The door was left open so she may explore as she wished, but right now roosting in her familiar spot was her top priority.

Then he spotted it - a familiar garb that he wore when he was feeling brazen. The deep green melding into the subtle black coloring with the typical Alidasht golden accents. It was a good blend of promiscuous yet stylish - it was exactly what Farim was looking for. He slid the form fitting silks over him and took a slight pose in front of the mirror before calling in his manservant.

”What do we think? Too much? Not enough? Give it to me honestly.” The young man looked the Shehzadi up and down before offering a quick reflection. “Perhaps with such an audience as your potential in-laws…It might be best to show just a tinge less skin? I know your body is in excellent shape - but just a simple bit of covering may come across as modest while still letting people … admire that magnificent body of yours.” The man said with a growing smirk. There was a hint of playfulness in his tone - but this was merely flattery and nothing more. Farim nodded and quickly doffed his robes to wear a loose yet form fitting black and cotton undershirt. After donning his robes once more - he appreciated the hint of mystique hidden beneath the fabrics of his clothes. ”Ever insightful as always, my good friend.” Farim flipped a coin towards the manservants way before heading to the banquet.

As those who had made their entrances already began to settle in their seats, and make their greetings. A sleek figure seemed to materialize in the shadows behind the Grand Vizier. A single hand reached over the man’s shoulder to grasp at his partially filled cup. The unseen figure’s fingers curled along the rim of the cup and picked it up to a familiar pair of lips. Farim smirked as he took a short sip from the cup and parted his lips with a light smack. The royal tilted his head in momentary thought, before gently placing the glass down with some added flair to his motions.

A sideways glance at his father would reveal a few things to Farim. Firstly, he seems to have a mixture of bravado and adrenaline - almost like he just finished a debate. Second, this incursion that he was a part of definitely gave the Grand Vizier an aura of victory - yet another one of his little conquests seemed to play his way. And finally, he was far too absorbed in his personal politics to really notice his son's approach until it was too late. That is why Farim chose to play this harmless little show of faux-dominance over Hafiz. Almost as if to say, “What is yours is just as easily taken by me.”

”My my, father. You have quite the taste. I must commend the sommeliers for their selection but you have a keen eye as always.” A fake tone of approval in his voice, Farim slid his hand back to remain hidden inside his sleeves, giving little to guess about his body language aside from his own facial expressions. Turning a more earnest gaze to the present company, Farim offered a bow towards Anastasia.

”Princess. I am excited to be seeing you once again. Especially after such a riveting performance. You must tell me more of your art.” An immediate patter of wings signaled the emergence of the ever-present Thara, ready to introduce her glorious self to the patrons of the feast. She turned her head around and stopped at Anastasia, offering her feathery head towards her as if to say “I want this one to pet me, and no one else”.

Farim smiled earnestly. ”Thara says hi as well.”

[Lava Alckon]

Flashback, Sola 27th
Ari & Drake

FLASHBACK!

Slap slap slap....

The sound of feet squelching through the freshly mopped foyer reverberated through the house, accompanied by the hurried shuffle of maids darting to and fro. Their faces were pinched with a mix of dread and exasperation. It was unmistakable—the wild, red-haired menace was home, and judging by the trail she was leaving, she’d brought half the outdoors with her.

A grimy trail of muddied footprints stretched across the gleaming floors, smeared further by water pooling in uneven streaks. The damp chaos climbed the grand staircase, where it morphed into soggy, muddy blotches, leaving behind a mess that only Ariella Edwards could create. Soft groans and sharp sighs of frustration rippled through the staff, the muttered laments about the freshly cleaned floors weaving into a quiet chorus.
Completely unfazed by the commotion in her wake, Ariella made her way directly to her brother’s office, her steps quick and purposeful. She knew Drake would be there - he always was when she needed him. As she reached the heavy oak door, her feet squelched once more, a fresh puddle forming beneath her.
Without hesitation, she raised her fist and knocked, the sound loud and firm, reverberating through the hall. Water, dirt, and a murky mix of unknown origins began to seep under the door, creeping into the room beyond like an uninvited guest.

“Drake!” she called, her voice carrying the same urgency as her footsteps. Whatever had brought her rushing home, it was sure to upend his day as thoroughly as she had the house.
There was a moment of silence as the delicate pen strokes of her brother’s pen danced across the parchment. He was in the process of writing letters of thanks to those that attended, among other smaller apologies for the rowdiness and other events that transpired. Drake rested the quill into its ink chamber and rose from the chair to greet the oddly wet-sounding knock that was confirmed to be his sister as soon as he heard the woman call his name.

Measured steps went up to the door, and that all-too-familiar pace of the door opening were the answer to Ariella’s shouts. ”And a good evening to you as well, sister. You are looking particularly…damp….this evening?” But there was something different in her stance. The way she stood staring at him intently that tipped the young lord off to this being far more than just a “big brother complaining session”.

He straightened his posture, stepped aside, and motioned towards his study. ”Come in. I’ll get you some towels.” He opened up a nearby cabinet that seemed to contain a myriad of assorted supplies - all from previous visits that he had eventually learned to keep stored just for her. He found a pair of thicker towels made from linen and cotton, and walked over to wherever she would sit. ”One to sit on, one to dry yourself with. What exactly happened that made you come rushing here dripping and muddy?” He asked patiently.

Her bewildered expression was clear as she stepped past him into his office. Her fingers hovered near her mouth, nails chewed nervously, while her distant eyes betrayed the turmoil in her thoughts.

“Ariellaaa…”

Her brother’s voice broke the silence, drawing her gaze sharply to him. He held out a towel, his expression a blend of concern and patience.

She took the towel without a word, using it first to dry her damp hair, then draping it around her shoulders for warmth. Another towel was placed on the chair across from his, where she moved to sit down. She pulled the fabric tighter around herself, the plush barrier doing little to chase away the chill she felt.
Lifting her gaze to meet his, her large green eyes seemed to plead for understanding, though she said nothing.
“I was in the woods…” She leaned back in the chair.“I went for a s-” she was about to lie. She caught herself. If she was going to find answers she needed to ask real questions. “I was practicing magic.” she admitted outright, her eyes unable to meet her brothers in fear of his reaction.

There was a sudden stop as Drake went from walking back to his desk. He took the time to pivot on his foot and slowly turn towards his sister. The look on his face expressed many levels of shock - how had she known? What made her do this? Is she reverting back to…? No she couldn’t be…Drake’s mind flurried with quick questions before he cleared his throat and focused his attention on Ariella. “Did anyone see you? Were you followed?” His tone dropped to a serious and borderline frantic state.

Slowly, she shook her head as she watched his expression. “No.” she said firmly “I didn’t do anything crazy I was just…” she paused for a moment “I was just testing out my aura, more of a curiosity then anything. And well…things were going normal for a moment then suddenly this darkness appeared but the only way that could happen is if I had preformed dark magic.” her looked up at her brother with concern “But i’ve never done that i’ve only ever once done a protection spell and that was it.”

Drake exhaled, casting his gaze downward for a moment. “I think it’s time you heard about something. Something I’ve regrettably held from you all these years. But before I start…Know that this was to keep you out of harm’s way, and to let you live the free life you’ve pined for since your youth.” He walked over to a small armchair and hoisted it nearby in Ariella’s vicinity. Taking a seat, Drake leaned onto his knees with his elbows and met his sister with a soft yet serious expression. He seemed to pause for quite a while, bordering on an almost eerily silence before he finally broke it with a gentle sound.

“When you were twelve, there was a similar incident to today that occurred. You had wandered into the woods to play, as you would often do, and came back crying to father about a ‘scary voice in the woods’.” Drake moved his arms down, fingers locking in between each other and his thumbs nervously fidgeting over one another. “Once we all went out to investigate, you began to be frantic. You kept saying how ‘it was right there’ but everytime we turned there would be, nothing…” Drake’s eyes looked down into his fists. “And then you started behaving strangely. Telling this voice to go away, that you wouldn’t ‘hurt your family’ and that ‘you only wanted to protect them’. Just as mother began to reach for you, as if by instinct, you put your hands out and put a ward between you and her. She nearly got knocked off her feet from the sudden shockwave of energy. But it quickly vanished.” Drake looked up to her, and blinked a few times before thinking of the right words to say here.

“But there was something sinister about it. Something was awakened that day. After you cast that fleeting spell, everyone present felt chills running down their backs - like the very woods were watching them. Sizing us up like a stalker towards its prey. We all quickly left, but not before….” Drake stopped himself. This was already so much to drop on her all at once, but it was time she heard about her past - about the secrets they burned that day.

Ari stared blankly at her brother in disbelief. She attempted to read his face but she knew Drake would never lie, not about this. Not to her. “Not before what?” she asked, her voice cracking slightly as she could feel his mood shift. Shifting in her chair she gripped onto the towel that laid along her lap.

Drake gripped onto his knees, struggling to find the words. The events that transpired that night were something out of a fairy tale. “You began to talk strangely. Telling us that ‘we couldn’t take your gift away’. You started to get really upset. So much so that you threw your arms up and began to say … some questionable things.” Drake sighed, his head now resting in his hand. “How you would never let it go. That it will always come back. That you would stop at nothing to get what you want.” Drake looked up at Ariella. “It was like you were possessed or something. Father was frightened. Mother was mortified. So…they did something desperate….” Drake paused for several moments - unsure of how to approach this delicate situation. He puffed his chest and decided he would be forthcoming about it - she deserved to know after all.

“They wiped your memory.”
Ariella's grip on the towel tightened, her knuckles turning white as the weight of Drake's words settled over her like a thick, suffocating fog. Her mind raced, grasping for fragments of memory that weren’t there, trying to make sense of something that had been stolen from her.
She wanted to laugh, to call him a liar, to insist that their parents would never do such a thing. But Drake didn’t lie. Not to her.

Her breath hitched. “No…” she whispered, shaking her head as her heartbeat pounded in her ears. “That’s not possible.” But the uncertainty in her own voice betrayed her.
A wave of nausea rolled over her, and she shot up from her chair, the towel falling to the floor. Her legs felt unsteady, like she was standing on shifting sand.

“What did they take from me, Drake?” Her voice was barely above a whisper, but there was an edge to it, sharp and trembling. “What was so terrible that they thought they had the right to rip it from my mind?”

Her fingers curled into fists at her sides as flashes of something—feelings more than memories—buzzed at the edges of her consciousness. Anger. Desperation. A deep, unwavering certainty that something had belonged to her.
Her pulse quickened. “They had no right,” she hissed, her breath uneven.
Her stomach twisted violently. The betrayal burned, clawing at her insides like a caged animal.

“They had consulted many spirit healers before deciding what to do. You almost harmed one of them. They all came to the same conclusion - one that I find rather preposterous but it fed into Father and Mother’s worries even more.” Standing up, Drake walked across the room and towards his desk Ari’s wide eyes followed him, watching his each step with shock. From within one of his drawers he pulled out and produced an ornate key. A silvery design that looked like a wand from the right angle, with a tiny black stone embedded in its center. He marched towards a safe that was hidden behind several books on his bookshelf wall. Small enough to hide, yet large enough to contain a few secret items he felt was necessary to bring out given the circumstances.

“You were branded a witch. A magic user doomed to bring chaos and havoc upon everyone close to you. No one placed any faith in you - branded you a liability purely because you cast a few spells. What poppycock….” Ari’s brows furrowed, no one placed faith in her? No…instead they just took from her, attempting to control her even more than they had before. Drake’s last words were muttered in a hushed whisper - Drake was never known to curse, but the nature of the incidents leading to her memory wiping were frustrating and disagreeable on a fundamental level for him.

Ari could feel tears welling in her eyes as she attempted to gather her thoughts but her mind raced with so many emotions she couldn’t seem to manage them all.

As he clicked the safe open, he reached in for a number of items. A small notebook Ariella had kept during her time as a child - telling small stories of her different magical experiments. There was a pouch full of withered herbs and roots that had long since passed their expiration date. Drake made a noticeable expression at the pungent odor it emanated. Lastly, a small ornate wooden box with a silver lock on it - something Drake had found in her special place in the woods but could never find the key for. He handed all three of these items to her in a linen tote bag. She reached out, grabbing the bag and holding it tightly to her chest as a breath she hadn’t relized she had been holding let out with a soft sigh.

“I tried to protest - but I was only 14…they wouldn’t listen to me. But I did take the time to save some items from your little spot before they cleaned it out the first time. Your special place in the woods - it isn’t the first time you’ve been there. I knew it wouldn’t be your last either. So I saved what I could - and they either burned or destroyed the rest…I wish I could have told you sooner but I feared you would not believe me…” Drake hung his head for a moment. Despite all his prestige and all the skills he’s tried to cultivate over the years - his sister still remained one of the least protected people around him. Magic was a foreign notion to him - something he could scarcely imagine. Yet it was something he would have to struggle through understanding if he were to have any chance with helping his dear sister.

Clutching the bag of mysterious items, Ari felt a surge of magic crackling through her fingertips, tingling beneath her skin like tiny currents of electricity. Her grip tightened instinctively around the worn fabric, as if letting go would sever the fragile thread of understanding that had just begun to unravel before her. She lifted her gaze to her brother, her vision blurred by the tears welling in her eyes, her cheeks flushed a delicate shade of pink.

It all made sense now—why Anna had been so baffled when Ari struggled to recall her favorite place, why she had needed to be shown the way back. Memories that had once been scattered like fallen leaves suddenly seemed to be pulling together, threads that had dangled loose now weaving toward something tangible. Though much was still shrouded in haze, this discovery felt like the first real step forward.

Without a second thought, Ari let the bag slip from her grasp, its contents forgotten as it landed with a soft thud at her feet. In a blur of motion, she bolted from her chair, propelled forward by a force greater than conscious thought. She collided with her brother’s chest, the sheer momentum of her small frame slamming into him like a carriage crashing into a stone wall. He staggered, momentarily off balance, but managed to steady himself just in time.

Ari’s arms wrapped around him with a desperate fervor, her slender fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt as though anchoring herself to reality. She buried her face against him, her breath hitching before breaking into raw, uncontrollable sobs. The weight of all she had lost, of all she was beginning to reclaim, poured out in a flood of tears, muffled against the warmth of her brother’s chest. She rarely showed affection, her mother constantly frowning upon it stating it was a sign of weakness but she didn’t care, especially not now.
“Thank you Drake” she said between sobs her words muffled slightly by the fabric of his shirt.

It was an odd sensation welling within him. There was worry. Worry that Drake couldn’t always be there to protect her from the evils of the world. There was sorrow. Sorrow that a woman such as her had to face such injustice and prejudice simply for her gift of magicae. There was anger. Anger that of all the people that she could turn to, right now it seemed he was the only one to give her any form of closure. The welling energy came into him and threatened to cause an eruption of tirades and curses - but her hug sealed it all in.

“There there, Ari.” He gently patted her back while she sobbed into his chest. This was going to be a process, that was for sure. Magic was outlawed after all, and this was only the start. There were already rumors of people going around killing suspected witches and warlocks - not to mention the public execution just the other week. Fear instilled itself in his mind as the possibilities flowed forth.
He cleared his throat. “This is alot to take in. But you can confide in me in the meantime. Take time, learn about this hidden gift of yours. But don’t let it define you. You are not simply a ‘witch’. You are Ariella Edwards.”

Pulling back from Drake chest she wiped the tears from her eyes.

[JJ Doe]

Fritz "Ryn" Hendrix

Time: Sola 28 1739; Nighttime Hours
Location: Castle Dining Room
Interaction(s)/Mention(s): @SilverPaw @princess

Ever since he and Peter discovered the enchanted spyglass, Ryn had harbored no illusions about its eventual use. His foresight led him to request that Wayra work on a countermeasure—the very one now pinned to his formal attire. But after Prince Wulfric revealed Queen Alibeth’s plans to eradicate magic from the kingdom, complete with witch hunters, the timeline, as they say, dramatically accelerated.

His physiology presented unique challenges. He could not prevent himself from attracting others’ magicae. Nor could he control the constant flux that caused the energy surrounding him to shift through various spectral hues with all the subtlety of a crystal prism spinning in sunlight.

Ryn had hoped, rather optimistically, for something akin to Lady Charlotte’s necklace—a piece that completely masked the wearer’s magicae signature. Sadly, that had proven difficult to replicate. The best they could manage was a brooch with a dampening effect—reducing the vibrant aura to a faint glow and slowing the color shifts to such a glacial pace that casual observation would likely miss the changes altogether. Not perfect, but better than nothing at all.

Moving through the Grand Banquet, Ryn shook hands, kissed cheeks, and exchanged pleasantries with practiced ease and a smile firmly fixed in place. All while watching out for that someone who seemed a touch too interested in everyone else.

[princess]

Time: Evening
Location: Castle Dining Hall
Attire: Dress, Amulet
Interaction: @Potter Olivia @FunnyGuy Lorenzo @Silverpaw Wulfric
Mention: @FunnyGuy Alexander

---

Charlotte dipped into a graceful curtsy, her fingers clutching at the maroon folds of her gown as she lowered herself before the majesty of the banquet hall. Her raven hair cascaded softly in loose waves around her shoulders and down her back as if ink had spilled upon her. Meanwhile, her gown had a midnight blue bodice, embellished with black lace and subtle gold detailing. A trim of soft white lace kissed the edge of her neckline while the flowing crimson fabric of her skirts and off-the-shoulder sleeves pooled like wine around her in an almost haunting way—much like the turmoil she carried within.

As she rose, Charlotte's thoughts spun uncontrollably while her heart pounded like a distant drum in her chest. Though her posture remained poised, chin lifted as she took her seat, on the inside she felt practically ill she was so overwhelmed. The hum of conversation, the clink of crystal, the glow of candlelight—it all blurred together like a fevered dream. She felt watched… and worse, she didn’t know by whom.

“Girls, it looks like I have a twin- No… We’re TRIPLETS!” Lorenzo's boisterous voice suddenly pierced the haze of her thoughts, accompanied by a playful nudge “Prince Callum and uh… who is he, Charlotte?” Her gaze followed her stepfather’s gesture, and her jaw immediately tensed. Her heart skipped sharply, a flush of discomfort washing through her as she hesitated a beat before replying.

"...His name is Alexander." She informed Lorenzo, her voice even and sweet despite the faint tremor she pushed down deep inside. "Alexander Deacon. Vice President of the Black Rose Trading Company... ” Her gaze flickered ever so briefly across the table—just enough to acknowledge the man in question, but not long enough to invite his attention. Her hand rose to tuck a curl behind her ear as she added,“And—so I’ve heard—recently appointed as royal advisor.” Her gaze quickly retreated, focusing intently upon the empty plate before her

Before Lorenzo could respond, the herald’s voice rang out once more: “Presenting the crown prince, His Royal Highness Wulfric Danrose!” The sheer power of the announcement led Charlotte to lift her head back up. Her spine instinctively straightened as her eyes were drawn to the Prince. As he passed, she inclined her head and offered him a graceful curtsy from her seat.

“Your Highness,” she greeted, her tone demure yet sincere. Once Wulfric passed and the room resumed its murmur, Charlotte's gaze drifted across the table piled high with delicacies and landed on Olivia.

She smiled gently at first, however, the longer the moment passed, the more melancholy seeped into her expression, her smile saddening. There was a faraway glint behind her gaze, as if her mind had wandered somewhere her heart wasn’t ready to follow.

For a moment, she simply watched her, her hands still in her lap. Then, as if a decision had bloomed quietly inside her, Charlotte’s fingers reached for the clasp at the nape of her neck. The amulet slid into her palm and without a word, she stood from her seat. Her gown swayed as she stepped around the table, stopping behind Olivia’s chair like a whisper. “You look lovely, dear, ” Charlotte murmured, as her hand gently swept aside a lock of Olivia’s hair. “Truly radiant... But…” she tilted her head with a playful note and smiled once more, “Something’s missing.”

She then lifted the amulet around Olivia’s neck. The chain fell with a soft click against her skin as Charlotte fastened the clasp, then she gently adjusted Olivia’s hair once more with a tender touch.

“There,” she whispered, “just perfect.” Her voice softened even further as she leaned in, her words warm against her friend’s ear. “Keep it safe for me please? Just for tonight.” And though the smile she gave was sweet, her eyes held a solemnity that said she wasn't simply passing a necklace, but a prayer.

[Tae]

Time: Evening
Location: Banquet hall
Interactions: @princess Anastasia
Mentions: @Lava Alckon Drake
Outfit: Dress, Hair, and Makeup

---

The herald’s voice echoed through the grand hall, announcing her arrival. "Presenting Lady Thea Smithwood of Stravy!"

Thea entered the banquet hall with a purposeful stride, the weight of the evening barely registered beneath the confident facade she wore. The moment she stepped inside, she felt eyes on her, and for a fleeting moment, she basked in the attention. Thea was no stranger to it, though tonight, the anticipation of seeing her mother again clung to her like a heavy cloak. Perhaps that was why she indulged in a bit of alcohol before the banquet? Not nearly as much as she had been drinking about a week ago, but still enough to give her some confidence.

Her attire tonight was nothing short of striking: a gown of shimmering fiery orange silk that hugged her figure tightly before flowing down in graceful waves, the fabric catching the light as she moved. The low-cut neckline was daring but sophisticated, framed by delicate gold embroidery of twisting vines that seemed to dance across her curves, an intricate touch that drew attention to the natural elegance of her body.

Her golden locks, usually falling loose around her shoulders in delicate natural curls, were arranged in soft, deliberate waves around her face in an updo. Her makeup was subtly bold with eyes accentuated with dark kohl and lips painted a deep red that only heightened the tantalizing curve of her smile.

Though her gaze swept across the room, scanning for her brother and others she might know, there was one face she couldn’t help but seek more eagerly than the rest: Lord Drake Edwards. Her steps slowed, eyes scanning for his familiar presence among the sea of guests and wondering where he would be seated, her chest tightening with both excitement and a touch of anxiety.

But even as she searched for Drake, the weight of the evening remained. This event, this banquet—her mother, the looming shadows of what this banquet would bring for Varians—everything felt heavy beneath the gilded glow. Yet, with Leo beside her (whenever he chose to make an appearance), she felt certain she could weather the evening.

Turning her head slightly, she spotted the king himself, lounging on his throne in his usual, chaotic indulgence. It took everything in her not to laugh at him and she found herself quickly turning her attention to the Queen and her children. She gave a curtsy before her eyes landed on her best friend and a mischievous smile spread across Thea’s lips. She waved at her best friend, her hand a quick, playful gesture that cut through the sea of people between them. Despite the glamour and grandeur of the evening, Thea felt a moment of ease, a little piece of home in the form of the girl who had been her anchor over the past few days. Anastasia was a calming presence for her, and tonight, Thea needed all the calm she could get. She held the wave for a moment longer, as if to say, ‘I’ve got this,’ before turning her attention to the looming presence of her mother, Duchess Alice.

Her nerves returned as she took her assigned seat a few seats away from the woman.

[Rodiak]

_{dress ♖ hair ♖}

_{C A S T L E D I N N I N G H A L L | E V E N I N G
I n t e r a c t i o n s :
M e n t i o n s :}

“My beautiful girl. Are you ready to go?”

The words sounded sweet behind the blanket of haze that had settled in Zarai’s mind.

“Come here, mija.”

Not waiting for her mother to repeat herself, Zarai stepped into the study.

The room was vast, warmed by the soft candlelight and heavy with the scent of ink and old parchment, with a hint of her mother’s perfume. Jasmine and gardenia blooming thick in the air, cloying in their richness. And pomegranate. Rich in sweetness, ripened past its prime, lingering at the edges like a secret left too long to fester. Plush carpets in deep reds and blues and purples swallowed the sound of her steps as she moved toward the floor-to-ceiling windows. Francesca stood there, silhouetted against the evening light filtering through the windows, a crystal glass of wine poised elegantly between her fingers.

“Did you enjoy the gallery today?”

Zarai stiffened as her mother reached up, her fingers tucking a loose strand of curled hair behind her ear. It was a soft, gentle gesture—a motherly one—and Zarai had learned long ago not to flinch.

“It was lovely,” Zarai replied, keeping her voice light, careful. “Milo St. Claire’s pieces were incredible. His brushwork is one of envy.”

Francesca hummed, tilting her head in approval. “Art is a language, mija. One of grace and restraint.” She smiled, the corners of her mouth curling like an artist’s signature at the edge of one of Zarai’s paintings. “You must learn to speak it fluently.”

Zarai nodded, easily matching the warmth of her mother’s expression.

Moments like these were rare. So fragile that even a breath too strong could shatter them. She had learned to hold them delicately, to pretend, if only for a moment, that this was all their relationship had ever been. Warmth. Praise. Soft hands adjusting an errant strand of hair instead of wielding a cane.

She could almost believe it.

Then—

“But I supposed subtlety has never been your strength.”

… Roll…

The words slid into her skin like the bite of winter air that no haze could ever shield against. A chill, sharp and cutting, slicing through the illusion just as quickly as it had been constructed.

Zarai inhaled slowly, willing the sting away. Higher. Zarai must go higher.

“I—”

“You must be more mindful, Zarai.” Francesca swirled the wine in her glass, her voice deceptively calm as the surface of a frozen lake hiding the currents beneath. “I hear things, you know. Whispers. Little birds.”

Clouds. She could feel clouds all around her. So soft. So light. So gentle.

Francesca twirled a curl of rosy gold in her slender finger, their icy blue gazes meeting. “Tell me, my beautiful girl,” she said, her voice smooth, still warm but laced now with something familiar beneath—something cold. “Why do you insist on making things so difficult for yourself?”

And just like that, the moment was gone.

… Rattle…

『 °*• ❀ •*°』

“Sir Barrios, why does it look like you are about to storm the Sorian fortress?” Zarai drawled, her voice lifting with amusement. “Relax. It’s only a banquet, not an execution.” She glanced down as his hand tightened around the hilt of his sword. “Shall I share some of my magical concoction with you, my knight?”

Sir Barrios’s eyes flickered toward her. His expression was unreadable behind the nice, cozy blanket of the drug. Her lips pulled and curled into an easy smile, far too relaxed.

“Your definition of relaxation tends to involve scandalizing half the nobility in attendance.” Sir Barrios glanced down at her with another retort, but it fell short as soon as he saw that smile on her face.

“Gods, Lady Zarai, are you high right now?!” He hissed quietly, looking over his shoulder to ensure no royal guard heard him.

Zarai laughed, as sharp and unapologetic as the clink of her jeweled heels against the marble floor. “Oh, come now, Sir Barrios. Where’s your sense of adventure? Or did you leave it behind with your sense of humor?”

“I left it behind,” he replied dryly, “when I was assigned to escort you.”

She grinned, leaning in just close enough to make him stiffen and shut up. “Admit it. You’d be bored without me.”

Before he could retort, the doors swung open with a dramatic flourish, and the herald’s voice boomed across the hall. “Announcing Lady Zarai Lesdeman of Puerto Vira!”

As they reached the center of the room, both bowed to the King and Queen.

Fingers brushed over the delicate layers of her dress as Zarai lifted her arms slightly, sinking into a flawless curtsy. Head bowed, eyes lowered, smile poised—the perfect display of grace, fitting for a future duchess. She rose with the same practiced ease, turning smoothly to make her way towards her seat, Sir Barrios trailing just behind her.

With her one duty for the evening now complete, she wasted no time in seeking out her assigned seat—though, much to his dismay, Sir Barrios had to steer her in the right direction. Her focus had already strayed, drawn to the grand feast already spread across the tables. She hadn’t eaten since morning, and with the effects of the drug humming through her veins, she could eat that whole roasted pig lying atop the table.

[FunnyGuy]

_{Lorexander Deakena}

Time: 6 p.m.
Location: The Castle Dining Hall
Attire: Alexander's suit and Lorenzo’s fit

Interaction: Callum Danrose, Wulfric Spicemaster Danrose, Poor Lottie, Olivia “got that chain on” Vikena? Alibeth Danrose, Edin Danrose
Mention:

---

“Alexander Deacon? Oh, Alexander Deacon!” Looked across the table, exchanging another look with the man who toured the art gallery with Charlotte. Again, they exchanged smiles.

What a fool of a man.
He and I will have to speak tonight! I can tell him about today's achievement. That oughta wow a man of his standing

“Lottie, please make sure to introduce him and me before the night's over… and Olivia, that pendant looks wonderful!” Lorenzo exclaimed as he started to fill his plate with food he could actually recognize tonight. Thinking about the dinner with the Alidasht Royal Family made him look up from his plate only to spot something rather interesting. “Ohhh! Grand Vizier! You've made it, my friend! I see you're in the correct chair this evening. Salami-aleekum and enjoy your meal Grand Vizier!” Lorenzo found that his voice traveled quite well from his position, though he was not sure if that was intentional or a design flaw in organizing the seating arrangements.

Meanwhile, across the way, Alexander dug a fork into his food, eating rather conservatively. It wouldn't offer him any sustenance and he'd look quite classy with the way he was eating.

“I fancy the suit, Prince Callum. To think we share the same tailor is quite the honor,” he commented humbly before his eyes set on Prince Wulfric Danrose. Alexander’s welcoming smile never faded, but deep down, he couldn't wait to be rid of the crowned prince.

How would he do it?

His imagination kept up his smile. The where. The when. The method. He could copy what he had done to Darryn. Lackluster as it seemed, it would show the Prince how highly Alexander actually viewed him without the princely adornment crowned upon his head.

“Prince Wulfric, your grace I…”

Be timid…

“I heard rumor that you're quite the hard working man.”

...appear weak.

“If you don't mind, I wish to be vassal of yours who could undertake some of the tasks you've found yourself responsible of. Allow me to remove things from your plate of duties, especially in these times. Princes shouldn't be burdened so much during the courting season, isn't that right my King and Queen?” Alexander took another bite from his fork.

[Helo]

Lord Leo Smithwood

---

Time: 6 pm
Location: Castle Dinning Hall
Interactions: Thea
Attire: “Why was I not told red was the color for tonight?”

Leo arrived at the castle shortly after Thea had; his timing was just right to continue avoiding a conversation with his mother. The harold, shouted his arrival, ...Lord Leo Smithwood of Stravy,” as he entered the dining hall. His suit, one of eye-catching emerald green and ornate gold design, now seemed a mistake. Apparently red was the color for the evening! Leo spotted the cardinal-clad Lorenzo looking as dapper as ever, Charlotte echoing her father’s red scheme in her own dress, and Alexander in a striking crimson suit. Even the notoriously poorly put-together Prince Callum was decked out in red as were a handful of others.

Green was quite literally the opposite of red, and Leo could feel his finger slipping from the constantly beating pulse of the latest trends. It was a maddeningly frustrating realization. Well, at least his shoes matched and looked significantly more expensive than a pair of slippers.

“Look at this feast. Seems the Danroses’ have gone all out for your birthday.” He whispered to Thea as he took a seat beside her. He looked around at the feast spread out across the various tables and breathed a small sigh of relief. If everyone was eating the same food like this, there was little opportunity for any mystical pranks to be played solely on him. Either everyone was going to have some magical weird side effect, or the food was untainted. It was a huge relief not to have to avoid eating and potentially offend Edin.

“Why are half the guests wearing red? Is that the new trend?” He asked, noting her orange dress. What was orange except a softer version of red. Still close enough to fit the theme. Unlike green.

[Helo]

Time: 6 pm
Location: Castle Dinning Hall
Interactions: Hala
Attire: Red like the other cool kids

---

“Presenting Bey Rohit Amar of Kimoon!” The herald announced.

Rohit was one of the last guests to arrive, late and seemingly unbothered by his lack of punctuality. His eyes widened slightly as he took in the sights: a sprawling feast that covered multiple tables, the collection of nobles from all over wearing only their best, and the lavish decorations that surrounded it all. The royal family had gone to great and impressive effort here.

What was significantly less impressive was the sight of Caesonia’s king, and he tried his best to keep a neutral expression as he watched Edin shovel food into his mouth with all the gusto of a ravenous hog. Then again, who could match the grace and charm of Alidasht’s Sultan? Perhaps the bar for a royal presence was simply set too high by those from his own home. Rohit spotted the Grand Vizier taking his seat and he flashed him a bright smile and gave a small wave.

With a plate of food in hand, Rohit headed to his assigned seat only to find a surprise to end all surprises.

Here he was, smoked up, dressed in his finest silks, and ready to feast on the finest offerings in the city. Rohit mistakenly thought today could not get any better. But he was wrong. He saw the big, dark-furred pile of muscle first. A wide grin overtook his face as he recognized the dog immediately.

Home, most often, was a place but deeper than that, it was the place filled with the people who made you feel welcomed and comfortable. In lieu of the place itself, to see someone who was basically family was just as precious. All lingering traces of homesickness vanished.

“Hala?!” His voice, a touch too loud but unmistakably delighted. “When did you get here?” He asked, taking his seat.

[CitrusArms]

Stratya Durmand

Time: 28th Sola, Evening
Location: Castle Dining Hall
Attire: Military Formal, in Caesonian colors
Family Dirk + Crest, worn on the right
Swordbreaker, also worn on the right
Interactions: [@JJDoe] Count Fritz
Mentions: @princess, @Potter, @SilverPaw, @Helo

Arrigh’, Stratya. Th’ social events until now ‘ave been child’s play. T’is one’s t’ real deal. She was just thankful she didn’t have to fuss over a bunch of outfits or, heavens forbid, those frilly dresses. At the same time, her usual fallback seemed to want for something more. To dine in the castle hall, for a banquet, demanded extravagance. Maybe she should get in the habit of visiting the tailor more often? The military formal she’d been fitted for didn’t hinder her movements, and looked well enough to go to formal occasions like this, so it was very difficult for Stratya to decide against it. Which she hadn’t.

She had a few of them. Her favorite was the one in green and brown and black, but for the banquet and the earlier event at the theater, she went with this Caesonian colored uniform. Like Prince Wulfric, she’d reviewed the seating, as well. She was to be seated around the corner from Morrigan. So, next to the High Table. She would be seated across from a doctor, and nearby that Count who seemed to have become friends with the Princess. Oh, and next to that other knight she’d met at the camping event.

Well, at present, she was about to enter. The captain straightened herself and nodded to the herald,

“presenting, Knight Defender, Champion of the Realm, Captain Stratya Durmand of Verdant Creek!”

Stratya entered and tried her best not to be struck by the glamor of the dinning hall. She’d begun to get used to all the opulence, but every once in a while, she’d be awed all over again. She caught herself looking at the high ceiling, and somehow passed it off as a moment of inner satisfaction before she drew her gaze back down.

Having brought an appetite, the knight made a route almost directly for the hors d'Oeuvres table. There would be plenty of more filling and substantial items to be had at her seat, but her stomach was asking her for a morsel. She had one of the stuffed mushrooms before departing the table with a little slab of cheese topped with a bitty slice of smoked meat. Oooh, she could see the feast from here. The feast of her 15th year had been grand, but this. Royalty may not have known how to camp, but she had learned then and saw now, again, they knew how to eat.

A person caught her attention away from the food, however. The young lady from the camping event, a face she hadn’t quite expected to see again. She was there, chatting with Prince August, Princess Anastasia, and the Grand Vizir. That all was opposite her own seat.

The next thing to draw her attention was the gluttonous sight of the King. The less time spent on that, the better. He matched the entire pig she spied set out for the feast.

Aah, Princes Wulfric and Callum. Something struck her as odd about them, but she couldn't place what. While she considered the two of them, a greeting brought her out of her thoughts.

“Aah, here’s a familiar face,” the captain smiled kindly as she took in the sight of the man, thinking back to where she’d seen him. Drake’s party and the theater, just earlier today. “Coun’ Frritz Hendrrix, wasn’ i’. Aye, aye, good tae see ya ‘gain.” The confidence of the handshake he had greeted her with was a welcome change from the usual. Some folks were confused by her gender and yet her title and rank and role, and couldn’t seem to decide whether to treat her as a woman or as a knight. “We’ve not ‘ad a good chance tae make good aquaintance. ‘ave ye ‘ad a bi’e, ye’? T’s all delicious. You’ll ne’er find meal expenses skimped on in Sorrian, haha!”

[JJ Doe]

Fritz "Ryn" Hendrix

Time: Sola 28 1739; Nighttime Hours
Location: Castle Dining Room
Interaction(s)/Mention(s): @CitrusArms @princess @FunnyGuy @Potter @PapaOso @Apex Sunburn

“Ser Durmand,” he greeted, the firmness of his grip matching the Knight Captain’s own. “A pleasure to cross paths again so soon.”

In response to Captain Durmand’s first question, he lifted the small plate he held. On it balanced three vol-au-vents, each a marvel of architectural pastry—flaky, golden, and collapsing slightly under their own delicious weight. Their mushroom hearts released a savory aroma—rich and buttery, earthy yet bright with scattered fragments of thyme and tarragon. “I believe you. Every function in Sorian has proven a superb culinary experience.”

Turning from the Captain, Ryn surveyed the dining hall, where candlelight caught on jewels and polished buttons. The ambient noise of aristocratic chatter bounced off the high ceilings. “Quite the gathering tonight—many fresh faces.”

From across the room, he spotted the Vikenas with Ms. Persephone beside them, looking somewhat overwhelmed but maintaining her composure. They all were. He raised his hand in a quick greeting, careful not to let his face betray his concern. With Count Damien assigned only a few seats away from them, the evening promised excitement of the wrong sort for the Vikena party.

With a tilt of his head, Ryn directed the Captain’s attention toward their assigned table with its elegantly handwritten place cards. A few lacked the usual parade of titles and honorifics—a curious diplomatic omission in such company.

“Have you had the pleasure of acquainting yourself with any of our dining companions?” he asked, taking a sip of champagne. Pale gold and crisp, the beverage offered just enough sweetness to take the edge off the bubbles. “I recognize most of the names, but several others elude me.”

[Tae]

Time: Evening
Location: Banquet Hall
Interactions: @Rodiak Zarai
Attire: Look Leo! Green! Also hair…

---

Torvi stood at the entrance of the grand banquet hall, letting the opulence of the room settle into her senses. The air was thick with the perfume of rich foods and the delicate hum of aristocratic chatter. As always, she carried herself with quiet confidence, her sharp golden eyes scanning the room with practiced ease.

Her gown, deep hunter green, was a perfect blend of practicality and elegance. The fabric, rich and flowing, allowed for ease of movement, while the subtle detailing along the edges hinted at restrained luxury. No excessive flourishes, just sharp lines and well-crafted tailoring. A black leather belt, adorned with silver runes, cinched at her waist, and her boots, polished to a soft shine, peeked from beneath the hem.

At her side, Fenrys moved silently, his massive form drawing more than a few wary glances. His sleek, dark coat gleamed under the candlelight, and his amber eyes swept the hall with quiet awareness. He was a shadow at her heels, a presence both regal and menacing. At an unspoken command, he eased down behind her chair, his bulk settling in a way that kept him out of the way—yet ever watchful.

Torvi took her seat, her gaze flicking across the table to the woman sitting opposite her. She studied her in quiet amusement—the relaxed posture, the hint of mischief lingering about her like a second skin. This one, Torvi thought, would be interesting.

After a moment, she leaned forward slightly, her lips curling into the barest hint of a smirk.

"Now, I do not believe we have had the pleasure," she mused, her voice smooth, tinged with quiet amusement. "I am Torvi. And you are...?" She let the question linger, her gaze sharp yet teasing, as though sizing up whether the woman across from her was worth remembering.

[Tae]

Kalliope & Sjan-dehk & Iyen

& Hafiz

Part 2

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

---

“You know, Sjan-dehk, this is probably one of the stranger feasts I’ve been to,” Iyen mused. The tease in her words perfectly reflected the playful smirk on her face. “There’s usually, you know, a little more feasting and not so much walking, in my experience.”

“Really?” Sjan-dehk asked, his voice dry and eyes unamused as he glanced at her. “Thought it’d be because you haven’t gotten us thrown out yet.” The slap Iyen gave him on the arm wasn’t as light-hearted as what her laugh suggested, but Sjan-dehk brushed it off. After all, she did have a point – it had to have been almost an hour since the two of them had arrived at the castle for the King’s banquet, and all they had managed to accomplish thus far was to get lost amidst a maze of hallways and corridors. That they all looked the same to their eyes didn’t help in the least.

“Hey, that only happened twice!” Iyen pouted, but that quickly turned into a cheeky smile. “Three or four times, if you count what happened in Inahk and Sjangjah, and Sakaka. And half of those times were because of something you started, in case you’ve forgotten.”

“No, I only finished what some other cunt started,” Sjan-dehk corrected. A pair of servants came towards them, their shuffling gaits hurried. Sjan-dehk greeted both men with a tip of his hat, and was about to ask for directions when they quickly bowed their heads and scurried off. Iyen didn’t even have time to say a word.

Well, Sjan-dehk didn’t blame them for such a reaction. They were probably busy with getting the banquet ready. And besides, it wasn’t as if either Iyen or he looked particularly friendly. Although they did put some effort into looking formal and presentable, they still looked as if they had been at sea for the day, and had only the time to freshen up. That was in fact the truth, in Sjan-dehk’s case – he had been collecting testimonies from the people whose settlements had been sacked by pirates a few days ago. He had only been in harbour for perhaps two or three hours before it was time for him to leave for the banquet.

And so, he had come wearing the best clothes he could scrounge up – the uniform he reserved for parades or anything that called for a little more pomp. It had geometric patterns embroidered in yellow thread on the chest, and a stripe of a similar colour running down both trouser legs, but it was otherwise identical to his uniform, albeit a little stiffer and made from better fabrics. And of course, Sjan-dehk wore his usual, well-worn kit over it. From either hip hung a sword, and a pair of pistols sat on his lower back.

“Well, if things turn to shite today, I can add one more to your count,” Iyen said. “Or maybe three or four, since you’d be the first to get thrown out of a place outside of the Commonwealth.”

“That’ll get me in the history books, aye,” Sjan-dehk replied with a chuckle. He matched her grin with one of his own, and met her mischievous eyes with a similar gaze. “Though now that I think about it, that distinction has to go to Yehn-tai. Got himself and a few others into a fight with local drunks the other day, and got hauled out of a drinking house. Had to deal with that shite myself, so that was fun.”

“First to get thrown out of a formal party outside of the Commonwealth, then,” Iyen corrected.

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come–” Muffled voices wafting from around the corner caught Sjan-dehk’s attention, and he immediately cut himself off. One of the voices, he recognised. Kali. He couldn’t tell to whom the other voice belonged, but they didn’t sound like a Caesonian to his ears. But he didn’t care much about that. What he did care about were the words this stranger was saying to Kalliope. Sjan-dehk didn’t understand most of them, but those that he did, didn’t sound nice.

“Sounds like a fight,” Iyen said, her voice falling to a whisper and discarding its playful tone.

“Aye,” Sjan-dehk replied. He crept forward, Iyen following close behind him, and peeked around the corner. And sure enough, there was Kalliope, standing in the middle of the hallway, behind a man whose outline was largely obscured by an expensive-looking robe. Sjan-dehk narrowed his eyes. Even though this strange person blocked much of his view of Kalliope, what he could see of her face was enough to tell him that she was in distress.

“Hey, that’s her, isn’t she?” Iyen asked in a hushed voice. “The lady you–”

“Yes,” Sjan-dehk interrupted.

“Well then, I’ll follow your lead.” Iyen’s hand fell to the hilt of the short, elegantly curved blade by her side. Her fingers curled around the grooved handle, and she rested her other hand on a coil of rope wrapped across her body. Shards of metal embedded in its twines shimmered in the low light. And although she wore her clothes tight around her body, Sjan-dehk knew from experience that she had more than just a few blades hidden away in her braces, her leg wraps, and even in the pins that kept her hair in the tails that she favoured.

But now wasn’t the time for violence. As much as Sjan-dehk wanted to march up to that person, give their head a proper slap, and be done with it, he had a feeling that doing so would probably make things worse for Kalliope. “Easy,” Sjan-dehk whispered. “I think we can do this without any need for violence. We’re just here to find our friend, aren’t we?”

Iyen grinned. “That, we are.”

Sjan-dehk stepped around the corner, making sure his footsteps were loud enough for Kali and the stranger to hear him coming. Iyen followed, hovering just behind his shoulder. As Sjan-dehk drew closer, the pain on Kalliope’s face became all the more evident. It took all of his restraint to not simply draw his pistol and gun the stranger down right then and there. Easy. Let's not make any trouble for her. He cleared his throat. “Lady Kalliope,” he called out. “Iyen and me, we were looking for you.”

“Hello,” Iyen greeted with a smile and a wave. “We found you!”

“Yes, hello,” Sjan-dehk said, looking over his shoulder at Iyen with a look that very politely asked her to remain quiet. He turned towards the stranger, a man whose very stature announced to all of his importance and power. Sjan-dehk, however, didn’t care about either, especially when they belonged to someone who had brought Kalliope to such a state. And so, when he spoke, he did so in a very casual and rushed manner.

“I am Sjan-dehk of Jafi,” he introduced himself, then pointed to Iyen. “Iyen of Sudhrayar. We are here for Kalliope of Caesonia, and now we find her, so…” He glanced at Iyen and tilted his head towards Kalliope. She nodded slowly. Only then did Sjan-dehk walk around the man, paying him almost no heed, to gently take Kalliope by her arm. “Easy, I got you,” he said in a low voice, just loud enough for her to hear.

“We go now,” Sjan-dehk said, louder, clearer, and with finality, and started to pull Kalliope away.

Hafiz had already won. He knew it; she knew it. Her trembling frame spoke louder than words, each shuddered breath a confession of defeat.

Then, like an unwanted pest, he arrived. His fingers twitched at his sides, suppressing the rage simmering beneath his exterior.

The man approached with an infuriating ease, moving as if Hafiz were merely an obstacle.

He adjusted his cuffs gracefully, his expression almost benevolent. Hafiz stretched out a hand as if to intervene, though he had no intention of stopping them. ““Ah… how fortunate,” he purred softly, eyes fixed upon her trembling form. ““She was just about to collapse.”

Let him believe he’d rescued her. Hafiz’s smirk widened, gaze never wavering.

“Such a fragile thing.” As Sjan-dehk pulled her away, Hafiz allowed the barest brush of his fingertips against her wrist—a whisper-light touch that spoke louder than any words:

You're still mine.

He didn't watch them leave. He didn't need to. She would never be free. And she knew it too.

At first, Kalliope didn’t react when Sjan-dehk and Iyen approached. She didn’t even seem to register their presence. Her gaze was locked ahead, unfocused, shoulders stiff, fingers trembling at her sides.

It wasn’t until Sjan-dehk stepped around Hafiz and gently took her arm that something flickered in her eyes—recognition, confusion, fear.

Her breath stuttered. She flinched as if expecting pain. Her first instinct was to recoil, to shrink away, to brace for the inevitable blow or cruel grip that would remind her exactly where she belonged. But it never came.

Instead, there was warmth. A steady, grounding presence.

Then, a voice—low, familiar.

"Easy, I got you."

Sjan-dehk.

Her eyes darted up, panic still clouding her vision, but now she was seeing him. And it wasn’t Hafiz. It wasn’t chains, or cruelty, or the past creeping in to consume her whole. It was Sjan-dehk, guiding her, pulling her away.

She wanted to move. Needed to. But her legs felt stiff, disconnected from the rest of her body. She stumbled, barely able to follow his lead. Her breaths were shallow, too fast, too uneven. The pressure in her chest built with every step, a vice tightening around her ribs.

And then, Hafiz was gone.

Sjan-dehk had led her far enough away.

But the distance didn’t make her feel safer.

She couldn’t breathe.

Her chest heaved, but no air seemed to fill her lungs. The walls blurred, tilting at strange angles. A soft, strangled sound tore from her throat as her fingers clawed at the fabric of her dress, desperate to loosen something—anything—but it wasn’t her clothes that were suffocating her.

It was Hafiz. His presence still lingered, wrapping around her like chains she couldn't see but could feel tightening, tightening…

"I—" Her voice cracked. "I can't—"

Her legs gave out. Sjan-dehk quickly tightened his hold on her.

If not for his grip, she would have collapsed. Instead, she crumpled against him, shaking violently, her nails digging into his sleeve. "I can't breathe," she choked out, panic thick in her voice. "I can't—he—he—"

She squeezed her eyes shut, shaking her head, trying to force away the memories, the fear, the overwhelming certainty that she would never truly be free. But it clung to her, smothering, suffocating…

She was drowning.

And no matter how hard she gasped for air, she couldn’t break the surface.

“It’s okay, he’s not here now,” Sjan-dehk said quietly. Slowly, he shuffled the both of them over to a wall and gently leaned her back against it. Then, he carefully kneeled, bringing her to a sitting position on the floor. “Let’s get you comfortable, alright?” He peeled himself away, but continued to hold one of her hands in a tender grip. Just enough for her to know that he was still there, but not so tightly that he exerted any pressure on her.

“She’s panicking,” Iyen said, concern written all over her face. She ran a hand nervously through one of her tails, twirling dark hair around a finger. “Shadowed Green help me, Sjan-dehk. I hope you know what to do.”

“Aye, I do,” Sjan-dehk replied, casting a glance over his shoulder. “Could you keep watch? We’ll need some space around us.”

“You got it.” Iyen took a step back, a hand hovering by her weapons.

Sjan-dehk turned back to Kalliope. He pulled on the ends of his hat’s chinstraps, loosening them just enough to let him push it back and let it rest on his back. “Kali,” he called softly. “Kali, I need you to look at me, okay?” Doubt gnawed at the corners of his mind – although he did know what needed to be done in such a situation, his experience with it had been mostly limited to getting a despairing sailor back into action as quickly as possible. That wasn’t what Kalliope needed, and it surely wasn’t what he wanted to do for her.

But as quickly as that doubt appeared in his mind, it disappeared. There wasn’t anyone else that could help, not at this moment. It had to be him. “Kali,” he repeated her name, reaching out with a hand to cup her cheek. Very gently, he turned her head to let their gazes meet. He greeted her with a warm smile. “Good evening, Kali. Just look at me, alright?”

He squeezed her hand again, rubbing his thumb over the back of her palm. Whatever it was that had distressed her so, it had to have been incredibly traumatic. And related to that man. A frown flashed across his face for a moment, but he quickly forced it away. Now wasn’t the time for him to delve into things. He just had to focus on Kalliope. Nothing else mattered.

“I’ll admit that I don’t know what happened,” he began slowly, his dark eyes still locked onto her bright, verdant ones. “But whatever it was, it’s not happening now, yes? Whoever that man was, he’s not here with us now, and he won’t be with us, not if Iyen over there can help it.”

“I’ll cut his balls off if he tries,” Iyen chirped.

“That, she will.” Sjan-dehk gave her a sharp look over his shoulder. Iyen shrugged, but nodded, and Sjan-dehk looked back at Kalliope. “You’re safe here, Kali. With me–” He stopped suddenly, a flush creeping over his cheeks. Then, he cleared his throat. “Well, you’re safe now, that’s what matters. Nobody can hurt you now, not while I’m…Not while Iyen and I are around.”

Kalliope’s breath still came in short, shallow gasps, her fingers twitching against the fabric of Sjan-dehk’s sleeve as if trying to find something solid, something real, to anchor herself to. The walls still felt too close, her skin too tight, the weight of invisible chains pressing down on her ribs, squeezing, suffocating.

Then, warmth. A hand against her cheek, gentle but firm, guiding her, pulling her back.

Not Hafiz.

Sjan-dehk.

His touch was nothing like Hafiz’s. Hafiz’s hands had been cruel, possessive, meant to break, to claim, to remind her that she was his—a thing, not a person. Even when he hadn’t been violent, even when his touch had been deceptively soft, it had always been tainted with the knowledge that he owned her.

Sjan-dehk’s touch was the opposite. Solid, grounding. He wasn’t forcing, wasn’t taking. He was giving—warmth, steadiness, something she didn’t realize she had been starving for until now.

She needed this.

She needed him.

It was terrifying.

Her wide, glassy eyes locked onto his, and for the first time since Hafiz’s voice had shattered her world, she saw something that wasn’t fear.

Sjan-dehk was speaking, but the words barely reached her through the roaring in her ears. Something about safety, about how Hafiz wasn’t here, about how Iyen would cut off his—

A sharp, broken laugh clawed its way out of her throat, more a strangled gasp than anything else. But it cracked something inside her, just enough to let in air.

Safe.

She didn’t know what that felt like. Not really. Not in a way that made sense.

But Sjan-dehk was here. He was real.

That had to mean something.

She forced a shaky inhale, her grip on Sjan-dehk’s sleeve tightening as if trying to remind herself that she had control over her own body. Her other hand rested in his, trembling slightly, but she didn’t pull away. Couldn’t.

Her lips parted, voice barely more than a whisper. “I—I thought I was back there.” Another ragged breath. Her head tilted slightly into his palm, drawn to the warmth despite herself. “I couldn’t—I couldn’t tell what was real and what wasn’t.”

She swallowed hard, throat raw, and let her gaze flicker toward Iyen for just a moment.

Something twisted deep in her chest.

She hadn’t noticed the woman at first, but now? Now she saw the easy confidence in Iyen’s stance, the way she lingered close, the familiarity in her voice. How he had brought her to this dinner.

Kalliope’s breath hitched.

Of course.

She had let herself think—even for just a moment—that this could be something. That he could be something. But he already had someone. And why wouldn’t he?

Her fingers slowly loosened their hold on his sleeve, her walls rushing back up, the instinct to protect herself slamming into place like armor.

Still, she couldn’t make herself pull away from him completely.

Her voice was quieter now, something hollow creeping in. “You’re wrong,” she murmured, eyes dropping away from his. “He’s not gone.” Her hand slipped from his sleeve, falling back to her side. “He never will be.”

Her lips parted, then closed, then parted again, something fragile flickering behind her gaze before she buried it deep. “His scars are the deepest.”

And no matter how far she ran, she would never be free of them.

Up until now, Sjan-dehk had thought that they had been making good progress. He had allowed himself to relax when he heard Kalliope’s choking laugh, and had allowed himself to believe that all would soon be well when she uttered a couple of clear sentences. This sudden change in her voice, however, told him that he had let his guard down too early. And to make things worse, he had absolutely no clue as to its cause.

He threw an uncertain look over his shoulder at Iyen. She shrugged, looking just as confused.

“Iyen, could you go look around the corner?” Sjan-dehk asked. Sending Iyen away was a stab in the dark, but it seemed to him that Kalliope’s manner had changed only after she had glanced at her. Perhaps she wasn’t comfortable being vulnerable in the Sudhrayarn’s presence? Sjan-dehk thought that to be a possibility; the two women weren’t even acquaintances. “Make sure no one disturbs us, least of all that rich-looking cunt.”

“You got it,” Iyen replied with a nod. She gave Kalliope a sympathetic look and a smile, and then she swiftly disappeared down the hallway.

Sjan-dehk turned back to Kalliope and forced himself to remain calm. If she was like a ship adrift and lost, then he was akin to an anchor, and his arm, the chain linking the two. Even if he hadn’t a clue as to what to do – and he really didn’t – he wouldn’t make things any better by letting that uncertainty show on his face. Or in his demeanour.

“That should keep her busy for a while,” he said with a slight grin that didn’t last long. Scratching the back of his head, he continued. “Alright, maybe I’m wrong. Maybe he’ll never leave you, and maybe the scars he left are too deep to heal.” Unconsciously, his thumb rubbed small circles on her cheek, rough calloused fingertip brushing over supple skin. “But I remember Dai-sehk, Sada Kurau’s surgeon, I mean, he said that the scars that form over wounds are tougher than the skin they used to be. And he’s good with this medical stuff, so I’d say he’s right. So who’s to say that you can’t come back stronger after what that cunt did to you?”

He gently pushed her head until their gazes met once more. “If he won’t leave, if he wants to be a damn termite in wood, then let him stay. He did nasty things to you? Then spite him. Make him watch you become stronger than when he first met you. Let that bastard cunt know that despite all his efforts, he couldn’t bloody break you.”

Once again, his body moved on his own, and his hand found hers. “This sort of thing, I know it’s easier said than done, but you don’t have to do it alone.” The words were just flowing out of him now, as if he just knew what to say on instinct. “Abyss be damned, if nobody will help you, then I will. If you fall, I’ll pick you right back up. Carry you, even, if I have to. Or just bring you back with me to the Commonwealth. He’ll have to be crazy to follow you all the way there.”

He paused, and the weight of his words finally caught up with him. A flush came over his cheeks and sheepishness pulled on his features. He was making a lot of promises; promises that might land him in at least some trouble if he tried to keep them. And yet, he knew that he meant every word, consequences be damned. “Take your time. We can go when you’re ready.” He gave her a mischievous grin. “I wasn’t joking, by the way. I’ll carry you to dinner if you need me to.”

Kalliope’s breath hitched as Sjan-dehk’s hand remained steady against her cheek, his thumb tracing small, grounding circles that sent warmth seeping into her skin. She should pull away. She *should.* Every instinct, every scar, every whispered warning carved into her soul screamed at her to retreat, to rebuild the walls that had kept her safe for so long.

But… she didn’t.

Instead, she let herself feel the callouses on his palm, the heat of him bleeding into her frozen skin. His words lingered in her mind, weaving through the cracks in her armor and settling deep in the places she thought long dead.

If he wants to be a damn termite in wood, then let him stay. Spite him. Make him watch you become stronger.

Her throat tightened, and her eyes burned, but she refused to let the tears fall. Not yet. She couldn’t remember the last time someone had looked at her and seen strength. Not a weapon. Not a tool. Not something to be broken and molded into obedience.

Just... her.

Her fingers twitched in his grip, and for a moment, she allowed herself to lean into him, just enough to feel the solid strength beneath the warmth. His words were reckless, foolish even. He didn’t know what Hafiz was capable of. He didn’t understand how deep the scars ran or how the shadows of her past clung to her, threatening to pull her back at every step.

And yet... he was still here. Still offering to carry her, to catch her, to stand between her and the darkness that had haunted her for so long.

Her eyes flickered toward the hallway where Iyen had disappeared, doubt twisting in her gut. Why would a man like Sjan-dehk—a captain, a warrior—make such promises to someone like her? Someone broken. Someone tainted.

Someone who could never be enough.

Because he already has someone, the voice in her head sneered. You saw it in the way she looked at him. The way he brought her here. You're just a moment of pity, a burden he's foolish enough to try and carry.

Her heart clenched painfully, and her fingers began to slip from his...

But then he spoke again.

If she fell, he would pick her up. He would carry her

Her breath shuddered, and the war inside her raged—fear and longing, doubt and desperate hope, all colliding and tearing her apart from the inside out.

Would it really be so terrible... to let him catch her? Just this once?

Her gaze lifted slowly to meet his, searching the depths of those dark eyes for the lie, the trap, the hidden cruelty she’d come to expect from people who spoke sweet words and offered soft touches.

She found none.

Only warmth. Only sincerity. Only... him.

Her resolve cracked, and before she could stop herself, her trembling hand tightened around his, clinging to him as if he were the only thing keeping her from drowning. “You don’t know what you’re promising,” she whispered, voice raw and unsteady.

Sjan-dehk swallowed, and he had to will himself to not avert his eyes. It was one thing for him to know that he had made grand promises with neither much thought nor a plan as to how he was going to keep them, but to hear the same thing – well, more or less – from her mouth made it all the more apparent just how foolhardy he was. He didn’t even know who this Hafiz was, only that he looked and sounded like he was high on the Alidashti ladder of nobility. Was he going to risk crossing swords with such a man for Kalliope? A woman he had only known for, at most, all of a week?

Well, yes.

That answer came quickly to him. How could it be any other? The way she looked at him, green eyes peering right at his soul; the way she clung to him, as if he would float away if she didn’t, it all made him want to protect her. To help her, one way or another. It was a strange feeling, to be so protective – beyond what duty of morality required of him – of another, but Sjan-dehk wasn’t about to fight it. To keep Kalliope safe felt right to his heart, and that was good enough for him.

“I’m... I’m not someone you save, Sjan-dehk. I’ve been broken and remade into something... ugly. Something dangerous. And he... he’s in here.” She tapped her temple with her free hand, her eyes glassy and distant. “No matter how far I run, he never leaves.”

Her breath hitched, and her head tilted slightly into his palm, desperate for the comfort, the grounding. “But... I want to believe you. I want to believe that I can be more than what he made me.”

A broken laugh slipped from her lips, barely more than a breath. “I think... I think I’ve forgotten what it feels like to be safe.”

Sjan-dehk smiled at her. Not a grin, or a smirk, but a soft, gentle one. “Guess it’s about time you started remembering, then.”

Her gaze softened, vulnerable and fragile in a way she hadn’t allowed herself to be in years. “But if you meant what you said... if you really won’t let me fall... I...” Her voice faltered as her heart pounded against her ribs, terrified of what it would mean to trust him. To let herself feel.

Her body felt heavy, exhausted from the weight of carrying her fear and pain alone for so long. And here he was, this reckless, stubborn captain, offering to bear it with her. Her fingers tightened around his for a moment, and before she could stop herself, she pulled that hand from his grip before she leaned forward, slowly, hesitantly closing the space between them.

“What’re you–” Sjan-dehk started, but then his breath hitched in throat when she started leaning closer and closer to him. He didn’t pull away. He couldn’t, entranced as he was by her eyes, her pretty face, even the faint scent of her, growing stronger with each passing moment.

Her arms slipped around him, tentative at first, as if afraid he might pull away—or worse, that she’d wake up and this moment would shatter like all the others. But when her forehead rested against his shoulder, something cracked open inside her. Her grip tightened, clinging to him as if he were the only thing tethering her to reality. The warmth of him seeped into her, steady and grounding, and for the first time in what felt like forever... she let herself breathe.

Carefully, gingerly, almost as if he were afraid she would push herself away if he moved just that much too fast, or touched her with anything more than gentleness, Sjan-dehk wrapped his arms around her. One hand cradled the back of her head, fingers acting on their own as they brushed through her hair. He dipped his head and closed his eyes, savouring the press of her body upon his; the warmth of her breath against him, and simply just her.

“You’ll be alright.” Those words came out in a quiet whisper, and without much thought. And yet, he meant it. Kalliope would be alright. Hafiz would not have her, break her, or do anything to her, not without Sjan-dehk having a say in the matter. At that moment, there wasn’t a thing of which he was more sure.

“I don’t know how to let you in,” she admitted, voice barely a whisper. “But... I’m tired of fighting alone.”

A pause. Her breath shuddered against him as she soaked in his warmth, needing him in a way that terrified her.

“...I’ll also let you carry me to dinner,” she murmured after a moment, her voice trembling with something that almost—almost—resembled humor. “But only because I want to see the look on everyone’s faces when they think I’ve finally seduced Captain Sjan-dehk.”

A small, teasing laugh slipped from her lips, and she squeezed her eyes shut against the tears threatening to fall.

Sjan-dehk chuckled. Slowly, he peeled himself away and looked at her with a mischievous shine to his eyes. “Glad to see your humour’s back,” he said, rocking himself back onto the balls of his feet. He reached for her cheek again – it just felt like the right thing to do – and caressed it for a moment longer. “You don’t have to fight alone. Nobody should.” He pulled his hand back, giving her a warm smile that turned into a grin. “And you can take your time letting me in. I can always shout from behind the door while waiting, like this.”

He turned his head to look down the hallway. “Iyen!” His voice echoed off the walls. “Time for us to go!”

“You didn’t have to shout that loud,” came Iyen’s reply, followed by the sound of her approaching footsteps. “But alright, I’m ready when you are, Sjan-dehk.”

Sjan-dehk turned back to Kalliope. “Now, let’s see…” he muttered before hesitantly wrapping his arms around her. He tried a few times in different positions, until he got it right, supporting her by her shoulders and behind her knees. Standing up slowly, he took some time to balance himself, in the process tucking her closer to him. All the while, Iyen stood beside them, lips pulled into a wide, cheeky smile.

“Isn’t this sweet?” Her teasing words came out in a melodic voice. [color=228B22][i]“I’m jealous. You never carry me like that, Sjan-dehk.”

“Yes, I have,” Sjan-dehk replied. “Can’t remember when, but surely at least once.”

“You slung me over your shoulder like a sack of rice, Sjan-dehk.”

“That’s just a difference in style,” he countered before looking down at Kalliope. His cheeks were a deep red – he could feel it – just by how close she was. He swallowed and cleared his throat, tightening his grip on her shoulder and holding her more securely. He took a tentative step, then another. “Hope this isn’t too uncomfortable for you.”

“Just... don’t let go.” Sjan-dehk nodded and picked up the pace.

It was the smallest surrender, fragile and uncertain. But for the first time in what felt like forever, she allowed herself to lean on someone else.

And Gods help her... she prayed he wouldn’t break her the way the last man had.