Helo

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Sola 28th, 3am (Warning: Contains violence against a bird!)

This was his space. An uninteresting warehouse in a sea of warehouses that all looked the same. Thieves looking for an easy break-in would find the door and its lock far sturdier than worth their effort. From inside the warehouse, the wards around the door would look like strange graffiti carved into the wood, and magic worked to both reinforce the barrier and deter the uninvited from attempting entry.

Anyone who managed to break inside would find a mostly empty warehouse. A few crates here and there contained nothing but old junk. The only thing that might arouse suspicion was the absence of dust or cobwebs in a space so empty and seemingly abandoned.

Only those who could see the lingering traces of magic would notice the concealed door. So Callum had to remember exactly where it was, had to count out the exact number of paces, and whisper an incantation to a wooden panel. Then he could walk right on through the illusionary wall and continue down a flight of stairs, down to a basement, and see only another locked door.

This door had no metal key or secret password, this door opened only for his blood and led into a basement. Here was a dirt floor, surrounded by darkness until another spell from Callum lit a handful of candles around the room all at once. The dim light was not enough to reach the walls of the room.

Below the earth.

Hidden from the sun.

Closer to the underworld.

Vibe

Here, Callum set down a backpack and a covered birdcage as his eyes adjusted to the dark and empty space. Soft cooing from the birdcage echoed around him as he carefully removed his clothing.

“Step one, prepare the mind and body.” He spoke aloud, as he carefully removed a fine-tipped brush and jar of freshly made ink. Once his eyes adjusted to the candlelight he set to work covering his skin in sigils, cold ink gliding over goosebumped skin. Symbols of strength, protection, and control covered his body. He sat on a blanket draped over the earth as he waited for the ink to dry, anticipation pounding in his chest.

He had added his own interpretations to the ritual. He prepared his mind by retrieving an opium kit from the backpack, allowing the sweet smoke to lull him into a trance-like state. His mind was closer to the spirit realm but not entirely lost to the opium. Magic appreciated indulgence and restraint in equal measure, it rewarded balance.

A request demanded a sacrifice, he felt the ritual he’d studied lacked that. He had a big request, he knew exactly what he wanted and would leave this room with nothing short of it. Cal would attract the attention of something powerful by first offering an equally powerful sacrifice.

His heart pounded away as the ache in his chest squeezed tighter. He removed a few more items from the backpack.

Callum removed a dove from the birdcage. His top fingers curled around the bird’s neck, the rest of his hand wrapped around the bird keeping its wings still. The dove continued to coo, the sound more frantic now, almost as if the poor creature could divine the future.

His other hand held a small knife. He extended a finger and gently scratched the top of the bird’s head.

“I’m sorry,” Callum whispered. Then, without further hesitation, he drove the knife through the dove’s heart. He killed something innocent and willingly crossed his boundaries. His action echoed through the space. It made this spot a place where boundaries were easily crossed. The veil between the physical and the spirit realm thinned in response.

He patiently waited as the blood dripped onto an offering bowl.

Callum wanted power. He needed to attract the attention of a potent spirit; something primal and dangerous. The kind of spirit he wanted wouldn’t be drawn in by anything mundane; only a worthy sacrifice would suffice. A life and a piece of his soul were both gone. One dark act to help prepare his spirit to commit a darker act.

He carefully moved the offering bowl to a new spot on the floor, not a drop of crimson spilled. He drew a large circle in the dirt floor around the bowl, redrawing it several times until it was perfectly formed. He then covered the circle with a layer of salt, poured from a jar. Within the salt circle, he painstakingly traced out a unicursal hexagram in one continuous motion and laid a layer of salt atop it as well. At each point, he drew a sigil and outside the circle, across from each sigil he’d drawn, he placed a black candle.

“Power.” His voice held resolve as he spoke each sigil's demand before lighting each candle. “Protection. Guidance.” He continued as he struck a new match each time. “Cunning. Loyalty. Ruthlessness.” His voice echoed in the quiet void below the earth.

Finally, in the middle of the circle, he drew a sigil for the force he, and the familiar he intended to summon, would serve together; chaos. “As we serve Cleado; destroyer of towers, bringer of change, herald of upheaval.”

He washed his hands clean a few paces from the circle with a bottle of clear alcohol and ensured he was not tarnished with dirt. Then Callum stood within the circle, feet firmly planted, back straightened, chest stretching outwards, and wielding an athame in his left hand.

"Spiritus, adiuva me! Veni in pactum! Tenebras te arcesso, familiarem te facio!"

His voice deep and commanding, called out across the veil. He chanted the phrase, each repetition growing louder and louder until he shouted with the fervor of a warlord. Each time he spoke the room grew colder, and by will alone he kept himself from trembling from the cold. His breath formed tiny clouds, his skin prickled, and his hair stood on the back of his neck. The flames of candles danced, threatening to flicker out, as winds moved through the room.

"Spiritus, adiuva me! Veni in pactum! Tenebras te arcesso, familiarem te facio!"

The circle and his sigils charged with a red glow and the air hummed and crackled with magic until one by one the flame of each candle vanished with a faint pop. The red glow illuminated vanishing wisps of smoke as shadows crawled and slithered through the parted veil.

"Ite nunc! Ite nunc! Ite nunc!”

Each utterance was accentuated by a slash of the athame. One by one he banished any spirit that begged or sniveled for attention. No spirit that showed weakness would suffice.

"Ite nunc! Ite nunc! Ite nunc!”

The air became almost too heavy to breathe, the room so cold he felt the ground frosting beneath his feet. He saw brief glimpses into a realm that swirled with chaos and shadows. Spirits ebbed forth from behind the veil, things without shape that pooled around him.

"Ite nunc! Ite nunc! Ite nunc!”

Until he felt a wind so strong it nearly knocked him from his stance. He had to force his eyes to stay open as the cold cut through him.

“Called here by a mortal child?” A low, predatory whisper enveloped him. It laughed at him and his bones rattled.

“A pitiful magus, arrogant and hungry.” A shadow began to rise, to take on an inky amorphous shape as it slunk around the perimeter of a circle that it could not break. Darkness gathered into orbs, cold voids that watched him, studied him, and bore through him. Cold crept inside of him; blood, organs, bones, all chilled beyond any winter he’d ever felt.

“You are worth my time,” Callum finally addressed the spirit.

Shadows flickered and parted, and a ghastly smile too wide for its head formed as it laughed again. Its smile was just as dark and empty as its eyes. “But are you worth mine?” It asked as its dark form moved toward the offering bowl. In an instant, the shadow consumed the blood.

Ancient spirit and arrogant sorcerer ironed out the terms of their agreement. Callum pierced his finger with the athame, a wisp of shadow slithered in and healed the wound. Their bond was sealed and long after the sun had risen, Cal left the warehouse with a monkey atop his shoulder.

TLDR:

Callum does a ritual in a secret basement in a warehouse to summon a familiar. He sacrifices a dove too.

Time: 11-ish am
Location: Edin Theater
Interactions: Wulfric & Auguste (while ignoring Edin, Alibeth, and Morrigan)
Warning: Contains slander against all birds!!

---

Callum was a tad late but in his defense, it wasn’t easy finding formal wear for a monkey. A few heads turned upon his arrival; perhaps some were surprised to see the young prince looking almost respectable in a dark blue suit, uncharacteristically well-groomed, and even wearing a smile for the event. A dark pair of sunglasses hid his pinpoint pupils and glassy expression but the sweet and smoky scent that clung to him betrayed one of his indulgences.

Most, however, were simply confused to see a wiry little spider monkey perched atop the prince’s shoulder wearing a matching suit. Both sported a pop of color in their matching bright pink bow ties, which Cal had picked out to show their support for Ana in her big performance. Some likely wondered if the prince brought a monkey into such a formal occasion to stir up trouble, but the monkey matched Cal’s calm demeanor as the creature flashed wide smiles at those who turned to look at them.

A quick stop at the concessions stand, as Callum bought two fruit cups, allowed a few to see the monkey even bow gracefully before wrapping his tail around one of the fruit cups. It seemed the monkey had better table manners than the prince, as it daintily snacked upon fresh fruit. The monkey’s suit remained pristine as the animal chewed with a closed mouth, happily bobbing his head. Callum then climbed the stairs to the private viewing box reserved for his family and sat beside his brothers, without a single word to either monarch.

“Good morning, Wulfy. Auggie. Lovely day. May I introduce you to my new friend, Clarence?” He asked, his words slow as a snail's pace but not quite slurred.

At the mention of his name, Clarence again stood upright, gracefully balanced on Cal’s shoulder, and bowed just as he had for his fruit up. “Ain’t he somethin’” He added, grinning, just as Farim took the stage.

Callum sat transfixed by Farim’s story and the incredible flight path of Thara. The falcon’s grace seemed effortless, her movements matched Farim’s commands as if they shared one mind, and there was just something incredible about seeing such a creature soar.

What a majestic–

<Birds are stupid. Ugly beasts. Flapping around. Squawk, squawk, squawk. Better to eat them. Tasty.> Thoughts that weren’t his intruded into his mind and shouted over his own.

“I like birds.” Callum whispered out loud to the voice only he could hear. His heart crumpled as he thought of the dove that would never fly again. Because of him.

<You are a stupid mortal child. Flap flap. Squawk, squawk. Just like a bird. Be silent like your brothers. Act the part.> Clarence’s voice reverberated in his mind.

Callum's sunglasses hid his eye roll but the unearthly growl that abruptly clamored around in his head told him Clarence could sense the disrespectful gesture. His head continued to throb long after the sound ceased.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Lord Leo Smithwood

---

Time: Night
Location: Streets of Sorian, from Vikena's estate to the guest houses of the palace
Mentions: Ryn

tldr, first half

Leo walks back to his room, thinking about the weird glasses Ryn has been wearing and what they reveal. He quickly deduces that if anyone is messing with him using magic, it must be Lady Morrigan. He hopes to find a way to expose Morrigan as an evil sorceress.

tldr, second half

Leo finds his room full of bones, the bones act as a trail leading to a chest in his closet. In the chest is a human skull and a threat written on a photo of him and his dad. Leo does the only logical thing; trashes the room in a fit of rage.

---

Leo kicked a rock down the street and stumbled after it. Each step felt like he might fall over and if he ended up on the ground he was almost certainly passing out right there. That was the last thing he needed; to be found passed out in the street like a certain degenerate prince, not after the blight he’d brought to his reputation today.

The world was a dizzying blur as his head throbbed and his stomach churned as the hangover started to creep in before the drunkenness had even left. Nothing seemed to help sober him; every drop of water, every bite of food, only served to drag him deeper into inebriation. Even a walk in the crisp night air left him miserable and exhausted. The only thing left to try was to sleep and hope he would wake up normal again.

Normal for a short while until the next stroke of misfortune painted his day with fresh calamity. What had first seemed like harmless pranks had escalated. He was sure that Lady Morrigan was behind these not-so-whimsical pranks. It was clear she enjoyed aggravating others simply because she could, but he could do nothing against a king’s favored cousin without irrefutable proof. And things only got worse. He kicked the rock again, this time it sputtered into the street and his eyes lost track of it.

Before he’d left the Vikena’s Manor, Count Hendrix had confirmed his worst suspicion.

---

“Earlier you asked about these glasses,” Count Hendrix's voice caught him by surprise; the man moved with the stealth of a cat. Or, equally likely, Leo was too drunk to notice the other man escort him to the door. Hendrix removed the strange spectacles he’d recently been wearing. “Would you like to try them on?”

Leo only nodded, relieved to find that Hendrix was not intentionally keeping him out of the loop but rather Fritz had waited until Wulfric and Lottie’s friends weren’t around to clue him in on a secret. He watched as the other man pulled a small box with rows of lenses, replaced the ones in the glasses, and carefully placed the glasses on Leo’s face. Leo could only stare with a confused expression at the obnoxious array of colors that surrounded Count Hendrix.

Then Leo caught sight of his reflection in a mirror. He saw himself surrounded by a white and yellow glow that at first glance beat with a steady, rhythmic pulse. His eyes began to focus on the edges of the aura, at dark twisted outlines that continued to rise and vanish only to rise again. Leo watched as something sinister appeared attached to him, and that rhythmic beating turned bounding and frantic.

“What?” He uttered an unfinished question.

“Magical energy,” Was the wholly unsatisfying answer he got from Fritz. Leo tore his gaze away from the mirror, removed the glasses, and quickly returned them to Fritz. Even looking at magical energies was more contact with magic than he wanted. He waited for, expected, a longer explanation.

“I’m sure you have a lot of questions, but I think they’re better asked when you’re sober.” The corners of the man’s mouth briefly turned upwards but the smile vanished before it was fully formed. “Contact me whenever you’re ready.” The ever-enigmatic Hendrix had shared a secret that only put answers beyond his grasp.

Leo wasn’t sure he even wanted to understand anything related to magic. Something twisted, unnatural, and forbidden under the punishment of death. He'd prefer keeping himself far from anything that revolved around such evil, and the mere fact that such darkness had left its mark on him was disturbing enough for one night.

So Leo had agreed, before departing from the manor, confident that Fritz would hold to his word, and dreading that future conversation.

---

The more Leo thought about what he’d seen, those dark touches on the fringes of his energy, further confirmed that something, someone, dangerous was after him — one tied to magic, to witchery.

Something undoubtedly hatched by Lady Morrigan. Briefly, this thought left him with dread. How could he combat the schemes of someone who meddled with dark and unnatural forces?

Unless he could prove exactly that! Tonight’s meeting had made it clear that Marek was likely a witch, and Calbert, one of his associates. If he and others would be gathering evidence to take them down how much harder could it be for Leo to use those same tactics on another? With all the confidence of a drunkard, he imagined how satisfying it would be to prove Lady Morrigan a witch hiding under Edin’s very nose. If she desired to make an enemy of him, then Leo would show her the danger of provoking a lion.

When he returned to his room, he no longer shambled about. Leo strode with a drunken swagger, chest puffed out and head held high, eager for the fights to come.

---

Time: Night
Location: Guest Room


Leo didn’t bother with the lights as he entered his room, he simply flung his ruined jacket to the floor. Somewhere between the door and the bed he tripped over something and tumbled to the floor. He landed on a scattered bit of what he assumed to be broken furniture. He winced at the thought of having to explain how he’d clumsily broken some table or chair, he was already getting a reputation for being a difficult guest here. The pile he’d landed on rattled as he ran his hand over it and picked a piece of it up.

Immediately he sat up and scooted away until he felt only smooth, unlittered, floor beneath him. He still grasped the object in his hand, slivers of moonlight from the window glinting off it. He stared in disbelief for a long moment, turning what was unmistakably a bone over in his hands. As the realization set in, he tossed the bone away and clattered against the rest scattered about the floor.

He sprung to his feet so quickly he thought he might hurl. After a long and frustrating battle with some matches, he got a lantern lit and was able to see the rest of his room.

Bones. All over the floor of his room. Bones of various shapes and sizes, that made a creepy little trail to the closet.

Riona! His first thought went to the rogue maid who constantly meddled with his room. This was the last straw, he would see to it that she was arrested. Or tossed down a well and forgotten. Maybe exiled to some frozen tundra filled with hungry bears.

As he thought of a long list of punishments he could request for her bizarre and macabre actions he noticed the chest that now sat in his closet. A chest that was neither his nor one that belonged to the room. Cautiously, Leo approached it and gave it a gentle kick. Something in the chest rattled around and he briefly debated opening it.

I should summon the guards. It was the correct course of action, this was something the guards should be dealing with. But Leo made no move to do so.

What’s in there? Curiosity propelled his hand forward without further thought. It was better to know, he was sure of that. The top flung open with ease as Leo’s mouth hung ajar as he stared back at a very human-looking skull. Are there all human bones!?

This was something more serious than the childish actions of a disgruntled servant. It was a threat, and while he wouldn’t rule Morrigan out as a culprit, it could just as easily be the same people who wanted Count Hendrix dead.

Again he realized he should alert the guards, and again he made no move to do so. Leo stood unable to take his eyes away from the skull.

...A note? In the flickering light from the lantern his eyes caught the glossy reflection of something beneath the skull. Without touching the skull, he carefully grabbed a corner of the paper and pulled it out. Leo set the lantern on a dresser, his stomach dropped as he examined the paper.

An old photograph of him, as a child, perched on his father’s shoulder at a fair in Breoven. The memory flooded in, far more vivid than a faded photo could ever capture. Leo almost smiled, knowing that from his lofty vantage point, he watched the electric carousel go around and around as the picture was taken. That day at the fair had been so exciting he’d struggled not to smile, as only idiots smiled for photos, but he’d tried his best to match the dignified and stern expression his father held. The lack of color and the lifeless expressions gave the photograph a haunting edge. It made the pair look more like ghosts than people.

There was a message scrawled across the back of the photo.

“Don't worry, you’ll reunite with him soon.”

Once again someone had messed with his room. Touched his stuff. Rifled through his belongings. Tarnished his property. From now on any time he thought of his first trip to Breoven, he would also remember stumbling into a room littered with bones. This now infected his memories.

Someone was using his deeply painful loss, to threaten him.

He shoved the photograph into a pocket. His mind went dark.

Hands became fists, wild and free, and repeatedly he punched the heavy closet door until it came loose from the hinges. He grabbed the broken door. Ripped the rest of it free and bashed the other door with it. Jagged wood sliced flesh. Blood dripped from his fist. The pain didn’t register.

His attention turned to the chest and without thought his boot repeatedly slammed against the wooden box. Wood splintered and shattered. The skull, once tucked inside the chest and now no longer safe, bounced off a wall and rolled elsewhere in the room while its mandible lay among the broken chunks of wood.

His rage remained unsatisfied. It burned white hot and blinding, unfettered and blooming amid his intoxication. He threw the dresser to the ground, his boot smashed against the back of it breaking through the wood. Each time his foot got stuck he tore himself loose as more jagged bits of wood tore at his skin.

Chairs slammed against the walls, end tables were pummeled with chair legs, and a footstool was flung through a glass window. The room clattered like thunder.

Leo grabbed a femur off the floor and used it like a bat. The sound of shattered lamps, vases, and mirrors echoed down the once-quiet hallway.

Everything unraveled. Grief, betrayal, guilt, uncertainty, fear. A mix of emotions buried too deep to reach. Bottled up and ignored. Left to ferment into rage. Kept trapped and only expanding.

Until it exploded and destroyed a room. Nothing in his room remained untouched or intact. Including Leo, whose fists were shredded by broken furniture and shattered glass. His body, heaving with exhaustion, continued to destroy anything in front of him.

His rage only ended as guards stormed into his room. They dragged Leo, furious and shouting, from the flipped-over bed as he battered at the frame with a shattered bit of a table.

Leo was too far gone for an explanation. His drunken shouting was a confused mess that matched the state of his room. The rage only burned out in the lonely cell of the dungeon, with nothing to slam fists into except unforgiving stone walls.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Time: Evening
Location: Pinebrook
Interactions: Riona @JJ Doe, Ari @Tpartywithzombi, Stratya @CitrusArms

---

“Darryn?”

Callum’s head swizzled toward Riona, then he followed her gaze back to the same Darryn-looking guy he’d seen. He’s real? Can’t be Darryn. Right?. He stared at imposter Darryn for a few more breaths. Darryn?

“How?” He whispered, eyes locked on Darryn as the man began to speak. “Umm, Darryn didn’t happen to have an identical twin brother named Quinn, did he?” He asked Riona as “Quinn” introduced himself. The host continued to speak, his voice an eerie reflection of Darryn’s.

“They say these woods have seen much through the ages, that they remember what has been lost and what still lingers,”

Callum shuddered at Quinn's words which seemed only to confirm his suspicions; somehow Darryn still lingered in these woods. And why the fuck was Darryn pretending to be a host at Pinebrook? A romantic camp getaway wouldn’t be Cal’s first choice of places to haunt if he ever escaped the realm of Orbitius. He didn’t clap at Darryn-Quinn’s toast, frozen in shock, continuing to stare at familiar eyes. The rest of the host’s words dissolved into ambient noise as he struggled to think of an explanation.

“CAL!”

Another familiar voice broke his trance, Cal jumped and grabbed Ari’s shoulder turning even paler than he’d been a few seconds ago. “I umm, I think I did just see a ghost.” He admitted, head gesturing to Darryn-Quinn. “That camp host, he looks like, and I mean exactly like, someone who was just murdered.” He added in a hushed tone, head whipping around to look for Stratya. Once he spotted the captain he, not so discreetly, gestured for her to join them. Surely she had to have noticed that too?

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Time: Evening
Location: Pinebrook

---

Rohit hung halfway out a carriage window, an arm outstretched as he tried to grab leaves from the trees they passed. The few he caught were released, his grin widening as he watched them blow away behind the carriage. He grew bored of catching leaves and the remaining twenty minutes stretched on, boredom slowing time down to a crawl. There was nothing to look at outside except trees. Where are the great beasts of Caesonia’s forests? I haven’t seen a single bear!” Someone told him there had been a bear attack the other night in the woods. When do I get to see a bear? He spun his ring, sources of entertainment dwindling to the most mundane.

He hung his head out the window again. Still not a bear in sight. Not even a squirrel.

“Are we almost there?” He asked the driver. “Can we go faster!” He added, enthusiastically but not demanding.

“It’s a bit dark out,” The driver said, hesitating, but soon the horses picked up their pace. Every bump rattled the carriage, the wind blew through Rohit’s hair and his grin returned as boredom faded. It was almost as thrilling as the coaster he’d ridden at the carnival.

“You are this land's greatest driver! If bandits were on our tails they would eat your dust!” He shouted his encouragement to the driver, who in turn ensured they traveled even faster. Trees flew by, their leaves now a colorful blur of green against the night. The carriage teetered as they took a sharp turn.

Twwaaacckk!

The horses began to slow, Rohit looked over at the driver who was cautiously rubbing at his face.

“What was that?” He asked.

“A branch, must not’ve seen it.” Came the driver’s awkward reply.

“Are you okay?” He asked as another brilliant idea hit. “Maybe I should drive! Give you a break!”

“No, no, I’m fine. And we’re almost there now.” His reply was immediate, before Rohit had even finished speaking, almost like he didn’t want Rohit driving. It was just a tad bit insulting.
Rohit slunk back down in his seat, head no longer dangling out the window. “I think I’d be a great driver.” He mumbled but accepted that he’d have to find out another day.

Soon, but not quite soon enough, the smells of campfire and a glorious feast wafted their way into the carriage. They passed a small village, a series of cabins, until finally, the horses stopped in view of an arrangement of tents. Rohit found a warm greeting from the camp’s staff but heard little of what they said as his eyes wandered to the table of food, the large fire, and a crystal clear lake. Finally, something to actually do!

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Lord Leo Smithwood

---

Dirty Imbecile

Time: Late Afternoon to Evening
Location: Sorian Gambling and Games Hall
Daily Misfortune: Leo keeps getting drunk without any alcohol

Leo swayed in place as the dealer turned over another card. Blurred vision left the card unreadable but the dealer’s face told him he’d lost this hand.

“A seven, a king, and now a five,” Martin quietly told Leo the layout of the cards.

Leo counted on his fingers, nearly dropping a glass of sparkling water that contained a few lime wedges and not a drop of alcohol. He struggled with the equivalent of a child’s math problem. He could barely stand, could smell the alcohol wafting from his breath, like some common drunkard. He’d devoured plates from the establishment’s buffet until the sight of food made him queasy. Nothing helped this inebriating curse that had been laid upon him.

And it grew worse by the hour.

“Twenty-one!” He insisted as the dealer shook his head and pulled Leo’s pile of chips away.

“Twenty-two,” Martin corrected. He led Leo away from the table counting out numbers on his fingers to prove it to the unconvinced lord.

“You’ve got…twooomany…fingers.” Leo mumbled, unable to keep track of the counting. A morning spent gambling had started off fun, an easy distraction from wondering how far his servant's betrayal might go, but as the hours stretched on it became a series of frustrating losses.

The roulette table had once been loyal, agreeing with his every bet, only to stab him in the back. The dice mocked him at every throw. The poker table was unnavigable in his stupor, even when the cards showed him favor his own face betrayed him. A small fortune, lost to the winds, scattered about the various games of chance and into the greedy hands of the most treacherous house.

Leo searched his pockets for more chips, convinced that he could yet again find himself in Lady Luck’s embrace if only he picked the right game.

“I believe you are out of chips, milord.”

“Nooo,” Leo whispered in shock. He pointed at a station, deciding they needed to get more.

“Might be best to cut your losses, head back for a bath and change clothes.” Martin advised.

Like a child, Leo shook his head. “One more.” He said slumping down onto a nearby stool.

Martin looked apprehensive about leaving the lord alone and half-conscious but eventually indulged the stubborn lord’s request. He left Leo a few paces away for only a moment.

“Isn’t that Smithwood’s son?” Amidst ambient conversation, the shouting of bets, the cheers of success, and the groans of defeat, Leo heard his family name spoken. He felt a brief sense of pride at being recognized.

“Smithwood, why’s that name familiar?” Pride became dread as Leo recognized the tone, and caught a glimpse of the eagerness in the first speaker's eyes to dredge up rancid gossip.

“The Varian Duchess that murdered her husband..” It started in his gut, a burning that rose to his neck and ears. He turned in the voice’s direction, muscles tensing at the allegation that his mother would ever, could ever-

Betray him like that. Leave her son to suffer through the not knowing. He could probably forgive a murder, but never a lie like that.

But he hasn’t been murdered, only missing. He assured himself, tried to take a breath. Don’t cause a scene.

“...shacked up with the Queen’s former lady-in-waiting…” Leo watched the haze from the two men’s cigars linger around them. Embers glowed brightly as the man’s voice paused to draw out the suspense in his slanderous tale.

She kept the machine running, took over the Dukedom without a hitch. No one ever mentions that. His mother wouldn’t want him starting fights in a casino. Bad for the family imagine. Smithwood’s are better than that. I am better than that. But he wasn’t. His thoughts devolved into knocking teeth down throats.

“And whose daughter flubbed her engagement to a prince…” The noise around him dulled. All he saw was red. His legs moved independently closing the distance between him and the man speaking. Rage ran through his veins, hot and eager to take action.

“My guess, that Prince found out he was engaged to a -” The man didn’t get to finish that sentence.

In a smooth motion, Leo spun the speaker around, and fist collided with face. He grabbed a handful of graying hair and drove the man’s face into a table. The man spat a mouthful of blood as Leo’s knuckles smacked against ribs. Leo stumbled backward, head rattling as the other man struck back. A few more blows were landed before the pair crashed against the table, breaking it. They grappled until someone grabbed Leo’s arms and pulled him away. The other man took advantage, throwing one last punch before he too was grabbed up off the floor and restrained by his friend. More guards arrived to keep them separated.

“See that, the violent son of murder!” The other man shouted to those around him.

“I’ll break your fucking jaw!” Leo snarled.

“I want him arrested!” The other man shouted.

“Le'me go.” Leo tried in vain to break himself free. Catching only snippets of Martin’s words as he held him back, tried to reason with an unreachable Leo.

And with only a handful of gambling chips, Leo had no means to pay for the damages he’d caused nor the fine for disturbance. Painful hours of boredom stretched on, trapped in a cell filled with drunkards as Martin departed to find Leo’s mother to pay the fine for her son.

Time where all he could do was stew on the mess he’d made of his day. Embarrassing his family. Disappointing them. Looking like an absolute…

Asshat.

And that stupid fucking word was left haunting him.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Lord Leo Smithwood

Time: Morning
Location: Guest House to the Casino

---

Leo made his way to the gambling hall on foot, Martin and Ray a pace behind him. It was the best option for the day, who would think twice about a gentleman being a bit inebriated at a gambling hall? No scandal there, not like showing up to a morning birthday party already drunk. He’d just stick to drinking water for the afternoon and be fine by his evening meeting with Charlotte and Count Hendrix.

“Martin, am I an asshat?” Leo asked once the crowds in the streets had thinned to sufficiently allow for some privacy.

Martin raised an eyebrow and shook his head.

“Riona called me an asshat.” Leo continued.

“And that bothers you?” Martin asked.

“No,” He answered too quickly. “Maybe a little.” He admitted. “I’m sure no one ever called my father an asshat.” He half mumbled.

“Yeah, not to his face.” Ray chimed in.

Leo stopped walking at the unexpected response. Martin paused as well but Ray continued for a few paces before realizing he’d said that aloud. “Sorry forgot my mouth was open there.”

“What?” Leo asked, before resuming the walk.

“I should go look for that watch,” Ray said looking to Martin to smooth things out. The larger man only shrugged.

“No, Ray, continue. What does that mean?” Leo pressed saying each word slowly. Ray ignored the condescension in Leo’s tone and simply looked excited that he’d been addressed by his name.

“Well, I never met the Duke myself,” Ray offered, thinking over his words. “But the others don’t seem to like him much. On account of the temper.” He explained carefully.

“Martin?” Leo asked, wanting confirmation that this was true. Not just a handful of servants provoked into gossip by a troublesome maid, but the whole household? Did people really think that poorly of his dad?

“He’s not wrong,” Martin said. “The Duke could be difficult.”

“You also hate my father?”

“I was never on his bad side.” Leo noted the vagueness of Martin’s answer, and that avoidance was answer enough.

“Riona said Morrigan was testing me. To see how alike I was to him, in temperament.” Leo added,

“Strange hobby,” Martin commented. There was a thoughtful pause before he continued. “Becoming your father won’t make his absence any easier.” He then glanced at Ray, and with a glance told him to head toward the markets. Another day of hunting for Leo’s missing watch.

“No, I don’t think it will,” Leo admitted. But who else was he supposed to be? His dad handled being a duke so well, never showed any doubts about anything he did, always in control of every situation. Like it was effortless. Leo was sure his dad had never once been troubled by an ill-mannered servant. “I think these strange pranks are a continued attempt, by Morrigan, to make me snap.” He steered the subject away from his father.

“Could be. Could be the same maid that takes advantage of vague instructions.”

“Riona?” Leo doubted she was capable of pranks more complex than greasing up shoes and buying impractical furniture. Unless, “Do you think she’d frame Morrigan like that?”

“I’d stay wary of both of them,” Martin said as they reached the gambling and games hall.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Riona & Leo

part 2

Time: Morning
Location: Guest House

---

Leo had stopped a few paces before the entrance to the servant’s hall, just close enough to listen in on a good chunk of the conversation. Just as he’d heard enough, Martin placed a hand on his shoulder. “I suggest a breath, Sir.”

“My next breath will be to fire all of them. Did you hear them? They all hate me. Slanderous, disloyal, ungrateful, treacherous-” Leo hissed out a list of faults. Mockery was one thing, but to pick at every crack in the Smithwood house was a betrayal.

“Frustrated, milord. And provoked into venting. You have shared similar thoughts.” Martin pointed out.

“That’s different.”

“Is it?”

Leo thought about that brief time after he’d learned his father had gone missing but before that leach, Valerie, had started hanging around his mother. “We were all having dinner last night. Mom, Thea, me, and it was peaceful. No one was arguing, no weird tension, no one yelling. And I realized how quiet the house has been since I’ve been back. I liked it, it felt more like a home than it had in a while. Then I realized why. Now the quiet just makes me agitated.”

It hadn’t ever occurred to him that the servants had also weathered the tumultuous household. There was relief in the air once the Duke was gone, Leo was just the only one resentful of that feeling. But for the servants, much like his mother, it seems they only felt an oppressive weight being lifted.

There were also his unadmitted thoughts, nights spent wondering if his mother was involved in his father’s disappearance. It was the simplest explanation, it lined up with how his mother behaved. Flaunted her happiness, when even the maid seemed to notice that both he and Thea still suffered.

“I will not be surrounded by servants who hate me, Martin.” Leo said.

“You want to hire new servants? Here? Now?” Martin asked, knowing the answer. “Waste your summer or boost the morale? What’s more efficient? He calmly pointed out.

“Throw them a bone,” Leo said slowly. “Treat them more like my hounds and less like untrained mutts.”

“Not exactly,” Martin said but Leo had already made up his mind on how to fix this issue.

Riona nursed her coffee as she told the Smithwood servants about castle life. She painted broad strokes of her experiences, careful not to dip into the muck. Their sympathetic nods and encouraging words warmed her more than the drink in her hands.

Glancing down at the steaming liquid in her hands, Riona said, “It sounds like a tough household to grow up in. Plenty of people turn to vices because of that.” Unbidden, images of Cal and Anastasia flickered across her mind. A lot of good that did them. She exhaled slowly, “Can’t outrun your demons forever, though. Here’s hoping Lady Thea finds someone to lean on before she hits that wall.”

Her lips quirked into a wry grin. “Leo, needs a kick in the butt.” Ripple of snickers and muttered agreements swept through the group.

Once it died down, she added, “I think there’s still hope for him yet.” Shocked expressions greeted this declaration. Riona snorted. “Yeah, I know, I know. Hear me out.” She traced the rim of her cup. “First time I gave him a piece of my mind, he could’ve done any number of nasty things. Have me arrested, beat me, whatever his fancy noble ass felt entitled to. But he didn’t. He... talked. Mind you, he didn’t give two sh*ts about what I was saying, but still... it’s more than what some highborns would do.”

Riona met the gazes of the gathered servants. “If that numbskull ever learns how to listen—really listen, and see people as, well, people… he might just make a decent Duke someday.” She sighed, swirling the dregs of her coffee. “Getting him to pull his head out of his ass long enough to pay attention? That’s the real challenge.”

“... Why do you care so much about some spoiled Varian lord?”

Riona blinked. “I don’t—”

The maid who had been walking ahead of Leo stepped into the room, silencing whatever half-formed protest Riona had been about to voice.

"Attention Smithwood servants," Leo entered the room, head aloft as if he'd heard none of their gossip. "I have no need for any of you today, graciously I offer you an extra day off to enjoy Sorian. Martin’s apprentice will provide a stipe for your leisure.” He announced before quickly turning to leave to find his new room.

The best way to earn back favor was with gifts; he’d learn that from his father. That was how he’d gotten his first hound; the disappointment of a missed birthday swiftly replaced by the excitement of a puppy. The moment his father pulled a barking ball of wrinkles and fur from a carrier, Leo felt the sharp pangs of guilt for having scowled at his father for returning a few days late.

“You don’t actually take the time to communicate with your servants, do you?” Riona stepped into the Lordling’s new room, casting away formalities.

Leo didn’t answer at first, he only continued to flip through items in his closet, thinking over what he’d wear today. “I communicate my wishes, nothing else is required.” He said, after an extended silence.

“I pay them to do things and then they do those things. That’s how this works, how it has always worked. Are you meeting with the Queen for tea? Having deep heart to hearts with His Majesty?” He posed a rhetorical question, the very idea of it absurd. But he recalled catching the strange Count Hendrix washing dishes with the Vikena servants. How the Vikenas were oddly close, overly personable, with their servants, The Vikenas also held a poor reputation, and their eccentricities seemed unwise to replicate.

Riona’s brow furrowed as she watched Leo rifle through his closet, her lips pressed into a thin line. “I said communicate, not bark orders or hold one-sided conversations,” she said pointedly.

Striding over to the shoe rack cabinet, she pulled out several pairs and laid them out for the lordling’s perusal. “Paying them doesn’t earn you loyalty. Giving them wages is the bare minimum you do as their employer.” She glanced up at Leo, gauging his reaction. “As their future Duke, you need to be more than just the one signing their checks.”

Funny, he didn’t remember appointing a maid as his advisor. Leo only shrugged as a response. He selected a shirt and suit for the day, then silently looked over the shoes Riona had laid out.

His silence only fueled her. “Or else you’ll end up surrounded by people who won’t mourn you when you’re gone. Who’ll be willing to betray you for a single copper more than what you pay them. Worse, they’ll stab you in the back for even less—and smile while doing it.”

When Leo finally selected a pair, Riona scooped up the rejected options, returning them to their precise spots on the rack.

“You can’t honestly believe that buying affection is more effective than earning it, can you?” She softened her voice. “Haven’t you ever wished for... I don’t know, actual time with someone? Something more meaningful than another shiny distraction?”

Leo inspected the bottom of his shoes ensuring no slipper coating had been applied. It hadn’t.
“I spend enough of my time doing things I don’t want to do. Is it so unreasonable to expect them to do as they were hired? Without betrayal? They are fed, housed, paid; that should earn gratitude.” He countered, frustrated with the fact that even though it made perfect sense his servants were clearly disloyal.

Riona sighed as she unfolded the privacy screen, its ornate panels creaking softly. “With that attitude?” While Leo stepped behind it and she went to fetch the lint brush.

“Do you know how exhausting it is? Conversing with people I don’t like? Laughing at Count Hansen’s jokes? Listening to Count Mäkinen drone on about wine pairings? Smile at the same people who whisper that my mother is some sort of secret murderer behind our backs?” He continued, ignoring her comment.

“Sounds an awful lot like the average day of any servant working under someone they don’t particularly like.” She heard fabric rustling as Leo changed.

“Now I should do the same with servants? You expect me to believe they want quality time with me?” He snorted, shook his head, and draped discarding clothing over the top of the screen

“Let’s test that, you go ahead and say whatever else is on your mind, and then tell me if you’ve gained any loyalty towards me after this conversation.”

After a pause, he heard her say, “Okay.” Then take a breath.

“Loyalty is earned through mutual respect,” she explained as plain and simple as possible.

Riona busied herself with smoothing out a wrinkle on her dress, giving her hands something to do as she waited for Leo to finish dressing. “You say they should be grateful for feeding, housing, and paying them. Then why aren’t you grateful to them for cooking your meals, maintaining your house, paying their taxes—which, mind you, come back as part of their wage?”

She lifted her chin, staring at the folding screen. “Leo, I’m not suggesting you be their best friend. Just... treat them like people. With dignity. You might be surprised how far that goes.”

Leo said nothing as Riona addressed him far too casually. He let the privacy screen become a barrier, not unlike a confessional booth, one that let him imagine he was not considering taking advice from some maid. He chuckled at her words as he buttoned up his shirt, not because he found it funny but because he saw an unwanted point there. People were more loyal to those they liked.

“It’d be fake, just another thing I’d have to do for the results, to gain loyalty. I guess that is what everyone wants; royals, nobles, commoners, to watch everyone around them engaged in the same performance.” Maybe Riona had a point, there were no breaks from the performance, not on vacation and not even within one’s home. The last thing he needed was a house full of treacherous servants.

Riona couldn’t help it. The laugh burst out of her, sharp and sudden. It should’ve been bitter, all thorns and vinegar, but instead it charged with disbelief. “Gods,” she muttered, dragging her fingers through her hair. The motion sent her carefully crafted bun unraveling, dark curls tumbling free. Screw it. She was off-duty, more or less. “How full of yourself are you that treating folks like people is actually a job for you?”

Leo let out a heavy sigh at her laughter, it seemed foolish to expect a maid could understand how tiring the burden of nobility could get. “I will serve them one day, as their Duke. My whole life, my every action, every thought, dedicated to best serving Stravy. They are more than people, they are an obligation I am beholden to.” He admitted as he finished dressing.

That… was not what Riona expected to hear.

“Why do you care? About what I do, how I treat my servants? What’s your stake in this?” Leo asked, remaining behind the partition, inspecting his jacket for lint or loose threads.

The answer burned in Riona’s throat. She wanted to matter. To prove that she could make a difference, regardless of her bloodline. That she wasn’t still that helpless kid watching her world burn. How, even knowing vengeance led to only death and destruction, she craved to leave one good mark behind before her time was up.

She could’ve said all that and more but instead, she said, “Right, because you don’t treat people below your station, who aren’t your servants, with utter contempt?” The sarcasm dripped from her voice. “Please.”

“You chose to introduce yourself to me by scraping muck onto my shoes and calling me an idiot, by your own standards you did not invite respect. I do not go around provoking commoners for fun.” He answered.

“Nor do I expect you to,” Riona shot back, “I didn’t do that to gain your respect. I wanted to make damn sure you remembered what this ‘random commoner’ had to say.” She folded her arms over her chest. “That’s your problem. You provoke without even realizing it. You’re so sure you’re in the right, you can’t even see how much of a spoiled ass you can come across as.” Leo only rolled his eyes at that response, he had a different opinion on who was provoking whom.

Not hearing much movement from behind the screen, Riona rapped her knuckles against the panel. “I’m coming in,” she warned, giving Leo a heartbeat to object before she rounded the corner.

There he stood, neck craned at an awkward angle, trying to check out his backside. Riona stepped in, brandishing the lint brush. “Allow me,” she said and started at his back.

As she worked, methodically brushing away lint and loose threads, she continued. “How one treats their servants often reflects how they treat everyone else. It’s a pretty good indicator of what kind of leader you’ll be.”

Her hands moved efficiently, working their way around to his front. She just finished with his arms, a thought slipped out. “You know, the way you talk, it’s like you can’t stand a single person in Stravy.”

The offhand remark sparked something in her mind. A ridiculous thought. Completely absurd, given how much value he placed on being the next Duke of Stravy. And yet... The way he described dealing with people, nobility or not, as an exhausting performance…

Riona looked up at him, her brow furrowed. “Do you…” she hesitated, hardly believing she was asking this, “even want to be Duke?”

“I will be the next Duke, there is no use in wondering if I want that or not, it will happen. I want to do right by my family and by Stravy.” Leo answered, and never once had he ever thought about not becoming a duke. He often avoided thinking about his future but not stepping up when his time came was never an option.

That… wasn’t a yes. Which surprised her. “Leo…” she began to say as her gaze dropped to the floor.

“Riona,” He paused and offered a polite and hollow smile as he addressed her. “You have surprisingly good hair.” He added before circling back to the topic at hand.

Her head snapped up so fast she nearly gave herself whiplash. What the hells? Where did that come from? Riona’s fingers found their way to her hair, suddenly self-conscious. She took an involuntary step back, studying Leo’s face.

That smile. She recognized that particular brand of polite emptiness; it was the kind of mask she’d seen a thousand times. Her lips pursed.

“That’s how this all works, nobles get to live extravagant lives in exchange for caring for our land, and its people. Houses that fail to live up to that fall. Sometimes violently, sometimes they slowly crumble, but I will not allow my house to fall. I am required to see my people as a collective, not worry about the whims of individuals, but to meet the needs of the masses and keep Stravy progressing. It is not malicious, it is practical.” He kept still as he spoke, his posture impeccable, and his words coated in the smugness of someone who knew they were right.

“When creating policies, sure, you’ve got to look at the big picture,” she conceded. “But you can’t just lump people all together when it’s one-on-one. You’re dealing with flesh and blood, not the collective.”

She gave him a once-over, checking if she brushed every lint and stray hair off. “Look, if you insist on seeing everything as some grand machine, fine. But remember: even the tiniest gear can bring the whole thing crashing down.” She smoothed out a wrinkle in his lapel and adjusted his collar. “And like it or not, you, m’lord, are just as much a cog in the contraption as anyone else. Might want to oil those connections with your fellow parts before you break something you can’t fix.”

“I am not a cog, Riona, I operate the machine, I replace the faulty gears.” He corrected the analogy, choosing to leave out that problems also arose when the masses thought they were equals with nobility.

She shook her head. “You are. The machine is the dukedom. And you are just a cog.” A finger jabbed his chest with each word. “Just. Like. Us.” Riona smirked, “The collective.”

He lightly swatted her hand away from him. “Agree to disagree.” He shrugged, some things weren’t worth the argument. “And now that we have conversed like people, I have even asked you about yourself, although you avoided my questions, and I have said something nice to you. Do feel more loyalty toward me now?” He asked, expecting a resolute no from the maid.

“Compared to before?” She lifted her chin, held Leo’s gaze, almost defiantly and answered, “Yes.”

“I felt heard. I felt seen. I got to know a little about you and I respect the effort. You’ll get better with practice.” The privacy screen creaked as she folded it. “Since we’re building trust here, I’ll give you the short answer to the one question you asked: I care, because I’m selfish.”

“Selfish?” He repeated what he considered a nonanswer with a snort. “Your answer is you have the same motivation as everyone else? What kind of selfish are you? Just interested in venting your frustrations out on a random nobleman? Or is your interest in extortion? Hoping I’ll try and grease the faulty gear to behave so I can look good in front of Lady Morrigan?” Leo admired himself in the mirror, considering that might be the easiest remedy.

“... We could’ve ended on a high note too.” Riona sighed and put the lint brush away. “I don’t care about those things and I certainly don’t give a damn about Morrigan.”

“So it’s not money that you want?” He asked for clarification, disappointment evident that he could not simply pay the problem, known as Riona, to simply go away.

“No.” The maid answered flatly.

“You’d rather I keep talking to you instead of a bribe?” He looked away from the mirror and watched for any sign that monetary gain might tempt her away from whatever game she played. “And in exchange you will stop trying to make me look incompetent?” An annoying agreement but if it kept Morrigan off his case it might be worth it.

“I am not responsible for your competence.” Riona’s hand was inches from the doorknob when she stopped. She let out a long-suffering sigh and spun on her heel to face Leo. “But if you want to work on not being a total asshat then let’s practice talking and we’ll see where that takes us. Deal?” Her hand thrusted out, daring him to take it.

Leo looked at her hand as if he were being offered a dirty rag. He craned his neck to inspect it for cleanliness, remembering the dreadful horse muck incident.

Ah, so predictable. “It’s too late now. I already touched your clothes.”

“Fine, deal.” He said before stepping forward and shaking her hand. He could imagine Morrigan laughing at him for this, almost heard it in his head, but managed not to grimace as he pulled his hand back. “And name-calling is provoking, just so you know.” Leo added, unable to hold that one back, the beginning of a smile at the corners of his mouth.

Riona smirked back, “Didn’t say I won’t call you out when you need it.” she said, her hand already on the doorknob. “Till tomorrow, Leo.”

With that, she slipped out, the soft click of the latch punctuating her exit. In the corridor, Riona allowed herself a small, satisfied smile.

TLDR

Riona and Leo attempt to have a conversation like reasonable humans. It could've gone worse.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Riona & Leo

part 1

Time: Morning
Location: Guest House

---

Martin Barnaby held a perpetually stern expression. When his intense amber eyes landed on the group of tittering servants that gathered outside his lordship’s room, they fell silent and returned to work. Ray followed behind him, frequently seen in the other man’s large shadow, lagging just a few paces behind the older man. Ray’s wiry frame was made smaller and unassuming by his proximity to the barrel-chested Martin.

“Told ya, gotta see it to believe it. Gone awry.” Ray spoke, clearly amused by the situation.

“Indeed.” Martin huffed out the word, unamused and annoyed. He brushed past the maid and lifted the chair Leo was stuck in without any sign of effort. “Pull him out.” He instructed his apprentice while holding the chair still.

“Martin!” Leo exclaimed with relief as he was finally pulled free from the world’s worst chair. “Look at this! The maid messed up my room. That is the opposite of what maids should do, right?”

“Correct, sir.” Martin said, eyes flickering to Riona. “Very childish.” He added even as Ray not so discreetly tried to hide a smirk by scratching at his face. “Raymond will see that it’s fixed.”

Ray’s smirk vanished as he gave Riona an annoyed look and mouthed, 'thanks for the extra work.'

Riona stared down Ray, her silent rebuke wiping the annoyance off his face. And being forced to redecorate because of the Lordling’s whim isn’t extra work? Really, Ray? Really? She wanted to scoff. This wasn’t even his own house.

Years of service helped keep Riona’s expression a mask of professional neutrality as she addressed Martin. Her spine straightened imperceptibly, chin lifting a fraction of an inch. “Lord Smithwood’s instructions were quite clear, sir,” she stated, her voice crisp and even. “He requested immediate redecoration. No specifics were provided regarding color schemes or themes.” Her eyes slid to Sh*tfaced-lord, “Given the constraints of time and direction, I selected from a diverse array of options.” Oh, how she wished she could drop Shehzade Farim’s name into the mix, to watch the shock ripple across Lord Smithwood’s face. But the prince’s desire for plausible deniability was clear enough.

Instead, Riona allowed herself the tiniest of smiles. “I must say, milord seemed to find great amusement in the new decor. Your laughter was quite... enthusiastic. It gave the impression that Your Lordship has an appreciation for the unexpected?”

“It is amusing…” Leo commented, begrudgingly as he looked around at the collection of comically small, ugly, and impractical furniture. “But incorrect. And it can’t stay like this.” He insisted. “I won’t stay in a room full of junk.”

“You knew better.” Martin’s statement was more of a detached fact than an accusation. Leo gestured to Martin and nodded his head, he and his bodyguard were always on the same page.

“The tales of the Varian Kingdom’s love for every art form, led me astray, it seems,” she said. “In the future, perhaps His Lordship could deign to be more specific about his desires. It would save us all the tedium of guesswork.” Martin’s only response was a barely audible snort.

The young lord brushed himself off and reached for the croissant he didn’t remember ordering. Martin cleared his throat and shook his head. Leo quickly sat the croissant back down.

“And I'm not drunk!” Leo remembered the accusation Riona had made when she’d first entered. “Don’t be ridiculous, it’s not even noon! I’m not Prince Callum.” The young lord chuckled at his own joke as Martin picked up and sniffed the empty coffee cup his lord had already finished. Although he caught no whiff of alcohol he eyed Riona with suspicion.

Some of the servants outside the door shifted uncomfortably at the casual slander against Caesonia’s royalty.

It was easy to ignore Martin, less so Sh*tlord. “Of course not, milord. I am sure it is merely the intoxicating effects of redecorating that have you in such high spirits this morning. Though your current state does bear a striking resemblance to His Highness’s ‘appreciation for interior design.’”

“No that’s not it.” Leo quickly dismissed Riona’s explanation. “It must be lingering effects from Count Landon’s gathering. I did drink there…and I bet that spa dehydrated me.” He fumbled his way around an explanation. He did feel intoxicated, but he was certain there hadn’t been alcohol in his coffee.

“Sounds like a proper breakfast is in order. Maybe a feast, huh, moving furniture is hungry work.” Ray suggested with an outstretched hand.

Leo moved a bag of coins from his pocket to Ray’s hand. “Coffee too.” Leo instructed.

“Can’t have breakfast without it!” He wasted no time sending a pair of the looky-loos who loitered in the doorway to pick up breakfast and coffee from someplace other than the palace.

Riona eyed the extra breakfast, her clasped hands tightening in front of her as she said, “If you intend to waste food, then perhaps it could be shared with those in need.”

“Right, Riona, where we moving all this stuff too? And where’s the lord’s proper furniture?” He asked walking back into the room. He looked to Martin, who gave him a single nod, to gauge how well he was doing.

“You mean the royal family’s proper furniture? The same furniture your lordship ordered us to move without asking if he was actually allowed to do it?” Riona didn’t say anything for a bit, just maintained direct eye contact with Ray before finally answering. Ray returned the look, unblinking as if this was a staring contest. “It’s in storage, of course.” She couldn’t give less of a damn where they took the new furniture, but since it technically wasn’t the guest house’s, the Smithwoods would have to deal with it themselves.

Ray kept staring waiting for the other half of his question to be answered. After a few beats, he realized he wasn’t getting an answer for where to take the unwanted furniture, so he turned to look at Leo.

“What?!” Leo asked, once he realized Martin’s apprentice was looking at him.

“Where you want all this moved to?” Ray asked, gesturing around the room. “Sir.” He added as an afterthought.

“Martin, why is he asking me this?” Leo asked as he searched the room for his belongings, which seemed to have disappeared alongside everything else familiar in the room.

“He’s still learning, milord. Raymond will fetch a horse and cart and get this all hulled down to the slums. Where junk belongs, eh.” Martin offered as Leo nodded in agreement.

Considering what kind of stores she purchased the decor from, Riona tried not to smirk.

“We can even make sure the papers hear of your charitable spirit.” He added.

“Yes, the high-end, respectable stores these came from would appreciate knowing your opinion about their products.”

“Riona, the thoughts of merchants on what I do with their products after purchase, are not a concern of mine. It’s a fine idea, do that.”

“...And the other nobles who make up most of their clientele.” She added quietly.

While Ray went to fetch a cart, Martin corralled any servants lingering outside Lord Smithwood’s door to help move all the furniture outside. Quick and efficient, by the time Ray returned all the furniture was neatly stacked outside waiting to be loaded up. A pair of servants were sent to hand out free furniture in the slums. Another was sent to ensure House Smithwood’s generosity got publicity; donating the results of a purchasing mishap to the destitute.

Meanwhile, Riona and the servants, both from House Smithwood and the castle, placed their bets.
“Copper says it all ends up as firewood by tomorrow.”
“Pansy. Ten coppers.”
“Sod that, loser scrubs privies for a week.” This suggestion was met with groans and nervous laughter.
“No, no, no. Did you see the quality of the material? It’d be too much of a waste to just burn it all. Fifty copper says people’ll strip them for parts.”
“If it’s worth that much, I’d say it’ll all be pawned off by the end of the week. One full silver.”

A collective ooh and ahh erupted from the gathered staff and others quickly piled on to the wager before another bet was made.

“One free drink at any tavern of choice for a month, that someone will give the Smithwoods rubbish as a ‘thank you for leaving your crap in our neighborhood’ present. Anyone want in?”
“Depends,” the servant scratched his chin, “where were they gonna leave the ‘donation’ again?”
“The slums.” A handful of servants nodded knowingly and placed their wagers.
“Are they going to mention His Lordship’s name?”
The butler grinned, “You bet.” A lot more people joined in this time.

---

The guest chamber sat empty, stripped bare, all furnishings gone save for the table and chair where Lordling Stuffypants was shoveling food into his face. Riona stood at attention nearby, bored out of her skull. The breakfast cart she’d wheeled up sulked in the corner and its contents grew colder by the minute.

Apparently she couldn’t be trusted to move so much as a footstool without supervision. So here she was, spending her morning doing her best impression of a statue while Smithwood chomped away, oblivious.

Riona wondered how long it would take His Lordlingship to notice the distinct lack of progress on the so-called “furniture rearrangement” he’d ordered.

Oh, his personal belongings had been hauled out by his own servants a while ago. But since then? Nothing. No one had returned, except for Sh*tlord’s bodyguards, and the room stayed barren. Only the rhythmic clink-scrape of fork against plate broke the silence.

“You know that’s creepy, right? Leo asked finishing a full plate of breakfast offerings, intentionally scraping fork against plate to see if it caused a reaction from Riona. He wondered how long she could stand there like a creepy too real statue, without a single perceptible movement. He leaned back in the chair, finishing a third cup of coffee but feeling worse than when he’d started his meal. Still, he got up, unsteadily, and looked around the hallway for someone to remove his dishes and the table and chair from the room.

“Milord has never complained before,” Riona answered flatly. Most people who employ servants almost always want them to blend into the background. She didn’t understand why this was bothering the Lordling now.

“Well, now it’s creepy.” He accused, looking down an empty hallway, annoyed at not seeing dutiful servants carrying furniture. “Where is everyone?” Leo asked stumbling back into the room. “It shouldn’t take this long.” He insisted, words beginning to slur together as he stared at Riona expectantly. Martin and Ray finished their own meals, having a quiet conversation on the other side of the room, occasionally glancing over as their lord bickered with Riona.

Her eyes glanced at the window. Based on the light and activity outside, she guessed the time. “They are likely taking a break or back doing their usual duties,” Riona answered.

“A break? When the job’s barely half-finished?” Leo rolled his eyes, this wasn’t how things were done in Stravy. Dad never had these problems. They’d all be scrambling to get everything done before he finished speaking. His father had a voice like absolute authority, Leo had no such roar.

“Well, go ahead.” He snapped at Riona. “Gloat about your meager victory. You’ve soured my day, I’ll be incredibly late to Lord Drake’s birthday, forced to deal with the issue you caused. Congratulations Riona, you are far more aggravating than an insect…untrained pet…beast of burden…whatever it was I called you that ruffled your feathers.” Leo paced, staggering about, as he spoke. Up and down the nearly empty room.

He didn’t hear Riona’s “... I already told you what my problem is with you.”

Martin cleared his throat. “Sir, is it worth the risk? Showing up to the lord’s birthday this-” Martin paused for the right word.

“Wasted!” Ray offered.
“Inebriated.” Martin continued, as a look of deep annoyance crossed his face.

“I’m not-” Leo stumbled and once he’d righted himself a look of concern flashed across his face. “I’m drunk.” He admitted, but he’d not had a drop since last night. “Pranked! Again! That solves it, Martin! The pranks are definitely happening in this guest house.” Leo excitedly shared the clue he’d found.

“Most likely.” Martin agreed.

“And you’re sure Verrick left?” Leo asked.

“I watched him leave with the Royals,” Ray confirmed. Leo only looked at Martin, who nodded.

“That settles it. I forgo the birthday party, we’ll spend the morning figuring out suspects, detective work. Once the room gets fixed.” Leo continued to wait for servants who continued to remain unaware of their lord’s need for urgency.

“If you intend to sit here all day, may I take my leave?” Because he was going to stay here all day if he waited for “this room to get fixed.” And even she couldn’t stand still for that long. She glanced at the breakfast cart and wondered if she should just eat that for lunch.

“Go ahead,” Leo gestured to the food cart that Riona kept eyeing, wondering why she seemed so concerned with an uneaten croissant when bigger problems were happening. “I am no longer eating anything prepared in the kitchens here.”

“I will inform the staff to never serve you food in this castle, or made from the castle kitchens, from this moment forward.” Riona walked over to the table. “Would you like to extend that request to drinks as well?”

“You will not! It’s a secret.” He insisted, he wasn’t risking insulting the crown like that.

A small smile appeared on the maid’s face. “Understood, drinks will be served as normal.”

Riona's reply went unheard as Leo did his best to ignore her input. “Now, we’re all going to the storage room and moving everything back.” Leo decided, it seemed that was the only way anything was getting done today. Leo didn’t wait for an answer, he headed out of the room and waited for someone to lead the way to the storage room. Ray headed past Smithwood, directing the lord toward the storage room.

“Has my watch been found?” Leo asked.

“Not yet.” Martin said.

Ray spun around and began walking backward as he spoke. “Right! Full report on the missing pocket watch. I canvassed the marketplace, shops on the up and up, sellers on the down low. Everything in between. No one’s tried to fence it, far as I can tell but, if anyone tries, we’ll know about it.” He turned back around. “Nothing on the thief. Hard to track someone down without a face or name.” Ray added.

“So we have nothing.” Leo stopped walking as he spoke, disappointment heavy in his words. “He’d be so disappointed in me.” He continued walking, mumbling as he did so. “I wasn’t careful enough, I just let some common thief swipe it.” Leo cleared his throat. “We have to find that watch.”

Riona listened into the conversation thoughtfully as she cleared up the Lordling breakfast mess and loaded it up on the cart.

They reached the storage room and began the arduous process of moving all the original furniture back into Leo’s guest room. The small upside to the few wasted morning hours was that his original intent, of the furniture being moved around in a way he found more favorable, was finally realized. The effects of the alcohol he hadn't even consumed were ebbing as well.

A servant emerged from the hallway and paused, clearly confused. “My lord? What are you doing with those furniture? They have not been properly refurbished yet. Did you not like the room we prepared for you?”

“Pardon?” Leo asked, confused. Of course, he didn’t like the empty room! He didn’t wait for the servant to repeat themselves. “I am being moved to a different room? Why wasn’t I told this?” He asked, then his attention flickered to Riona, who’d said nothing while they moved the wrong furniture, and was currently having her back turned to him as she swept the floor.

“A small misunderstanding.” Martin said, his hand clapping against the young lord’s shoulder. “A small pittance for a room upgrade.” His words drew the ire out of Leo’s tone.

“That’s true…excellent then. A better room. This one is unlucky.” Leo quickly decided he was glad to leave the room where misfortune so often struck him.

The look of confusion intensified on the servant. “I beg your pardon, my lord, but it’s exactly the same style of room you pre—” the servant began, but was immediately cut off.

Martin approached the servant, inquiring about the location of the new room and once that was settled dismissed them back to their duties. “We’ll get all this returned to storage, and if you need help restoring furniture, let me know.” Martin added before they left, sounding uncharacteristically chipper about fixing something more tangible than a lord’s minor inconveniences.

“You,” Leo wagged a finger at Riona. “Surprising me with terrible furnishing only to have me switched to a better room.” Leo chuckled as he finally got the joke. “This is an improvement. A stepping stone toward being a better servant! Once the childish antics cease I’ll have passed Lady Morrigan’s bizarre test. He thought about that for a moment.

“Could Lady Morrigan be my prankster? She does have an odd obsession with testing me...” He thought aloud.

The maid spun around—and it wasn’t Riona. Not even close. She cocked her head and seemed to give Leo’s question some serious thought. “I don’t believe so? I rarely hear her mention you, if at all.” Then she beamed at him and, with the energy of some delivering him great news, said, “She’s a very busy woman, so I doubt she’d waste time pranking Your Lordship.”

When the silence that followed stretched into awkwardness, the maid gasped, “Oh, did you need Riona? She’s having tea with your servants. If you will follow me, your lordship.” Without waiting for a response—or bothering to check if they were following—she marched out of the room, humming a jaunty tune.

The muffled sounds of laughter and animated conversation grew louder and clearer as they neared the guesthouse’s servant hall. Familiar voices drifted out into the hall as Smithwood servants let off steam.

“How long before he tasks one of us with getting his lion slippers groomed?” Ivan, Leo’s valet, said as the servants discussed some of their lord’s more absurd requests.

A footmen snorted. “Wouldn’t surprise me if the lad spent all his time in the woods pretending he was a lion.”

“Do you know how much his lordship spends on his hunting trips? On his mountain trips? Enough to feed a small village. And I ain’t seen a raise in years.” One of the Smithwood maids pointed out.

“A raise? When you still struggle with the simplest tasks? Outlandish! Remember the time my drink had far too many ice cubes?” There was a marked smugness to his tone as Ivan impersonated Leo.

“Noble’s have very delicate constitutions, Edith. An extra sliver of ice could send them into a chill.” Myrtle joked.

“How could I forget the time I attempted assassination by brain freeze, his lordship never fails to remind me. I bet he thinks my name is too much ice.” Edith said.

“No wonder he runs off so often, must be afraid of ya.” Abe joked.

“If I had Leo’s parents I'd be running off every chance I got too.” Myrtle said with a shrug. “I swear their arguments could be heard all through Stravy.” At the very least the carriagewoman had heard the pair from the stables more than a few times.

“Can’t say I miss cleaning up shattered dishes all night once the two o’ them were through.”

“Except now, the whole city hears” Ivan cleared his throat and raised the pitch of his voice. “Who allowed Thea near the liquor? Who let Leo track mud through the pallor? Why must my children test me?” Ivan mimicked the Dutchess while dramatically gesturing around him.

]“Like we got extra time to nanny her grown children!” Abe added, rolling his eyes.

“What’s she expect when she’s raised them thinkin' no’s a foreign word?” Edith shook her head.

“Didn’t seem to win her any favors, they both avoid her like the plague.” Myrtle pointed out.

“That I understand. Not even a year and remarried? Her children are a mess, you’d think she’d care a bit more about that.”

“At least the Duke’s gone.” There was a hushed murmur of agreement.

“Surely the worst of ‘em.” Abe whispered the statement. All heads somberly nodded as they all grew quiet for a moment.

“You think the Dutchess had him-” She didn’t need to finish her sentance.

“Good for her if she did. Probably the best thing she’s ever done. Ya know. If.” And then more silence. No one needed to say more on the subject but it was clear they all agreed on that too.

“You should see the kennels, nicer digs than any of us got. The hounds eat better than most merchants.” Ivan pivoted back to something lighter, regretting bringing up the subject.

“Oh what I wouldn’t give to be turned into one of them hounds. Now that’s a cushy life.”

“Pretty sure Lewis was fired ‘cause one of the hounds didn’t like him. Imagine, taking advice from a creature that licks its own ass.”

“If you cannot earn the trust of my hounds, how can I expect you to earn my trust?” Ivan slipped back into his Leo impersonation with such ease that it was clear how often he practiced it.

“Waiting for the day we all get meat scraps as a reward for a job well done.”

“That would require you to do a job well done and you are all more incompetent than a freshly weaned pup.”

“Joke’s on you, I was called an adequate carriage driver by the lad once.” Myrtle bragged.

“So, Riona, what’s it like working for Royal pricks? Any better than the standard variety?” Abe asked.

TLDR

Leo hates Riona's decorating choices, so with the help of his bodyguards (Martin and Ray) and some Smithwood servants, he has the unwanted furniture hulled off to the slums. As they move what they think is the original furniture back into the room they learn Leo's been moved to a different room, the furniture they moved belongs in storage for refurnishing, and Leo's daily misfortune has left him tipsy. Meanwhile, Riona enjoys a double helping of tea, both beverage and gossip, with Leo's unhappy servants.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Time: Morning, 10am
Location: Edward’s home, for Drake’s party
Interactions: Nahir @Rodiak, Wulfric @Silverpaw, Farim @Lava Alckon, Anastasia @princess, Stratya @CitrusArms, Olivia @Potter

---

Prince Wulfric did not disappoint, a list of suggestions rolled off the man’s tongue, each one sounding better than the last. Unending pasta! And a pool! Indugles paired with excise to both rekindle the appetite and work off all that pasta! Water slides! Gambling! An athletic area and a stadium! Everything the Prince mentioned packed the summer full of excitement, so much to do, so much to see.

Rohit’s grin widened as Prince Wulfric attempted to warn him off the highly potent cocktails. Guests rolling around in the grass, the birthday boy that had fallen from the stage, the loud insults hurled around by this city's nobles, and is that Farim with a woman in his lap who spoke loudly of a game of strip poker. He took a longer sip of his drink.

“I appreciate the warning, Your Majesty, but I’d hate to miss out on the fun.“ He stood, drink in hand, and bowed gracefully to the pair of royals. “But I will refrain from getting too sloppy, and let a pair of future rulers have their moment.” He took his leave and made his way to Farim’s table, it seemed to be where all the fun was at. Not that he didn’t enjoy speaking with the two very composed royals but a party was a time to let go and have fun.

He pulled a nearby chair over to the packed table. “This appears to be a meeting of beautiful people, and I am left wondering, where my invitation was.” He smiled with easy confidence before taking his seat. “Are all parties here so lively and joyous? Makes me wish I’d visited Sorian sooner. I’m Rohit.” He added.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Time: 10am
Location: Drake’s Birthday Bash
Interactions: Drake @Lava Alckon
Mentions: Ariella

---

Callum stared at the ball of ice with a mix of confusion and disgust. Before the whiskey was poured he quickly snatched the ice from the glass and held it in his hand. His whiskey, the good stuff at that, was saved from being chilled and eventually, water downed by the unwanted addition that now dripped down his wrist. A wandering thought nearly made him sick, had Darryn melted slowly, like ice in the summer sun, or was it quick? Did he feel it happening?

“Oh um, no thank you. I prefer it neat.” He told the bartender as he awkwardly handed the ball of ice back to the man. Once the ice was disposed of, Cal wiped the cold remnants away on the back of his neck. He turned to look at Drake, trying to focus on his words but finding himself distracted.

He still saw Darryn. Or the illusion of Darryn, looking how Callum couldn’t stop picturing him looking. A beaten bloody mess that barely seemed human. Worse than that day he’d almost been executed, worse than Callum had looked fresh out of that alleyway. Tortured. Someone had probably tortured Darryn. After Alibeth had tortured Darryn. Cal couldn’t stop imagining it and the more he did the worse the illusion began to look. Cold, dead, eyes watched Callum from a head that sat atop melting flesh. Skin and muscle dripping onto the grass.

He looked away, into at his glass but the familiar amber had turned to something vicious and bloody. He couldn’t bring himself to lift the glass to his lips. He looked at Drake instead, realizing he'd been ignoring the man's question.

“Sorry, I found out a friend of mine died today. And I think...no I was, I was a pretty bad friend to him before…” Before someone turned him into a puddle. He didn’t give voice to the rest of his sentence. “Sorry, you asked about my intentions with Ari. I like spending time with her, it’s rare to meet genuinely kind people, without wanting anything from you. The way Ari is.” His eyes left Drake and with ease, he spotted Ari’s fiery hair as she spoke to a nervous-looking older man whose wig seemed to be slipping.

He watched her hold up an empty glass, her skin flushed from the glass’s contents, her laughter echoing freely through the garden. He smiled for a moment, happy to see her happy despite the interaction they’d all had with Victoria a moment ago. At the very least he intended to be a better friend to her than he was to Darryn.

“I know how people talk, and that we were alone in the woods together. Nothing scandalous,” Callum looked back at Drake, eye to eye before adding “I promise you that.” Then he looked down at his glass of whiskey, the illusion still lingering. “She brought me to a spot she found beautiful, peaceful, and I don’t often see that in the world. I just want to know her for who she is and try to see the things she sees. Be someone worth her time.” He closed his eyes and took a sip, savoring the comforting burn even as he wondered if he could be worth anyone’s time.

“How 'buot you Drake? Do you intend to be another person telling her how to spend her time, who to spend it with?” He asked, a genuine question rather than an accusation.