princess
Lemons
mickilennial
vietmyke
Pen Name
Kaithe Dame
High Moon
Snowdrops
Charley
SilverPawWelcome to the Guild! Total coincidence, but I made a character named Jun with the exact same image you used for your avatar XD
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Part of Riona wondered if the so-called âdragon who enjoys pouring sweet beverages on lovely womenâ was none other than Shehzadi Nahir herselfâa warning, maybe, not to cross herâor an entirely different person.
Feeling soft lips brush her hand, she became acutely aware that Shehzadi Nahir and Shahzade Munir shared more than just a familial name; a penchant for flirtation ran deep in al-Kadirâs bloodline. Despite herself, Riona couldnât help but smile in amusement at the thought. A smile which widened further when the Shehzadi asked Riona, of all people, to be her dance partner. Unexpected, to be sure, butâŚ
Just then, Riona felt herself pushed forward, she reached out instinctively to catch her balance. Her hands found purchase not on the floor but on Shehzadi Nahir. Her arms wrapped tightly around the other woman and her fingers clenched handfuls of delicate roses. Heart pounding, Riona realized she was clinging to the Saltunâs daughter in a most improper embrace.
A thousand and one worries shouldâve flooded her in that panic-stricken moment: the impropriety of touching the Shehzadi so, how any harm to her could spark a diplomatic incident, and so much more. Yet, what worried Riona the most was damaging the exquisite garment. What if she ripped out the roses or tore the gown from its seams? Would she be able to sew it back together? If not, how many years of her salary would it take to compensate for the ruined dress? Or would they demand retribution and chop off her hands instead? F**k.
The weasel-man who accidentally bumped into her offered his apologies and, after ensuring that no one was injured, swiftly departed with his date. All the while Riona remained fixed in place, unable to trust herself to move without messing up something. Only guided by the Shehzadiâs steadying hands did Riona disentangle herself, inch by wary inch.
Her cheeks aflame, Riona said, âI am rather accident-prone tonight. A dance with me might cost you dearlyâa toe, perhaps, or your dignity, should we tumble for all to see.â With a curtsy, she added, âKnowing this, will you brave such risks, my lady?â
Riona extended her hand. âIf you dare, then the dance is yours, surprises and all.â
Peter
Time: NightLocation: Damien Estate Ballroom
Interaction(s): Persephone Olivia @Potter; Leon Lionheart @Helo; Pink lady @Rodiak
Peterâs chest puffed up like a balloon, pride and satisfaction fizzed within, as Oliviaâs tension visibly eased. Each switcheroo he pulled off brightened her face, lighting it up with awe.
Eager to ride the momentum and end on a high note, Peter scanned the room for his next mark. A guy decked out in red and gold drew his attention. With the number of lion-themed accessories on him, youâd think he wanted to represent a whole Pride. The full-faced lion mask, tiny lion head cufflinks, and the most out-of-place (but also the most comfortable looking) lion slippers roared overcompensation. That or Leon Lionheart had a thing for lions.
A smirk curled his lip when he spotted the one anomaly in the manâs ensemble that didnât roar: a sleek, un-lion-like pocket watch. Catching Oliviaâs eye, he tapped his nose twice, pointed at his eyes, then flicked his gaze to the lion-man. Watch closely.
Peter smoothly closed the distance between him and Leon Lionheart, tracking the lion-manâs movements, the rhythm of his breathing, the sway of his posture. Timing was key. The second he got distracted, Peter slipped in. A quick flick and the watch was his, some other nobleâs trinket in its place.
Job done. Now where to dump the loot? His eyes settled on two women, one swallowed in pink and the other in orange and gold. Guiding Olivia near them, Peter suddenly stopped and faced her. âA dance, mâlady?â Bowing deep, he rose with a wink. Play along, he mouthed.
When she accepted, Peter let out a dramatic sigh of relief, exclaiming, âOh, you have no idea howââ His words broke off as he âaccidentallyâ backed into the women. The bump was gentle, a fleeting contact, but either Orange was too plastered to stand or she was frail as a dried flower because that little bump sent Orange crashing into her pink friend.
A genuine âshitâ escaped Peter and he reached out to catch her fall. Fortunately for all of them, Pink was made of sterner stuff than Orange. She steadied both herself and her friend before they tumbled onto the floor.
After some apologies and assurances that everyone was okay, Peter whisked Olivia away to the dance floor, leaving Leon Lionheartâs pocket watch dangling from the back of Orangeâs golden waist piece.
As Peter assumed his position, he cleared his throat, shaking off the awkwardness. âAnd that,â he declared, âis how you do it.â
In the nick of time, too. A ripple of unrest was brewing among some of the guests. Most were just scratching their heads, puzzled at how in the world their stuff rearranged themselves. The handful who were the butt of Peter's swapping prank began to notice that they had something that wasnât theirs. He savored the scene with no small amount of smugness. Then, he caught sight of Blue, the fife-wielding fighter, eyeing the crowd. A shiver of thrill raced through him. She looked like she was on the hunt.
Fritz "Ryn" Hendrix
Time: EveningLocation: Damien Estateâs Ballroom
Interaction(s): Mr. V @samreaper; Lady Charlotte Vikena @princess; Lord Leo Smithwood @Helo
âIf possible, would you know where I could get ahold of a small pouch of gun powder?â
Rynâs eyes widened at the request. Even a pinch of black powder could wreak havoc if mishandled. What mischief could Mr. V possibly have up his sleeve that required such a volatile substance? Before Ryn could inquire further, Lady Vikena approached. âEvening gentlemen. Having fun over here I hope?â The count inclined his head, a courteous bow, the antlers of his stag mask casting twisted shapes across the polished floor beneath their feet.
While Mr. V spoke, Ryn removed his spectacles and carefully swapped out the spent lens with a new one. With his enchanted eyewear back in place, Ryn scrutinized Lady Vikenaâs magicae once more. Her natural hue and the unnatural presence that encased herâsuffocating in its intensityâremained unchanged. For better or for worse, Ryn could not say. At the very least, Wayraâs reaction suggested that this was not a recent development.
A possibility struck him, Miss Delilah mightâve known about this. Not just her, but alsoâ... He chewed his bottom lip, lost in contemplation. Could this be connected to the Vikena familyâs current plight?
Ryn shifted his attention to Lord Smithwood, who stood at a distance. His magicae remained steady. The shadows still clung along the fringes, but their grip on him seemed to have weakened as the day wore on, appearing fainter than they had that morning.
âI see some seats over there,â the count remarked, gesturing toward an unoccupied corner of the ballroom. âShall we?â
As they crossed the room, Ryn asked Mr. V in a hushed tone, âDo you intend to harm anyone?â He had to at least know that before he could consider handing the man black powder. Acknowledging Mr. Vâs response with a subtle nod, Ryn continued on his path.
Waving in Lord Smithwoodâs direction, Ryn indicated the corner and extended a silent invitation to join them if he wished. They were a team, after all. It would be remiss of Ryn to leave him out of their discussions.
Upon reaching the empty seats, he pulled out a chair for Lady Vikena and then another for Mr. V before realizing his misstep. Understanding the need to maintain Mr. Vâs guise as a servant, he flashed an apologetic look and took the seat for himself.
Questions swirled within Rynâs mind, many things to discuss and fill Lady Vikena in onâabout the investigation, the items Ryn had left for her examination, his findings at the psychiatric institution, and far more besides. However, as Mr. V astutely pointed out, Lady Vikenaâs âepisodeâ took precedence. âItâs good to see you Lady Charlotte. I was beginning to worry that I somehow missed our very first CLF Detective Agency meeting. I hadnât realized it would be quite so... clandestine.â He smiled, but concern was there. âHow are you faring?â
Even though she tried to hide it as best as she could, Peter got the sense Olivia was nervous as f**k. Mightâve been the way she clamped down on his hand hard enough to cut off circulation at the sight of C-Bert. Or how her big, anxious eyes peered up at him when asked, âDo you think heâll recognize me?â Or heck, maybe it was the way she herded Peter around the room, giving C-Bert a wider berth than a country mile, her gaze darting back to keep tabs on his location every few seconds. That kind of attention could make a fella a wee bit jealous.
Peter eased Oliviaâs chin his way till she was looking at him instead of C-Bert. He leaned in close, his lips just barely grazing her ear. âKeep avoiding him like that and he will,â he murmured. âYouâve gotta relax. He can smell fear. Only way to fool that nose is with brass.â As Peter straightened, he slid a steady hand around the dip of Oliviaâs waist and gave what he hoped was a reassuring squeeze.
A fat lot of good that did. She was still coiled tight as a spring. He couldnât really blame her, what with the gaggle of puffed-up nobles strutting about like theyâre the cock of the walk. Their chatter was as shallow as their purses were deep, a relentless joust of who could piss higher up the wall. Flaunting baubles as if those alone proved their worth as people.
The garish light glinted off accessories cast mischievous sparks in Peterâs eyes. Then a grin sliced across his face as an idea brewed. He turned to Olivia. âHey, watch this.â
Guiding Olivia through the sea of peacocks, Peter slipped into his own kind of dance as he relieved unsuspecting nobles of their fineries. He didnât stop there, though. Oh no, he mixed it up, planting pilfered items on the wrong noble, or sneaking them back to their ownersâbut never where they expected. Was he showing off? Damn right. All to steal a smile from Olivia, push away her worries, and maybe even snatch a bit of admiration.
Riona drifted between groups, her ears perked for any scrap of conversation that might prove useful. She took a bitter pride in how easy it was to fade into the background. Years of being a maid ingrained stealth into her bones, but the thought of owing any of her skills to servitude soured in her mouth.
She shook the thought away. No more brooding. She was here on a mission, damn it. Riona squared her shoulders and stepped into the light, inserting herself into circles already mid-gossip. She listened close, interjecting where she could, mining each mundane exchange. Most discussions proved wanting, but Riona kept at it, sifting dross in search of goldâyou never knew what little thing might turn out to be important. And, sometimes, she did catch pieces of promising intelligence the Thornbreakers would be interested in.
Which was great and allâŚ
But Gods, these heels were killing her!
Pain gnawed, pinched, and nibbled away at her concentration; being a constant, nagging reminder she was out of place. Eventually, it became too much and Riona had to excuse herself. She retreated into the powder room where she yanked the shoes off and rubbed some life back into her poor, abused feet. There, she questioned every decision that led her to this point, mentally slapped herself for even thinking that, then got ready for round two.
Riona just returned to the ballroom when a burst of pink caught her eye. A bouquet of roses given human form approached, her filigree mask doing nothing to hide who she was: Shehzadi Nahir Aysun Ibn Raif Kadi. âExcuse me, my lady, what lovely dress you have there.â
Riona froze. Why did she approach her? The last time they crossed paths, Riona had been serving at the dinner hosted by the Sultan. After the drama that unfolded that night, she didnât think the Shehzadi wouldâve remembered Riona, much less recognize her.
Reflexively, her fingers flew up and traced the edges of the mask, which concealed the better part of her face. Assured that it was securely in place, she allowed herself a moment of relief.
âTrouble with the shoes?â asked Shehzadi Nahir, her voice like honeyed silk. âI wouldnât want such a beauty to trip in the middle of a ball.â A flutter of nervousness stirred a mix of flattery and apprehension in Rionaâs chest.
Rionaâs gown, a burst of orange satin, made her feel empowered and exposed all at once. Its sweetheart neckline and golden accent piece that cinched waist drew the eye; the skirtâs asymmetrical hemline and low-cut back added a touch of daring. Detached sheer puff sleeves billowed from fitted gold bands at her mid-upper arms, then anchored at the wrists by bangles. Although Viaâs skillful work hid her scars, Riona became conscious of them under the weight of the Shehzadiâs gaze.
âThank you.â She took the offered hand to find her balance. This close, she detected subtle tells of ennui in the other woman. It couldâve just been her imagination, but she had seen that particular expression often enough. From experience, boredom among the nobility often spelled trouble for those less fortunate. Servants learned quickly to make themselves scarce until it passed. âAre you certain, my lady?â Riona asked, emboldened by the anonymity lent by masquerade masks. âYou have the look of someone whoâd welcome a mild diversion, even if itâs just âa beauty tripping in the middle of a ball.ââ
Time: MORNING
Location: EXT. WOODS - RIVER PORT
Interactions/Mentions: The golden lion furry @Helo; The lady in a purple dress @Tae; The guy cosplaying as an elf @princess
Equipment:
Led by the kid, who navigated the forest like he had a GPS implant, Jun reached a river where they spotted some River Port locals. Jun rushed up and begged them to call an ambulance, but no matter how he phrased "call emergency services" â911, 999, 112, or 119â, they just stared back baffled.
It wasn't until Jun frantically explained that a lionman was gravely injured and in need of medical attention tout suite that the locals finally grasped the severity of the situation. They agreed to gather help to bring Zion to care, offering to take the kid too.
In the meantime, Jun needed water for Zion. Without any containers, he peeled off his shirt and soaked it up with as much water as the fabric could hold. Concerns about sanitation crossed his mind, but it had to be better than nothing.
Cradling the dripping bundle, Jun hotfooted back to where he left the others, only to find nobody there. Well, technically not "nobody" if you counted the giant spider carcasses. Everyone elseâMalachi, purple lady, and most importantly Zionâvanished, leaving a half-naked loser standing alone in the woods with only the mangled arachnids for company.
Had they duped him? He doubted itâthe raw terror and pain on Zion's face couldn't have been faked. Logic suggested the others carted Zion off for medical help the second Jun and the kid were out of eyeshot. The theory gave him some relief. But then a more chilling thought wormed its way in.
This LARPing community was even more unhinged than Jun realized. So hell-bent on preserving the illusion, they waited until Jun was gone to finally aid Zion when they had the option to quickly transport him any time. To them, fantasy eclipsed real harm. This crystallized Jun's growing fears about Avalia: the longer he stayed, the less likely he'd get back home in one piece.
Time to hit the road. Yesterday.
¡ ¡ ¡ ¡ ¡ ¡ ¡ ¡ ¡ ¡ ¡ ¡ ¡ ¡ ¡ ¡ ¡ ¡ ¡
Time: AFTERNOON
Location: INT./EXT. MAMA MALACHI'S SUMMERHOUSE - RIVER PORT
Interactions/Mentions: The golden lion furry @Helo; The lady in a purple dress @Tae; The guy cosplaying as an elf @princess
Equipment:
Jun grabbed his stuff and crammed what he could into his backpack. A canteen for waterâcheck. Questionable mapâcheck. All the bread totally-just-a-friendly-neighbor-who-can-hold-her-own-in-a-fight broughtâdouble check. There were probably more useful things he should've packed if he just took a moment to think, but there wasn't time. He needed to go before they noticed he was alone.
He struggled into an old shirt and pair of pants he found in the house, reasoning they would help him blend into the crowds better than his "Earth" garb (not to mention his own shirt still needed time to dry). At least the cloak covered the worst of the bad fit.
Jun could've just legged it then, but his conscience needled him to compensate for the "borrowed" goods and broken picture frame. Unsure of the value or exchange rate, he left a mishmash of cash and amas on the table he hoped would cover the cost.
He scribbled a hasty note to Zion (saying "I hope you get better soon"), then crumpled the sentiment into a ball and tossed it into the bin. What a waste. Pity be to the trees sacrificed to make the paper.
It wasn't as if his good wishes could change what happened or heal the big guy any better or faster. Zion had plenty of well-wishers and medical staff helping him. Jun would make no differenceâhe made no difference.
An anxious double-check later, Jun slipped out into the afternoon sun.
Fritz "Ryn" Hendrix
Time: EveningLocation: Damien Estateâs Ballroom
Interaction(s): Mr. V @samreaper
âIf you wish for a most grand spectacle the likes rivaling such parties that might be taboo.â
Black Roseâs afterparty crossed Rynâs mind. Udoâs report had mentioned Baron Hugoninâs ward taking part, however, he had been absent at the group reprimand the following morning. As an attendee himself, Lord Smithwood must have known about Mr. Vâthough his poor opinion of commoners may have rendered Mr.Vâs presence less memorable. Had he or Lady Vikena questioned him already?
âA night, unlike that like I assure to unforgettable,â Unlike the afterparty, Ryn hoped. âBut as I am one man. Some help is needed and from you, I would ask for whatever you can/or willing to tell me about Calbert and the Damien household? And one more thing, but I suppose that can wait till after.â
Intrigue and concern wrestled briefly before curiosity gained the upper hand. While prudent enough to feel some disquiet, he could not deny the spark of excitement at Mr. Vâs cryptic hints of bold, likely illicit, mischief to come.
âCertainly, if it helps, Iâll gladly share what I know. And maybe you could enlighten me on a few points as well.â Ryn opened with what was common knowledge to any Erwynn citizen as one of Montauppeâs closest Varian neighbors. He then recounted his own brushes with the count since coming to Sorian. Mindful of boundaries, Ryn withheld details he had no right to divulge, but he did relay the tension between Duke Vikena and Count Damien, including Lady Vikenaâs views on the count.
This inevitably led to his little conversation with Ms. Olga from The Tough Tavern. Prior to stumbling upon Prince Callum sprawled on the ground in the alley, Ryn had paid a visit to the tavern to ask the one question that had been bothering him since his first visit: What did Ms. Olga owe Count Damien for? As it turned out, a great many thingsâenough to win the tavernkeeperâs loyalty.
By her account, he was a good man, no matter what others said.
As Ryn spoke, two masked figures, an owl and a weasel, slipped into the ballroom. Inwardly he sighed, recognizing Peter, openly defying the crewâs decision; there would be words about that later.
For now, Ryn angled his body towards Mr. V and nodded discreetly at the red-haired pair. âDo you see that striking couple over there? The gentleman wearing a weasel mask has been keeping a close eye on the Damiens for a few days now. His insights may better serve you.â
Having imparted all he could, Ryn redirected the conversation to Mr. Vâs mysterious âone more thing.â âWhat else might you need from me?â
Olivia & Peter
Peter took a long, slow drag on the stump of his cigarillo, savoring the woody taste as the embers burned dangerously close to his fingertips. Leaning on the fence, he watched the thin stream of gray curl up into the night sky.
The rhythmic clip-clop of heels on pavement grew louder in the dark. With a casual flick, he tossed the spent cigarillo, letting it burn itself out. He blew the remaining smoke from his mouth and straightened just as she came near.
âWell, well,â Peter drawled. âHey there, gorgeous. Back for more trouble?â A crooked grin played at the corner of his mouth. âPersephone.â
Olivia lingered at the Vikena Estate longer than Charlotte. Due to never attending a masquerade, she had taken longer to get ready. Unfamiliar with nobility, Olivia had taken more time deciding on her outfit. Once finished, she stared at herself with shock. A stranger stared back at her in the mirror as if taunting her. Never would she have imagined herself to look noble. She longed for her old clothes, her messy braids, and the biggest concern being if she would eat that day. Now - especially now - her main concern was whether or not sheâd be burned at the stake the next day. The appearance in front of her and the delights sheâd adorned for the evening was a stark reminder of how much pressure she had on her shoulders. Liv finally broke away from the mirror, braid her goodbye to Delilah, and then began her reluctant trip toward the masquerade ball.
Her hair lay in an elegant braid her back adorned with a silver owl clip. The owl mask obscured the makeup over her face - a feature she reluctantly allowed Charlotte and Delilah to use. The dress and accessories were unlike anything she had worn in her life. Instead of pearls over the cape, sheâd sewed feathers into it to match her mask. The walk to the Damien Estate filled her with dread. Each step in the high heels was careful and precise, and she couldnât help but wonder why women wore these torture filled shoes. Stumbling was going to be common; Olivia inhaled as she nearly collided with a tree.
With a groan, she pushed away from it and ignored the stares she was receiving. As she neared the Estate, visions of her assault filled her mindâs eye; the guardâs faces had been sown with fear and surprise; the looks of anger on Calbertâs expression, and the gun at Kazuminâs head⌠Butterflies rose inside her stomach as did bile; if she had been minutes later, would Kazumin have died? What would have happened to him? The unanswered questions, the dread and fear, coursed through Olivia as if it were a tidal wave coming to knock her down. A voice interrupted her reverie and forced all other thoughts out.
âWell, well,â The man drawled. âHey there, gorgeous. Back for more trouble?â A crooked grin played at the corner of the strangerâs mouth. âPersephone.â
For a moment she paused, as if sheâd been punched in the gut and the air had been lost. Olivia whirled around to find a man with ginger hair staring at her. Her gaze flickered to the cigar on the ground then back up at him. A scowl accompanied her expression, and then a sneer.
âYou must have confused me with someone else.â She replied curtly. Then, she drew in a deep breath, not realizing sheâd been holding it. Her lungs screamed for air as she pondered her next response. A dry laugh escaped her. âYou normally wait around to pick up women and call them by the wrong name?â
Peter chuckled a rough sound. âNice try, Olivia,â the name rolled off his tongue with a touch of sarcasm. âBut Iâd recognize those eyes anywhere, no amount of makeup or costume can hide that spunk.â He took a step forward, the lamplight casting an uneven glow on his face. âIâve been a fan since your first spat with Calbert at the castle. Remember? All that bread.â He took another step.
Olivia scowled at his chuckle. Why was this funny? How did he know about her? Though she was unarmed, she thought of different spells she could use. When he took a step forward, Olivia held her ground, and glared venomously at him. Her mind told her to run, yet she was captivated - upon why the hell he was interested in her.
âGotta love how you broke into C-Bertâs house to save your pal. Ballsy move.â He shaped his hand into a pistol, pressed the finger-barrel to his temple and pulled the trigger, mimicking the dramatic recoil that followed. âPaid off though. Howâs living with the Vikenas?â
Liv flinched at his recoil to the gun. In her mindâs eye she saw Kazuminâs head being blown off and shuddered. Questions raced through her mind, all vying for her attention. She glanced around to ensure they were alone. The less who saw her do magic, the better. Was this a prank from Calbert? She shook her head and took a step back. Her heel clicked on the ground and she knew she could not run from the madman in these devil shoes. Maybe she could knock him out with it?
He paused to let all that sink in. âBut now you and cowlick are back. After all that sh*te. Why?â Peter leaned in a bit, voice dropping lower. âCome to finish him off?â
âYouâve done enough talking, stalker.â Olivia finally replied. âWhy do you know so much about me? Are you stalking me?â Olivia scowled at him and continued. âDo you work for him or something? Get out of my fuckinâ face.â She attempted to side-step him to the left toward the estate. Maybe this was a bad idea, and it would be wiser if she went back to the house - then the thought of Charlotte being alone there caused her chest to ache. How could she leave Charlotte in that lionâs den? Was Charlotte being harassed by one of these pests too? What would that poor girl do, Liv wondered. She had to go find her. âStay out of my fuckin business.â
Peter scoffed. âOr else what? Youâll zap me with a spell? Do me in? Go ahead, give it your best shot. But donât think Iâll make it easy on you.â He let âOliviaâ slip past him and shadowed her closely, jamming his hands into his pockets.
Olivia glared daggers at the man. She watched his hand movement and was prepared to act if he had ill intent. With her back now to the estate, she folded her arms and scowled. Why was she wasting her time on him? Despite it, she found herself rooted to the spot; this man could be dangerous to Charlotte and her, and who knows who else. She couldn't let him leave with these memories.
âLetâs just say you do get rid of me,â he went on. âAnd letâs pretend I was working for C-Bert. Whatâs the point? Iâd have already tipped him off about you, your magic, and your pals. Heâd be ready and waiting to spring a trap when you prance right in there.â
âWhat the fuck do you want?â Olivia inquired. Her temper now flared and she was no longer playing his game. She slipped her devil heels off and assessed the man. In the back of her mind she wondered how much magic he knew, if any, and how prepared he was to fight. âYou have a fuckin minute to tell me what the hell it is you want or need and then youâll get the fuck away from me. And why the hell are you stalking me - get a life.â
Peter watched Olivia intently, his gaze following her movements. She stood straight and steady, shoulders back, feet planted. Ready for a tussle. He didnât blame her. The smart play was to come clean, explain everything. The kind of thing a reasonable man would do.
But when has Peter ever been accused of being reasonable? And he was itching to see what she could do.
A wolfish grin split his mug as he rolled his neck, and then his shoulders, to limber up. âShort answer: you.â He relaxed into an easy stance. âThe longer version is gonna take more than a minute. So either extend that deadline or show me whatcha got.â
Olivia narrowed her gaze at him. Why was he beckoning her to fight? What the hell was going on? She growled her displeasure and glanced at the dress. Charlotte paid for this against her wishes and now she might muck it up? âYou are not worth this.â Liv sneered, but didnât back down.
âYouâre not a coward, Persephone. Why donât you fry him? You do enjoy playing with fireâŚâ âDo it, Seph. Make him pay for stalking you.â âWe didnât raise a fuckin coward so quit acting like one you little bitch.â âHeâs obviously a threat so why play games?â
She ignored the voices, much to her displeasure; her head was beginning to throb. Pain flickered across her expression but she didnât move. The reasonable option was to hear him out; the shorter route? Kick his ass. Lottie and Delilah hadnât gone through this much trouble to make her look presentable or house her to have her fuck it up the next day. She growled again with fury. âFine. You have five fuckin minutes before I rip your throat out. Start talking, stalker,â
While waiting for a response, whispered an incantation: âCommunicare in mente.â She focused on sending the message to Charlotte telepathically. âWill be late. Do not worry. Itâs Liv.â Then in the back of her mind, she thought of the next spell sheâd use in case he didnât fulfill her wish: Obice.
A whisper passed her lips. Communicare in mente. Who was she contacting? Had to be Lady Lottie or cowlick. What did I tell you, Udo? Sheâs not reckless.
The memory of Udo chortled. âAre you sure about that?â
Peter regarded the fugitive. Not completely reckless.
While Olivia sent out her message, Peter scooped up the heels she tossed. âFree tip, better not face someone directly when youâre casting. They might read lips,â without glancing back, he started down the road, âtime how fast you can cast, and narrow down which spells youâre gonna use next.â
Olivia scowled at Peter. If looks could have killed, he would have died. This man was on her shit list and he was soon going to surpass Calbert if his shenanigans continued. Fury rushed through her veins, egging her on; however, the sense of whom she portrayed and her friendâs lives, kept her grounded.
He turned over his shoulder to see if she was following. âWhat are you standing there for? Your pals are expecting you. Or⌠Canât you walk and chant at the same time?â He shot her a playful, taunting look. Always fun to poke at the dangerous ones.
Rooted to the spot, Liv didnât move. She couldn't show up barefoot, and those devil shoes were expensive. With every ounce of patience and sheer will, did she begin reluctantly following the nuisance.
âSo, introduction. Nameâs Peter. No family name. Iâm a bastard and a son of a whore⌠Literally. Pops was a noble who liked sampling mumâs wares. Left us high and dry, as they do. A**hole.â He spat the word out. âAnyways, I grew up hustling around the streets. Wouldâve joined the Woodsmen given the chance, but that didnât pan out. Found similar work in the end.â
Peter. Olivia glared at him as she hiked up her dress and soon fell into step beside him. She clamped her jaw shut stubbornly. She didnât want to give him the satisfaction of caring, so she stared ahead with a scowl. So he had a bad background - boo hoo.
She would have remained silent - until he brought up the Woodsmen. Her gaze shot to him and nearly gave her whiplash in her hurried response. Realizing sheâd given in emotion, she resumed her scowl and narrowed gaze at him while she continued holding her dress up so it wouldn't be dirty.
âWhat?â she inquired incredulously. Then she started to chortle once he mentioned âfinding similar work in the end.â âSo you're telling me youâre some kind of rat? Fits you. You are a rat for who now?â She tried to grab her shoes, but he evaded her and she let out a frustrated sigh. I will murder this man.
Peter barked out a sharp laugh as Olivia scrambled to snatch her shoes back. They danced around each other, nimble as cats, until she gave in.
He considered his words to her question carefully, then abruptly stopped to face Olivia. He met her gaze straight on, all smugness gone. He couldnât reveal every detail, not unless she was on board, but she deserved the truth.
â... For folks who have a bone to pick with the Danroses,â Peter said. âThat family hurt a lot of people. Ruined lives, taken lives. Then pretended that they had nothing to do with it. And theyâre still at it. My employers are going to end their lies, drag the truth into the light.â
âThey want justice, but theyâll settle for revenge,â He held her gaze a little longer, before turning away to continue down the road.
âTo be clear, I was stalking C-Bert, not you. It looked like he has King Edinâs ear so we figured it wouldnât hurt to find out more about him. You just kept popping up around him.â He glanced sidelong at Olivia, a brief smirk returned, âAnd each time, you impressed me. So much so I want to recruit you.â Peter sighed, scrubbing a hand through his hair. âNot that the others agree. Given your record so far, they think youâd be more of a liability than an asset. Me, I think with a little training you could make a damn fine scout and thief. Maybe even more, with your magic.â
âBoss didnât want to get you into deeper sh*t than you already are in, but he did say to help you when necessary. Like, say, throwing the hounds off your scent after your first big escape.â Which hadnât been as easy as Peter made it sound, not with two people leaving a literal blood trail to their hideout.
Olivia sighed loudly when he relented on giving back her shoes. A smartass retort made it to her lips, but she let it slide. He seemed like he would finally open up. Coldness enveloped her and it wasnât from the night. The injustice the Danroses inflicted onto her family caused rage to boil to the surface. If she could have caught fire right then with it, she would have. While he spoke, she glanced around to ensure they were alone. Her eyebrows rose at those two words: scout and thief. Two things she was proud to be good at.
Once he finished, Olivia stared at him and then smirked with amusement. âWell damn, Iâm flattered.â She teased and then bit her lip. Could she do both and maintain her fake nobility status? What if it endangered Charlotte and Kazumin? Her heart couldnât take losing either of them.
"However â with this new persona, I am trying to turn over a new leaf and blend in. That doesnât mean you donât have my attention. I am interested in helping take down the Danroses; in fact, they ruined my familyâs life.â Bitterness weaved its way into her voice.
Then, she half-smiled kindly, offering the first sign of no longer wanting to murder him⌠yet. âThank you for your help so far, and your praise.â She chuckled and rubbed her arm and glanced away.
âIâll think about it, how's that?â Olivia glanced toward the Damien Estate and then back to Peter. âMaybe we can continue discussing our⌠arrangement at a certain masquerade? And who is your boss anyway?â Olivia shivered slightly, now aware of her bare feet on the dirt ground beneath them. ...Unless of course, youâre here for that specific reason and want to run off now?â
Peter leaned in close to Olivia, trying for a bit of charming roguishness. He didnât have the allure that came naturally to Udoâthe priest couldâve picked his damn nose and it still wouldâve made people thirsty for him. Even Karl got more than a few appreciative looks without trying. Life just wasnât fair that way. But a guyâs gotta try, right? He cocked a half-smile, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. âYou asking me to be your date?â
Olivia tensed as he leaned closer, but couldnât help but smirk. His eyes up close, were nicer than she had initially thought. Realizing she was thinking this, she scolded herself, and then focused elsewhere instead. âWell, my fellow rogue, where else would we be going?â Liv mused and batted her eyelashes at him. âI didnât get dressed up to meander the city, did I? Weâll have access to C-Bert." Her voice dropped to a mysterious hush as she waited for his response.
âAnd looking fine doing it. Even avoid giving a straight answer like a proper noble.â Which, with the ladies, usually meant they were trying to let a guy down easy. Especially if they got all tense like that when you leaned in. So much for roguish charm. âI can take a hint.â
Peter pulled away, answering Oliviaâs other question. âWhat I canât do is tell you who the boss is. Not until you say âyes, Iâm in.â You get where Iâm coming from, right?â He figured she wasnât the type to rat Fritz out, but sometimes stuff slipped out at the wrong moment and suddenly details were out that couldnât be taken back. Long as she was on the fence, he said all he could and he already said too much.
Olivia stared at Peter and a frown slowly encompassed her face. She recognized how her words had sounded, and her chest panged with guilt. She approached Peter again and gently took his hand. âI understand.â Her voice was quiet and sincere, and Olivia stared at him long and hard for a minute. She was silent briefly, with the wind being the only noise and rustling of leaves disturbing the peace. Charlotteâs and Kazuminâs expression swam into her mind, but another one filled her too: her parentâs. Liv bit her lip and then took a deep breath. A weight lifted off her shoulders and she let out a relaxed sigh, as if she had her corset loosened.
âI accept your offer. Youâre right that they ruined too many lives; including my own and who knows what Calbertâs up too and what else he might do.â Olivia then took his hand and grasped it loosely, allowing him the chance to let go of it if he so pleased.
âYes, I do want to date. Iâm not good with shit shit, I didnât mean it to come off as though I didnât, although I only did just meet you so it must be fate. Besides,â she smirked as she gazed at their reflection in a nearby puddle then back up at him. âWe may be the best-looking damn gingers in the room. Why deprive them of beauty?â
Oliviaâs touch sent Peterâs heart racing. He watched her watching him, unsure what she was thinking. With little else to do, he indulged in the chance to admire her up close. He fought the urge to remove her mask for a better view.
Her âI acceptâ almost slipped right by. Peter blinked, digesting her words, then it clicked. He smacked his forehead. âAh, sh*tf**kf**kdamn.â Crouching, he let his head droop but kept his other hand in hers. âSorry, shouldâve been clearer. Didnât mean you had to give me your answer right now. Itâs a big decision and itâll be dangerous working with us.â He peered up. Even from this angle, she looked good. âThink about it more. Only if youâre sure, leave a copper piece by your window.â
Grin back, he said, âBut for now, my fair maiden, we have a party to crash.â He wiped the grime from her feet and eased Oliviaâs shoes back on.
âGive me a sec.â He swapped the bowtie for an ostentatious lace jabot and matching cuffs. The glinting jeweled cufflinks he nicked off some highborn fop completed the transformation from just another waiter to a nobleman who thought bibs were high fashion. With the weasel mask in place, he was ready.
âLetâs wow these stuffed shirts with our beauty.â Peter bared his gap-toothed smile.
âOh - right. Yeah⌠I will think about it. I just... Never mind.â Her voice dropped and then she giggled. She shuffled her feet and adjusted her mask in the awkwardness that followed. Despite it, Peter grinned and the offer to go to the ball was back on. With a sigh of relief that the decision could be paused, Olivia relaxed.
Then as he wiped the grime off her feet and slipped her shoes back on, Liv was now glad for the mask. It covered the majority of her blush and she had to bite her lips to keep from grinning.
Next, she watched as he completed his costume and started laughing; a high-pitched musical laugh. âA weasel?â She exclaimed with shock and amusement. âDid you purposely try matching my costume?â Olivia shook her head. âStalker.â Olivia fought back a grin as she stared at him and offered him her arm. Together, they headed off to Calbert Damienâs Estate.
RĂoghnach "Riona"
Time: NightLocation: Damien Estate Front Entrance
Riona half-fell, half-tumbled out of the carriage with about as much grace as a drunk cow. Saved from an embarrassing introduction to the driveway only by Mr. Brisbyâs work-roughened hands. âSteady on,â he murmured.
She wobbled upright, smoothed out her (well, technically her sisterâs) beautiful, but frankly uncomfortable, dress with as much dignity as she could muster. So much for gliding in like a swan. At this rate, sheâd be tripping over her own feet all night and leave the party more black and blue than when she arrived. âThanks.â
âAre you sure you can manage on your own?â There was a pause, then, as if remembering himself and where they were, he added, âMy lady.â
Keeping her voice quiet, Riona said, âNo. These shoes are going to kill me.â She didnât know how Via convinced her to wear stiletto death traps. âAt least the last thing I see before I break my neck will be my legs looking damn good.â
âPlease donât die on us. Iâd hate to tell everyone you were bested by heels.â
âIf anyone laughs, make them wear these and see how long they last.â Riona adjusted her cat mask and fussed with her hair one last time. âWhat do you think? Will anyone recognize me?â
âI think you look beautiful.â
âSo no chance of being recognized then.â She flashed a playful smirk at Mr. Brisby, who just shook his head, a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. âI donât plan to stay for the whole party, but if Iâm not back in two hours, donât wait up.â
Riona managed three steps up the stairs before the stilettos threatened mutiny again. Gods damn these heels. The night was young, but her feet already ached for mercy.
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