princess

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Time: Evening
Location: Castle Dining Hall
Attire: Dress, Amulet
Interaction: @Tae Thea @Helo Leo @Lava Alckon Drake @Tpartywithzombi Ariella
Mention: @Tae Kalliope @Apex Sunburn Sjandehk @PapaOso Cassius/Milo

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Charlotte had returned Gideon's smile with one of her own, one that did not quite reach her eyes. She dipped into a respectful curtsy before the Duke and Duchess, every movement composed despite the weariness hidden beneath her grace. Her gaze then shifted to Drake and Ariella, the smile still in place, though her voice carried none of the musical lilt it usually did. “Lord Drake, Lady Ariella, you both look lovely.”

Her eyes drifted back to Thea, quietly watching as the girl fastened the clip into her hair.“It looks perfect on you,” she replied softly, the smallest smile returning to her lips.“Like it was made just for you.” She clasped her hands in front of her, her tone sincere as she added, “I'm so glad you like it.”

“I’m… getting through the night,” she then said honestly to Leo, though the words were dressed in politeness. Her gaze flicked briefly toward the gift in Thea’s hands. “And yes, I’ll be there. I don't want to miss it.”

There was a pause before she asked, Has everything been alright with you?” Her voice was etched with worry, the kind that lingered in the spaces between words. She knew she didn’t need to say more. Both of them understood the true question buried beneath her words...

The unspoken weight of that message, the one left so cruelly in his closet, still hung between them.

Her eyes met his, and for a moment, the mask slipped just enough to show how guilty she still felt she hadn't been able to protect him from that moment. It had been on her mind ever since he had told her, and she was grateful he had taken her coming to her estate when he needed.

As if suddenly aware of the shift in her expression, Charlotte averted her gaze, letting it drift back to the table. She mentally checked off Kazumin, Olivia, and Lorenzo like names on a roster… and then her eyes found Cassius’s empty seat.

Before she could stop herself, a flicker of hope rose. She hastily scanned the room and there he was.

Pinning Milo St.Claire to a pillar?

Her foot shifted forward instinctively, brows furrowing. He looked angry. Angrier than she’d ever seen him.

I need to go over there.

But before she could take another step, a loud thud turned her head. Sjan-dehk and Kalliope had arrived and had fallen sprawling to the floor in a tangled heap.

“Oh no, someone hide the cheese before that one has another tantrum.” Leo had then whispered in her ear.

"I do hope they're alright." She frowned as she watched them recover, "I think they seem to be, thankfully."

It wasn't long before Kalliope then made her way over to Cassius. The memories of them arriving at the beach together resurfaced in her mind. Right they had... And that's maybe why...

Charlotte tore her gaze away, trying to will her thoughts to scatter, and returned her focus to Leo to continue their conversation. However, she couldn’t help but overhear Ariella’s jab at her witch of a mother. Her gaze flicked subtly toward the young woman, and despite everything weighing on her, she bit back a small smile.“Well said,” she murmured under her breath, eyes twinkling with brief amusement as they met Ariella’s.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Flashback to Callum, Annie and Riona off to meet the Wizard(MAREK)!

Anastasia, Callum, and Riona

Flashback!

---

The moon hung high in the dark sky, its pale light casting a silver sheen over the castle grounds.

Anastasia stood just outside the castle’s towering gates, her figure wrapped in a deep emerald cape that fluttered softly in the night air. The hood was pulled up, shadowing her features, though the moonlight revealed her nervous expression. She shifted from foot to foot, the gravel beneath her boots crunching softly with every movement. Her gloved hands gripped the edges of her cape, pulling it tighter around her as though the extra warmth could calm her nerves

It had been difficult to sneak out this time, but she had managed it thanks to countless nights of experience. All she had to do now was wait for Callum.

Luckily she wouldn’t have to wait long, as Cal quickly made his way to the castle gates. With long strides and a smile, his heart thumped with excitement for a clandestine meeting with the enigmatic Marek. He’d done all he could to ensure he wasn’t followed, taking the numerous servants and secretive passageways through the castle. From within his own black cloak, an arm reached out and wrapped around Ana’s shoulders.

“Made it!” He proudly whispered. “Just gotta wait for Riona.” Callum added, and since it seemed like they might have a minute or two left to kill, he kept on talking. “Heard you played a game of chicken with a train. Bet that was exhilarating!” He said without a trace of judgment in his voice. “And that’s what it was right? Just some reckless fun?” He asked. Cal didn’t think his sister wanted to become a pancake but he was sure he’d be a pretty terrible brother if he didn’t check.

Riona stood less than twenty paces from where the siblings whispered, though they hadn’t noticed her yet. She hung back, watching Anastasia’s cloaked figure with a weary sigh. The last thing she needed was another fight.

And Marek... Riona grimaced. If she could barely trust herself around Anastasia, how was she supposed to face someone she suspected of being involved in Darryn’s murder?

Her fingers found the vial of Cal’s calming draught in her pocket. She pulled it out, studying the liquid inside. The spell needed anger and hate, fed on them—but if Marek was as dangerous as she suspected him to be, one wrong word could get her killed before she could harness it.

Damn it. She pulled the cork free and downed the contents in one swift motion. Better a less effective spell than a dead spellcaster.

Riona waited a few breaths, praying the potion would kick in before she had a chance to lose her temper with Anastasia, and last long enough to see her through this first meeting with Marek. When the night breeze rustled through the courtyard trees, she stepped out of the shadows and made her way toward the siblings.

“There she is,” Anastasia said lowly to Callum, then gestured toward Riona. After a hesitation, she gave her a small smile and wave.

Riona’s fingers twitched upward—hovering for a fractured second—before she pressed them to her leg and nodded instead.

“Perfect, gang’s all here.” He flashed a wide, welcoming smile in Riona’s direction. And everything’s going to go fine, we’re all going to get along, and Ana just forgot to say ‘yup, just getting a closer look at that train and definitely nothing concerning’. Cal told himself but he could still feel the tension.

He released his grip on Ana and took one last look around the palace grounds. “Let’s get going, then.” He kept himself positioned between Ana and Riona, half expecting to play peacekeeper between the two.

A gesture which Riona didn’t miss and appreciated—it probably was the smart move to keep them separated. “Are we walking the whole way to wherever Marek is, or is someone coming to pick us up?”

“Maybe we should just walk, so that we don’t get anyone else in trouble.” Anastasia suggested quietly. “Going to the horse stables may also grab somebody here’s attention.” She gestured to the two, beginning to step forward. “It’ll be a nice evening stroll!” She whispered enthusiastically.

That wasn’t what she asked, but Anastasia’s reply answered Riona’s question indirectly. Of course Marek wouldn’t send someone to fetch them—that would leave a trail, and Marek doesn’t take that kind of risk. That’s what people like Darryn were for.

When he thought Ana wasn’t looking, Callum glanced at Riona, See? How thoughtful! He silently mouthed the words after his sister suggested a stroll to avoid involving anyone else.

Riona’s answering look could have cut glass. If either of these two had dared suggest dragging other servants into this, she’d have torn them a new one. No, Cal, after all that had happened, Anastasia didn’t get a prize for showing basic sense.

Callum flinched. “A moonlit stroll, sounds great.” He paused momentarily, searching for a noncontroversial topic to bring up. “How’s your charity event coming along?”

Half-listening to the siblings’ chatter, Riona studied their surroundings. Something about their bodyguards had been nagging at her for days now. It didn’t add up—how did a pair of untrained royalty manage to slip their watchers? And not just once (which could be chalked up to luck), multiple times. Even after security had been strengthened.

The more she thought about it, the more wrong it felt. Every single time, the guards’ absence (if they’d truly slipped their watchers at all) and presence seemed too… convenient.

“Great! I’ve been practicing a lot for it, and it’s kind of amazing to finally do something meaningful…” Anastasia said with enthusiasm, casting a hopeful glance at Callum. “You’re going to come, right?”

“Of course. You’re coming to mine too, right?” He asked. Cal found himself encouraged by her enthusiasm, it was nice to use their status to do something meaningful. He could use that sentiment next time he had to speak with Wulfric.

“Fuck yeah I am!”

Her eyes lit up as Callum’s earlier statement intruded her thoughts,replaying in her mind. She leaned in to whisper, “Oh, and yes, playing chicken with the train was absolutely exhilarating. But… maybe don’t add that to your list of reckless ideas.” A mischievous glint flickered in her eyes before she shrugged lightly. “I have an odd way of clearing my head, that’s all.”

“No, my odd way of head-clearing involves getting into fights I can’t win. You can keep the train thing.” The glint of mischief spread from Ana to Callum.

“But sometimes, less reckless ways are probably better. Anything you’d like to clear from your head?” He asked, glancing at Riona, trying to ease the tension and turn the three of them into a cohesive trio. He wondered if this was what Auguste felt like, when caught between him and Wulfric, trying to keep everyone happy.

When the whispered word train reached her ears, the familiar heat crawled up from Riona’s chest—that same old burn that usually meant someone was about to get punched or yelled at. But this time, something was different. The rage felt distant, muffled, like trying to hear thunder through water. Cal’s potion, she realized. Through her veins, liquid calm flowed cool and gentle as it caught the anger and smoothed its edges into something quieter.

A strange sort of peace settled over her thoughts. “When you got in front of that train,” Riona began, a little surprised by the softness in her own voice, “did it ever cross your mind what could’ve happened if the engineer didn’t stop the train in time? If the train derailed? If people got hurt?” Without the jagged edges of anger, it sounded like the simple question it was—someone trying to understand.

Realization dawned visibly on Anastasia, her brows knitting together, then a shadow of guilt flickered across her face before she forced a breath, shaking herself out of it.

“No,” Anastasia answered simply, her voice even. She turned her gaze toward Riona, “I wasn’t thinking about that at all.”

She let the words settle between them before continuing, “I should have been. I let my emotions take over, and I didn’t stop to consider what could have happened to anyone else…That’s not fair to them.” A beat passed before she perked up slightly, flashing a small smile. “That’s why I’m officially launching the ‘new and improved’ Annie—now with stopping and thinking skills! Same charm, still very cute.”

She let out a breathy laugh, but there was sincerity lingering beneath the joke. “Thanks for pointing it out. I mean it.”

The footsteps stopped mid-stride. Spinning on her heel, Riona planted herself directly in front of Anastasia.

Dark eyes swept over the Princess’s face, searching. Measuring. Riona couldn’t tell how deeply this conviction ran, and until Anastasia proved her words weren’t just another layer of guilt on a rotting frame, the doubts would linger. But… “I’ll hold you to that,” Riona said. “I want…” A breath, then: “I want to believe in you, Anastasia.”

Anastasia blinked as Riona’s footsteps abruptly halted. She paused and met her gaze. Her lashes lowered, a smile slowly forming. “ I want to believe in myself too, Riona… But I know that’s a process, so hold me to it.”

By some miracle, or his expert peacekeeping skills, things seemed to be going well. Callum didn’t want to ruin that quiet conversation, so he stayed silent. Would that happen? A train might derail if it hit a person? He wondered, realizing he also knew nothing about trains beyond that they were loud, fast, and he disliked them. But they were big machines, he’d have figured they’d squash a person -but certainly not Ana- and keep on going.

Cal glanced at Riona and offered a thankful smile. He was just glad she was being civil with Ana, giving his sister a chance to explain her thinking.

At the edge of her vision, Cal’s expression shifted into something dangerously close to pride—the kind of bright-eyed optimism that made stomachs twist with guilt. Hells. Here he was, probably thinking they had a breakthrough, when really…

The empty vial pressed a cold reminder against her thigh through the fabric of her pocket. Her magical crutch; probably the only reason she hadn’t snapped at his sister.

Shoving the guilt aside, Riona turned her head in Cal’s direction, one eyebrow arched upward. “Before you get any weird ideas, throwing the brakes at fast speeds can lock up the wheels and derail the train.” At least that’s what she remembered reading after an accident made headlines.

Callum scoffed. “I just didn’t know how trains worked.” He said, defensively. He shifted his walk to move closer to Riona, close enough that he hoped Ana couldn’t quite hear. “Those weird ideas wouldn’t involve a train, just patricide.” He whispered, all his most desperate, fleeting, ideas involved ways to take Edin out in a blaze of glory. He could just never bring himself to go that far.

“Don’t tell me,” she whispered, leaning closer, “you never considered replacing the Damsel with him on the tracks? Cause I did for a second.” She punctuated the admission with a light shoulder bump as a reminder that he wasn’t alone with his thoughts.

Cal shook his head. “Too impersonal...too quick.” He added, they could come up with something much worse than a train for Edin.

Boots tapped against stone as Riona started walking again. “So,” she said, “anyone want to tell me where we’re actually going, or are we just hoping to bump into your friend by chance?”

“In one of the buildings near the warehouses, usually a staff member is there. He will usually bring us in to see Marek.” Anastasia explained. “Kind of a walk, I’m sorry, but I brought snacks.” Her hand disappeared under her cloak and after some rummaging, she took out a small clear bag with cookies.

“And I brought drink,” Callum added pulling a flask from a pocket and shaking it. He grinned at Ana, fully believing that she, just like him, was doing her best to be a better person. Callum thought she had the real chance at it; maybe she’d settle down with that Shahzade and get to be something other than a Danrose.

“I’m happy to share a long walk with my best friend and my favorite sibling.” He said, before unscrewing the cap to the flask and taking a drink before offering it up to whoever else wanted any.

“And since I didn’t get the memo, I guess that makes me the designated taste-tester for both?” That or Riona could’ve said she brought music and started singing, but that’d have to be for another time. When they weren’t trying to be sneaky.

The crunch of gravel beneath the trio’s feet was a steady reminder of how far they'd come from the castle. Finally, they approached the building near the warehouses, which was barely visible against the backdrop of the night. The air was thick with the smell of salt and the distant hum of the port, the crickets chirping in the bushes that lined the streets.

The trio found themselves standing before a small wooden building. It looked almost unremarkable from the outside, nestled between two larger, more imposing structures, its weathered timber giving off an air of decay and the flickering light from a single lantern barely illuminated the porch.

"This is the place." Anastasia told the two with a smile and gave a knock on the door.

Before anyone could knock a second time, the faint sound of footsteps echoed from within, followed by the creak of the front door opening with a soft groan.

A figure burst out from the inside, the dim lighting of the interior briefly brightening their surroundings.

"Ah, welcome!" A blonde man appeared, with a friendly smile that could ease the tension in a courtroom during a murder trial. His golden curls bounced as he stepped forward, his eyes bright and filled with energy. "You must be here to see Marek! My name’s Thomas… " he continued, his voice smoothly, as if welcoming them into a drawing room for tea rather than the lair of one of the most dangerous men in Sorian.

Thomas was dressed in a well-tailored coat as he offered them a warm wave. "Come in, come in!" he said, ushering them forward, "Marek’s been expecting you."

Anastasia blinked. She was certain she would have recalled a man with such memorable demeanor, yet she could not remember ever meeting this man. However, she shrugged it off. " Hello there!" She greeted and stepped in without much hesitation. Callum followed with a smile and a quick greeting to the stranger. Riona just bobbed her head.

Thomas’s grin only widened."Hello there to you too, Your Majesty …Now, don’t be shy. Marek doesn’t bite… unless you ask him to, of course." Thomas then turned and walked back inside, leaving the door wide open for them to follow.

The interior seemed to be a cozy den that was simple and functional, with wooden floors and the dim lighting of a fireplace. A desk sat in the back of the room, its surface cluttered with papers and documents neatly stacked in piles. A few cushioned seats were scattered around, offering a casual appearance. The walls were lined with shelves, holding books and files.

Simply put, it seemed to be a place where business was conducted.

Callum gravitated towards the shelves, scanning the titles of the books as he waited for Marek’s arrival. “Wasn’t expecting the doorman to a secret building to be so friendly.” He commented, slowly making his way around the room.

“He did say that Marek’s been expecting you guys,” Riona said while taking a look around the room herself.

"Ah, before we proceed further, I must ask," Thomas said, his tone now slightly more authoritative, "for the safety of everyone involved, I’ll need to blindfold you briefly."

Anastasia's brows knitted together at the sudden request, but Thomas’s demeanor remained calm and gentle. "You’ve been followed from the castle," he continued, his voice lowering, "and we can’t risk anyone listening in from outside. It’s simply for your protection, and for the safety of the people you care about."

He gestured to the cloths he had ready. "It won’t take long, and we’ll be on our way inside soon. Please, I assure you it’s for the best."

Anastasia exchanged a glance with Riona and Callum. "Ooooh, a blindfold?" she said with a delighted giggle, "Like a game? This is gonna be fun!"

"Thank you for understanding. Just follow my voice, and everything will be fine."

“Sure.” Callum picked up a blindfold and tied it around his head. Everything was dark, but he reached out toward the sound of Ana’s giggling and tapped her shoulder. “Tag, you’re it.”

Did these two really not catch that threat? “For ‘our protection and the safety of the people you care about,’ huh? Was that meant to sound reassuring, Thomas?” Riona picked up the blindfold and examined the cloth, testing it between her fingers. “If they’ve followed us this far, wouldn’t they already know we’re meeting Marek?”

Thomas let out a soft chuckle, his smile widening as he leaned closer to Riona, “Oh, come on, buttercup,” he said, his tone sweet and smooth. “I was just kidding. You’ve got to lighten up a little! It’s all part of the fun… And of course they know what you’re doing here. It’s why they came! Doesn’t mean we want them to hear what we’re talking about.”

“Don’t be condescending, Tommy.” Callum gave a snippy reply in the general direction of Thomas’s voice. “I don’t like it.” Riona smirked at that.

Anastasia, barely able to contain her excitement, said playfully to Callum. “Okay, you get a five-second head start before I chase you.”

But Thomas was quick to intervene, his smile shifting into a more authoritative but still friendly grin. “Nun-uh,” he said, shaking his head. “Let’s be safe now. We’re going to hold onto this rope here to stay together. I’ll lead you all, and no one’s going to trip, alright?”

He pulled a thick rope from his coat, its ends coiled neatly in his hand, and handed each of them a part of it. “Just follow my lead. We’ll make sure we all stay together. It’s important, trust me.”

Precautions against eavesdropping were one thing. Blindfolds just to reach a “secure” location were another entirely. What did these people not want them to see along the way?

Riona took one last look around the room, burning every detail into her memory before reluctantly sliding the blindfold into place. As soon as they started moving, she began counting steps, mapping their path in her mind.

With the blindfolds on, and each of them holding the rope tightly, Thomas started forward, “Down we go.” he cautioned as he began to lead down creaky wooden stairs.

“Just like those parties, huh? Big fans of making the whole underground thing a very literal interpretation.” Cal commented as he followed Thomas, one hand gripping the rope.

Not quite trusting the rope, at one point Riona reached forward and clasped the first hand she made contact with, needing to know at least one of the siblings was still with her.

The soft touch on Anastasia’s hand caused her to pause. After some thought, she gently squeezed Riona’s hand in return. “Don’t worry, I’m right here,” She whispered to her.

For the first time, in what felt like a long time, Riona found herself smiling faintly at both what Anastasia said and did, and returned the squeeze.

As they followed Thomas, the world around them was nothing but the sounds of their footsteps, muffled by the thick blindfolds. The further they went, the colder and damper the air became, the faint scent of damp stone and earth curling into their nostrils. Every step they took seemed to be on wet stone, the soft splashing noise punctuating the eerie silence, while the distant sound of water dripping echoed down the corridor.

The atmosphere was heavy, the silence almost suffocating, broken only by the rhythmic shuffle of their movements. Every now and then, the air felt heavier, as though the walls themselves were closing in, however, they could do nothing but follow the rope and listen for Thomas's steady voice guiding them forward.

Anastasia, never one for silence, eventually broke the quiet with a whimsical hum. The sound of her singing followed soon after, echoing off the stone walls, creating a strange contrast to the unnerving surroundings.

“Zombies coming through the door,
They’re hungry for some more,
They’ll gnaw on bones and munch on flesh,
Until there’s nothing left, oh yeeessss!”

The echo of her singing bounced off the stone walls.

“Oh, they’ll feast and feast all night,
And we’ll be their tasty bite,
Scream and shout, but it’s no use,
The zombies won’t stop ‘til we’re all loooose!”

Thomas’s sarcasm was barely tangible as he commented in a chipper tone, “Well, that certainly wasn’t creepy at all!”

“The moon is high…” Riona whispered at first, “...the shadows creep…” Then paused, took a breath and decided to just commit to it.

“The moon is high, the shadows creep,
They’re rising from their sleep,
With hollow eyes and rotting skin,
The nightmare’s just begin-nning!”

Her voice found its melody, the playful tune taking over as she sang out:
“No lock or bar can hold them back,
They’re on the attack, attack!
So grab your torch and hold it tight,
We’ll fight the horde till morning liiight!”

Anastasia gasped, “ That was so good, Riona!”

“Thomas…have we been drugged?” Callum whispered. It was the only logical explanation for why Riona and Ana were singing together about zombies. Not even his dreams could be this bizarre. He thought about requesting a second dose because if they had been drugged it was not hitting him. Cal kept focusing on the stairs and trying not to fall down them, and how puddles kept splashing onto his socks.

Thomas laughed softly, shaking his head. “Certainly not!” he replied with a grin, clearly enjoying the moment.

Riona felt her cheeks coloring beneath the blindfold. Technically, yes, she was drugged—if Callum’s calming potion counted as such. Had she not taken it, she probably wouldn’t be feeling less embarrassed and more miffed that Cal—of all people—decided to be the straight man tonight instead of being the first to join his sister’s impromptu performance.

She hadn’t joined the singing on a whim, though. When Anastasia's voice first bounced off the stone walls, Riona had noticed how the echoes mapped the space around them. The zombie lyrics had been ridiculous, but the acoustics had been revealing, helping her build a mental picture of their surroundings' dimensions despite the blindfold.

And if she was being completely honest with herself? It felt good to let her voice out like that. Between all that’s happened these past few days, it’s been awhile since she’d allowed herself to simply... sing.

As they continued walking, the echoing sound of their footsteps on the stone reverberated down the narrow, winding path. Every now and then, the air grew colder, and the distant echo of dripping water added a strange quality to the silence. Each step they took was met with a splash, and there was a quiet hiss of air as they passed through a narrow passage, almost like the tunnel itself was breathing with them.

As they neared the final stretch, the temperature dropped further, the damp air clinging to their skin. There was the faintest hum, a low vibration that resonated through the stone. Then, low, almost imperceptible hiss followed by the sound of a door slowly opening echoed in the cavernous space.

As they stepped into the new room, they could hear the subtle sound of the door sealing shut behind them. The tension that filled the space was palpable and the atmosphere shifted audibly. The creak of wooden floorboards beneath their feet resonated with each step and the air was much warmer here, almost suffocatingly so, and they noticed the scent of a burning fireplace mixed with the musty aroma of old wood and leather.

As they moved further inside, the occasional distant murmur of voices hinted at the activity within the area. Moments later, they reached a door, the heavy wood groaning as it opened. The last sound before the door clicked shut behind them.

The blindfolds were removed, and the dim light of Marek’s office flooded their senses. Shelves lined the walls, stacked high with thick, leather-bound books. At the center of the room was a large mahogany desk, neatly arranged with scattered documents and a single candle flickering near the edge. Behind the desk sat Marek in a tall, high-backed leather chair, his hands folded neatly in front of him, his piercing eyes fixed on the trio as they stepped in.

Marek had a rugged, intense appearance with dark, slightly disheveled hair and a graying beard. His sharp eyes and furrowed brows gave him a serious, commanding presence.

“Ah, welcome,” he said smoothly, the warmth in his voice belying the intensity of his gaze. “I trust the journey wasn’t too unpleasant?”

He gestured with a slight flourish to the seats positioned in front of the desk, each one carefully placed to face him directly. “Please, make yourselves comfortable,” Marek continued, a slight, enigmatic smile curling at the corners of his lips.

Riona settled into the stiff chair, its wooden frame creaking beneath her weight. So this is the man everyone’s been talking about. The way he filled the space behind that oversized desk wasn’t just physical—it was the casual confidence of someone who’d never needed to explain himself to anyone.

She took a moment to scan the room—noting the collection of books, important looking papers, and the suspicious absence of personal effects—before fixing her gaze directly on their host.

“Thanks for seeing us.” Callum said, looking around. The room was undeniably cool; books everywhere, dim lighting, the smell of leather and fire. The fact it was a secret liar, only made it even better. “You drugged us all at that party, with magic, right?” He asked, his tone not accusatory but more impressed than anything. “How come?” He started with an easy question and waited for the others to take their seats before he sat down.

Marek’s low chuckle rippled through the room as he leaned back in his chair. "Drugged? No—no, no… nothing so crude. Controlled, perhaps. Or… curated." His tone was casual, reassuring, like someone explaining something too simple to be sinister.

"The magic used to erase memory upon departure wasn’t intended to harm. It was a safeguard—for my guests, for my enterprise. No one was meant to remember, because… it’s safer that way. For everyone. Including you."

He stood, hands clasped behind his back, pacing slowly around the room like a teacher guiding his students through a hard truth.

"As for the side effects you experienced… Alcohol, as ever, remains the most unerring catalyst for revelation. It dissolves facades…peels away the carefully constructed masks…and reveals the raw, unvarnished self beneath." His voice dipped lower. "The violence… the chaos… those were not of my making. No, I fear those were merely the authentic reflections of your esteemed peers, stripped bare of their pretenses."

Marek paused deliberately before adding,"Only two guests succumbed to violence—out of dozens. A statistical anomaly, yes… but hardly the catastrophe some might have you believe."

“So you’re using these parties to gain insights.” Callum followed Marek’s words, thinking aloud, as he tried to piece together the why of it. “To catch glimpses of who your guests truly are, you ensure they can’t hide that true nature. I can see the value in that.” He nodded his understanding of Marek’s goal there.

“Who succumbed to violence?” Callum asked.

Marek’s lips curled into a knowing smirk, his fingers idly tapping against the armrest of his chair, “Precisely, young prince.” His voice was smooth as he spoke. “In a world where masks are law and deception is currency, true nature is a rare commodity. People lie…Some out of habit, others out of necessity. But in the right conditions, when the trappings of civility are stripped away… they reveal themselves.” He leaned forward slightly, his gaze settling on Callum with quiet intensity. “That knowledge is power. To understand who is a predator and who is prey, who seeks chaos and who fears it—that is invaluable. The nobility, after all, thrives on artifice. They build their empires on secrets, wield etiquette as a blade, and smile as they plunge the knife into your back.” Then, with a small, almost indulgent tilt of his head, he finally answered Callum’s first question. “As for the ones who succumbed to violence… Kazumin Nagasa and Lady Zarai Lesdeman,”

“So, just to clarify, Zarai wasn’t attacked? They both willingly succumbed to violence, got into a fight?” He added and Marek responded with a curt nod. At least that was one question he could get fully answered.

Anastasia’s eyes widened slightly as she struggled to take the information in, her expression softening as she leaned forward in her seat. “So... it wasn’t really your fault? You were just trying to keep everyone safe?” Her voice carried a hopeful, almost childlike tone. “I mean… I get it. People can be awful when they think no one’s watching. It sounds like you were just... helping them be honest with themselves, right?”

Something sharp shot through Riona. The calming potion should’ve numbed her emotions into gentle ripples, but this—... what was this? Anger? Revulsion at Marek’s words and the way the siblings lapped them up? Or could it be something closer to pity—that Anastasia so readily embraced the same logic as victims who stayed with their abusers?

—it’s not his fault.

Riona bit the inside of her cheek to keep from snorting. Of course. Because Gods forbid anyone blame the architect of the entire situation. Marek’s hands were clean—he wasn’t the one holding the knife. No, no, he only placed it there, set the stage, and gave people something to make violence more likely to happen. The actual stabbing was the victims’ fault.

If people needed magic and drugs to be “honest with themselves,” was that really honesty? Stripping away natural inhibitions and essentially magnifying one facet of a person didn’t reveal truth—it blew it completely out of proportion. Like removing all the other colors from a painting and calling the remaining red the “authentic” image. Or reading one line from a page and saying that’s all the book was about.

She glanced between Callum and Anastasia, their attention locked on Marek like devotees before an altar. They’d completely missed his casual admission that his enterprise provided a “safe space” where the most vile atrocities could happen without anyone remembering afterward. Worse, he did this kind of gathering more than once, which meant there were a lot more than just two guests who succumbed to violence. And once again, his thinly disguised threat about “everyone’s safety” sailed right over their heads.

Marek’s gaze flicked toward Anastasia, his expression softening just enough to acknowledge her words, though his interest remained elsewhere. "...Since we are so freely exchanging questions… allow me to offer one of my own… one that cuts to the marrow of the bone." His words slid through the air as his eyes locked on Callum. "Do you truly believe your father—the King—harbors this kingdom’s best interests within his heart?"

“Calling Edin a father, what a joke.” Callum forced a chuckle. “No, I think Edin holds only Edin’s best interest in that shriveled husk he calls a heart.”

Marek exhaled softly, as if hearing a foregone conclusion finally spoken aloud. He watched Callum with quiet approval, his fingers steepled together. “Then you already see the foundation of truth,” he murmured, his voice low and knowing. “But you must understand, Callum—it is not merely selfishness that festers in your father’s heart. It is something far darker, far more insidious.” Callum nodded his absolute agreement.

He leaned forward slightly, the candlelight casting long shadows across his face. “The crime that plagues this kingdom is not some unfortunate byproduct of neglect. It is not disorder left unchecked. It is, in many ways, a design—one that benefits those in power.”

He chuckled darkly, without humor, “You see them, don’t you? The nobles, parading through their gilded halls, draped in silk and gold, smiling as if they are the rightful shepherds of this kingdom. They clink their glasses at grand feasts, speak of honor and virtue while their hands drip with the blood of those they pretend do not exist.” His voice curled with disgust. “And when the masks come off? When they believe no one is watching? That is when you see them for what they are. They are parasites. They gorge themselves on wealth stolen from the hands of the starving. They laugh at the misfortune of the desperate. And when the entertainment of the court grows dull?”

Marek’s fingers tightened over the arm of his chair. “They slither into the underbelly of the kingdom, gambling fortunes away on the blood of others. They gather in secret, betting on the lives of men forced into pits like rabid dogs. They indulge in flesh markets, bartering human beings like cattle, all while preaching civility in the daylight. You’ve heard the whispers, haven’t you? Seen the bruises on the servants, the trembling hands of those who owe their lives to debts they can never pay?”

For a second, Cal’s eyes flickered to Riona before returning to Marek. “A pit of snakes with not a trace of humanity left in them. That is what the nobles here have become.” He answered Marek, listening to the man’s every word like a zealot in front of a preacher too charismatic to look away from, whose words he was already convinced came from something divine.

He let the silence hang for a moment before he leaned forward, his voice now a venomous whisper. “And do you know what is worst of all? It is not some hidden evil, some forbidden secret lurking in the shadows. No, it is sanctioned. It is allowed. It is protected.”

“Encouraged. Rewarded. Celebrated.” Callum added, each word coated in disdain.

His lips curled into something too bitter to be a smile. “Because your father, Callum, is the architect of it all.”

“He is. And the Queen is just as guilty. The rest of us are only pawns to them.” He responded like a faithful acolyte.

Marek’s voice turned quieter, drawing them in like a whispered confession. “Your father does not simply allow corruption, Callum. He cultivates it. The bribery, the smuggling, the slave trade, the backroom dealings that line the pockets of nobles while the streets rot—these are not failures of his rule. They are the pillars of it.”

He stood once more, pacing slowly, his hands clasped behind his back. “The noble class flourishes not despite the suffering of the common folk, but because of it. And Edin? He ensures that suffering persists. It is not chaos, it is control. Crime is simply another tool of governance, keeping his people desperate, distracted, too occupied with survival to ever dream of rebellion.”

“And our people deserve to dream. They should flourish, they should be free, and the suffering should be repaid to their tormentors.” Callum was lost in Marek’s words; he forgot that Ana was next to him. All that he was aware of was Marek. A man who saw the world exactly as Callum did and who looked back at him, not like he was part of the problem but as someone who could be part of the solution.

Marek turned, his piercing gaze settling on Callum once more. “But some of us refuse to kneel to that system. Some of us saw the rot for what it was and vowed to carve it out.”

He spread his arms slightly, as if to gesture to something far greater than the room they sat in. “The Black Rose was not born from greed or ambition, as your father’s lackeys would have you believe. We were born from necessity—from the simple, unrelenting truth that if we did not fight against the corruption strangling this kingdom, no one else would. We are not the criminals, Callum. We are the cure.”

“And crowns and titles are the disease. A cancer that destroys all it touches.”

A wry smile ghosted across his lips. “We do not answer to kings. We answer only to the truth.”

Anastasia shifted in her seat, her fingers absentmindedly toying with the fabric of her sleeve as Marek spoke. At first, she had been listening intently, but as his words became heavier and focused on Edin, she seemed to grow more and more upset. Her lips parted, hesitating for a moment before she finally spoke up defensively, “Well… I don’t know if it’s all that simple… I mean, our father can be… difficult, sure, but saying he’s behind all that?”

“They are behind worse than that.” Callum said softly as he turned and looked at Ana. “Edin thinks nothing of hurting people to get what he wants, to hold on to what he has. He allows our people to starve while we hold elaborate feasts for people who have no trouble affording food. Gold, jewels, and opulence lie around the palace, collecting dust.” He pointed out. Surely, Ana could see there was something inherently wrong about all of it.

“He allows Morrigan to torture the servants however she likes - did you know Morrigan withheld food from them as punishment for how poorly that first ball went?” He asked, and he was more than sure worse went on in the palace that he didn’t even know about.

“And I know you’ve seen how treats me, Ana. His own son. What kind of father is he? What could I have done that was so wrong, as a child, to earn that much hate?” Callum asked.

Anastasia’s gaze flickered between Marek and Callum. She hesitated, anxiety clear in the way she bit her lower lip, before softly speaking up. Her heart twisted painfully at Callum's conviction. She wanted desperately to comfort him, to agree, to make him feel understood, to prove that she was on his side. But the weight of what Marek was suggesting about their father was overwhelming.

“Callum… I-I know Father isn’t… he isn’t good. He’s hurt you so many times. He belittles you, treats you terribly…” Her eyes dropped briefly, memories flickering painfully: the cold cruelty in Edin’s gaze when he’d put the pressure of the world on poor Wulfric, the countless moments he’d degraded Callum, the vicious way he’d beat Auguste… She remembered the bruises, the quiet sobs she’d overheard behind closed doors. And the sound of her own arm snapping in his grasp…

She swallowed thickly, struggling to balance her desire to please Callum with the heavy dread tightening her chest. “Edin does terrible things and there’s no denying that… But… Marek’s talking about something so huge, something that could tear everything apart. And he uses all these fancy words to make it sound like it’s true, but…” She glanced nervously toward Marek, her voice dropping to a whisper as she leaned slightly toward her brother, “Don’t we need some kind of proof before we trust him completely? I—I mean… I just want to make sure we’re doing the right thing.”

Anastasia’s unexpected reply raised Riona’s eyebrow.

“If that’s how he treats family, is it hard to believe that he is worse to all those people whose names he doesn’t know or can’t be bothered to remember? I’ve seen and heard enough about what he’s done, but I get it if you need proof. I asked for same…” Cal paused and looked back at Marek. “When Wulfric claimed you and Black Rose were behind every crime in Sorian. Of course, he had no proof.” He informed Marek. No reason to keep the man in the dark about how the crowned prince was gunning for him.

Another voice spoke up, “What makes Black Rose any different?”

Riona waited for a beat, then asked Marek again. “Everything you just described about Edin and the nobles—the exploitation, the manipulation, the power games, the ‘necessary evil’ justifications—What exactly sets you apart from them?”

Gesturing vaguely at the secret lair with its books and papers, she said, “Because from where I’m sitting, it looks like Black Rose is one of the benefactors of Edin’s neglect.” Her gaze darted toward Callum and Anastasia, two examples of his neglect among countless others.

“And with the ability to erase memories,” Riona continued, “Black Rose can get away with anything. We only have your word that nothing bad happened.”

“You dose people with magic that strips away their control and amplifies specific aspects of themselves, then absolve yourself of all responsibility for what happens while they’re under the influence because it reveals ‘who they really are’,” it took a lot not to make air quotes with her fingers. “Then wipe all memories for ‘everyone’s safety’.” It was a perfect package of exploitation, manipulation, and elaborate justifications all wrapped up with a bow.

Slowly, Riona shook her head. “No. This isn’t about honesty or revelation. As you said yourself—knowledge is power. This lets you hoard it all for yourself.”

The chair creaked slightly as she shifted her weight back, shoulders squared, chin up. “All this secrecy benefits you the most, Mr. Delronzo. I’d appreciate it if you’d stop pretending otherwise.”

She searched Marek’s expression for any crack in his composure. “If you’re nothing like Edin, then the little guys shouldn’t be as scared of the cure as they are the disease, should they? You’d never have to use drugs or magic to manipulate them or tamper with their memories.”

Riona caught Cal’s eye, then Anastasia’s, making sure they were both paying attention. This next part mattered. She drew out a breath—Here it goes.—and plunged into the question that had been burning a hole in her thoughts. “How long has Darryn been working for you?”

Marek’s gaze flicked to Riona, acknowledging her questions with a brief nod, though his true attention snapped back to Callum. In a soft exhale, he presented a look of sorrow.
“Darryn Fletcher...was one of us, in the end. He was also fighting for freedom. ” His voice lowered, almost tender with regret. “Not by choice, mind you. He was a magic slave to the King, forced into servitude and he loathed every moment. He hated your father’s corruption, hated how the Crown used him. But he could never break free on his own.” A flicker of guilt passed over Marek’s features. “We tried to help. If there was any hope of giving Darryn a new life, we wanted that for him. But he knew too much.”

“Edin? Uses magic? Pretty sure he’s too stupid.” Callum chimed in.

His gaze found Callum’s, “The King—” he paused, lips pressing into a line, “—or perhaps the Queen. It hardly matters, for they share the same cruelty. They discovered Darryn was about to speak. So they did what they always do: they silenced him.”

He let that sink in before continuing, voice tightening with righteous anger. “We were too late.” Marek allowed a beat of silence to coil the tension. “They killed him, Callum, because he dared to see the truth, dared to break from their grasp.”

“Alibeth did say she wanted him dead.” Callum added. But he couldn’t see Alibeth using magic either. She clearly hated it. It didn’t quite add up.

Straightening, he drew in a breath, turning a dismissive glance to Riona. “I understand your skepticism,” he added quietly, “and you have every right to doubt. But Darryn’s fate is what happens when anyone stands too close to Edin’s secrets. The monarchy does not suffer witnesses, let alone rebels.”

He fixed Callum with a steady, sympathetic stare. “I know Darryn mattered to you. We share in your loss. We wanted to protect him, but your father’s cruelty reached him first.” Marek shook his head, gaze dropping as if burdened by guilt. “That is why the Black Rose fights. To end such horrors, so no more friends, no more innocents, are sacrificed to the King’s greed.”

Before anyone could reply, he lightly slapped the table. “Now, to the matter of proof,” he declared suddenly without hesitation, smoothly rising from his chair, “I would never expect any of you to stake your trust on mere words alone.”
His gaze moved pointedly from Callum, briefly to Anastasia, and finally to Riona, lingering just long enough to acknowledge her doubts before swiftly moving on. Marek stepped toward the door and opened it.

“Bring in Alden Plannington.” His voice echoed clearly through the hall.

Anastasia sat up straighter, finally speaking up, “Alden...? Father's advisor? What's he doing here?” She then glanced nervously at the other two nervously, uncertainly biting her lip. Callum’s face showed his surprise; he’d been mostly sure that Alden was dead.

Two men hauled in a struggling man: bruised, disheveled, clothes torn and smeared with dried blood. His hands were bound. His face… unmistakable.

Sir Alden Drake Plannington.

The guards shoved him roughly into the room. He stumbled forward and nearly fell, only catching himself on trembling legs. The doors slammed shut behind him.

Alden raised his head, revealing wild eyes that once held nothing but sharp calculation, now unraveling and unhinged.

“This man… was the King’s most trusted advisor. He attempted an assassination of Lady Violet Damien.” He let the accusation hang in the air, eyes sweeping the room. “She was found with an ax embedded in her skull… and she wasn’t the only victim we found.”

Marek walked forward, continuing after a beat of silence, “I had this serial killer hunted down since the kingdom guards seemed to have no plan of intervening on his murders.”

Alden twitched. Then he laughed, and it was a broken sound, like a mask cracking.

It was at that moment Anastasia covered her mouth, completely overwhelmed.

“You’re all so blind.” He spat, stumbling closer, eyes wide. “You think this is Marek’s game? No. No, I planted the seeds. I lit the spark. Do you want to know why I tried to kill that noble brat?” He barked a laugh, trembling.

“Because I’ve been doing your King’s bidding long enough to see that it’s all by design. The slavery, the blackmail, the torture…” His gaze flicked to Anastasia, then to Callum, a half-smirk forming on his split lip.

He spat blood on the floor. “Your father hires people like me on purpose.” Alden’s voice was fueled by hatred. “He seeks out the ones with questionable morals. People who’ll do anything, no matter how vile, so long as he’s paying. He encourages us to be monsters. Wants us to commit atrocities and then discards us when the blood starts staining his throne.”

He turned, staring Callum down, eyes wild with sick conviction. “I was good at it, too—real good. For a while, I believed I was helping keep this kingdom ‘secure.’ But you know what ‘security’ meant to Edin? It meant disposing of anyone who asked too many questions, covering up the nobles’ depravity, feeding them fresh victims so they could gorge themselves in secret...and letting them keep right on smiling at their feasts… I’ve snatched people off the streets on his orders, made them ‘disappear.’ I’ve tortured men for confessions Edin demanded, whether they were guilty or not. The worst of it is, that bastard celebrates it. He gave me gold, rooms in the palace, all the luxuries.”

Callum did not look at Alden beyond a single glance. He did not engage with the former advisor, but he didn’t doubt that Edin picked out the worst people imaginable to work with.

For a moment, Alden’s gaze shifted to Anastasia, a flicker of sympathy crossing his features. “You must wonder why I did something so vile as try to murder innocent Lady Violet Damien?” He let out a ragged sigh, voice trembling with pent-up fury. “Well, I had enough. I was never loyal to him, only to this twisted kingdom. So I thought, if the King wants chaos so badly…why not start by cutting down one of his precious allies? Maybe that’d make him finally choke on his own poison.”

He slumped forward in the guards’ grip, a twisted laugh bubbling past his split lip.
“So yes, I killed her. Not for money, not for power…but to show Edin’s true face. To make him bleed.”

Marek grimaced, adding, “...Instead of granting Violet Damien justice, they chose to curse her—keeping her alive only to suffer endlessly while an innocent woman takes the blame for their crime in the Sorian papers.”

Riona stared, her initial shock giving way to an uncomfortable feeling that something was off. The pieces refused to fit together, and the wrongness of it all pressed against her like a physical weight.

Darryn’s haunted voice echoed in her memory, fractured and desperate. “I was wrong… Wrong….” His eyes had been wild that morning, pupils blown wide as he’d stared at the floor, knuckles white from how hard he’d clenched his fists. “...she asked me to take them there. Her and Callum always have me sneak them out... Maybe they just didn’t know... But then again I knew... I knew where we were going. I have to know because…”

The same unhinged smile now twisting Alden’s face had been on Darryn’s.

She remembered the fury in his grip when he’d seized her wrists. “What do you think you’re doing?” Then that look of raw shame when clarity had reclaimed him.

What did they do to you?

“I…It’s not what they did to me here. It was what I had to do for… ”

And his final warning, delivered in a hollowed voice: “But know this and take it to heart, Riona…”

Riona’s eyes narrowed as she took in the situation with fresh awareness. The careful staging of this meeting, the way Marek’s attention never truly left Callum even when addressing the others, the precise targeting of every word toward Cal’s deepest wounds and resentments. No, this wasn’t Marek exposing secrets to them. He was trying to recruit him.

“The last time I saw Darryn,” Riona said, her voice cutting through the charged air, “he wasn’t himself. Unstable. Hostile, even. At first I thought it was from whatever torture he’d just been through, but he told me that wasn’t it.”

She turned toward Alden, noting the similar erratic energy. “He acted like him.” A sharp nod toward the bound ex-advisor. “And considering what you’ve told us about your parties and their effects, I’m seeing a pattern.”

Marek’s gaze flicked from Riona to the trembling advisor, then back again. With an exhale, he spoke in a low, purposeful tone as the advisor was dragged out of the room. “You think I twisted Alden’s mind? ” Marek asked, letting the question linger for half a breath. “If I desired puppets, why would I openly display them to you? Alden was unraveling long before he entered my orbit. His own diaries—if you care to read them—detail a descent shaped entirely by his choices and the Crown he once served. I merely ensured he couldn’t harm anyone else.” He allowed himself the barest shrug, as though this were an unfortunate but undeniable truth.

His voice softened, “You see patterns because you seek them. Alden and Darryn both shattered beneath the weight of a monarchy that drains men dry and casts aside their hollowed remains. Ask yourself: Who benefits when loyal servants turn hostile? Why would I risk subtle manipulations when the Crown thrives openly on the chaos it creates?”

“Alden’s madness belongs solely to him. If you see Darryn reflected in Alden’s broken mind, perhaps the common denominator isn’t me, but the king you continue to overlook.”

“No one who’s actually been at Marek’s parties has become a wild-eyed menace.” Cal countered, not seeing the link there. But Marek’s version of what was going on didn’t entirely make sense either.

Riona turned her head to Cal, confused that it seemed like he didn’t notice that Alden was under the influence of a drug or magic or both. That he forgot he told her about the “spies who seemed on the brink of insanity.” She briefly widened her eyes to an exaggerated degree and darted her gaze wildly between Cal and Alden, hoping he’d get the message: so far, they only knew of one group that had access to mind-altering magic drugs—Black Rose—and both Darryn and Alden (now that he was captured) had come into contact with them. Verbally, she asked, “How would you remember that?” Not Callum or Anastasia, that much she was sure.

He watched her eyes dart from him to Alden, and nodded. The former advisor was definitely crazy, he wasn’t sure what that had to do with Marek. Callum shrugged. “Doesn’t seem like a broken mind just goes away the next day.” It seemed true enough, no one he’d gone to a party with acted like Alden.

“Something else doesn’t make sense—out of every servant in the castle, why would the King or Queen magically enslave Darryn? A stable boy? Why not all of us?” She made a sound of disgust. “If Edin were using magic to control people, he’d have made every woman in the palace his slave by now. I don’t see why Alibeth would use that kind of magic on a stable hand when there’s more useful targets either.” And that was ignoring the more obvious problem that the Queen was trying to hunt down magic. Would she use magic to enslave someone?

Marek regarded Riona with patience, then offered a slight incline of his head—a gesture that felt more like strategy than concession. “I do not claim to know every secret festering behind palace walls,” he said evenly. “But what I do know is this: hypocrisy is the Crown’s most enduring tradition. A Queen condemning magic while wielding it in secret is not contradiction—it’s consistency.”

“True.”

“Could be they wanted to use someone who could go unnoticed. How many people pay close attention to a stable boy?” Cal considered the possibility aloud.

“Exactly, Callum.” He let the silence stretch before continuing, his voice calm, “Why a stable hand? Precisely because no one would ask that question. If you wished to test control, wouldn’t you choose someone invisible? Expendable?”

Marek’s gaze passed over them all, but returned to Riona like a blade being sheathed.
“The monarchy doesn’t rule through brute force alone—it rules through the assumption no one is watching. Small acts. Isolated suffering. Low risk, no notice.” He folded his hands. “But I am watching. That is why I’m here. Not to excuse, but to expose. Whatever truth we find, I suspect it will only confirm what some of us have known far too long: Edin’s secrets are not merely dangerous. They demand retaliation.”

The fact that Marek had to state that point to a castle servant as if she didn’t know that, told Riona how much he really didn’t understand what it was like living at the bottom. “That’s why she employed professionals, right?” Unless Darryn was secretly a skilled agent, and not just some commoner who got caught in the middle of things, Riona couldn’t imagine Alibeth risking using an amateur to do her bidding.

“Darryn had Ana and I’s trust. Could be Alibeth used him to keep tabs on us.” Cal added. Just as likely that the Queen had some other sinister plot that only a mind as twisted as hers could think up. “She was thrilled to hear about his death.”

“Makes even less sense to want him dead if he was so useful.” The Queen was a cold hearted b*tch, but she was also practical. Wasting a magical slave that had her children’s trust just didn’t seem like her style.

Her voice hardened. “How do we know Black Rose didn’t put that slave spell on him? Because this—” she gestured at Alden “—‘proof that you’re different from Edin and the other nobles’ looks more like whataboutism.” Until she said it out loud she didn’t have a name for it, but that was it: Marek didn’t actually give any proof, he deflected by reiterating how bad the Crown was, using Alden as a shock factor; a prop.

A… prop.
A prop.
Sparks flickered in the stillness of false tranquility.

Riona turned to Anastasia. “Do you want to know what Darryn’s last words to me were?” Then to Callum after a pause, reminding him, “‘The Danroses aren’t the only ones you need to worry about.’” Finally, she locked eyes with Marek. “He was terrified. Absolutely terrified. And anyone who inspires that kind of fear isn’t different enough from the Crown to me, Mr. Delronzo.”

Anastasia’s brows knitted together as she took in the revelation. “...Darryn was really off and crazy the last time I spoke to him too. It was like a whole different person.” She told them, and tapped her chin before adding, “I hate to break it to everyone, but our father is kind of stupid. I’m not sure he’d be able to pull it off hiding all that evil stuff behind his back.

Riona gave an appreciative nod at Anastasia, surprised that the princess was actually backing her up.

“But he can pay others to think for him.” Cal pointed out. “Alibeth is less stupid. She could also do it.” He begrudgingly admitted.

Marek inclined his head, his voice low and unhurried. “You came here hoping to confirm the suspicions you already held. If I were guilty of enslaving Darryn, do you truly imagine I’d brandish men like Alden for your examination?”

“You, of all people, should know the extent of what people will do to maintain their ‘masks,’ Mr. Delronzo. But you are correct. I have my suspicions, and for more reasons than one.” Riona had taken a gamble when she spoke, assessing how the man would respond or if he’d let anything slip. He remained composed throughout, theatrical only when trying to sell his point, but every reply was that of a politician. Even if Black Rose wasn’t behind all this, Riona doubted she could take everything Marek said to heart. “It would’ve been far more comforting if you did put my suspicions to ease.”

Marek’s gaze locked on hers—unblinking, not unkind, but unyielding. “You seek a villain convenient enough to fit the pattern you’ve already drawn. But the truth?” A pause. “It rarely fits cleanly. ”

“As someone once said, the right answer is often the simplest.”

He folded his hands. “So if you came here expecting theater, I’m afraid I deal in uglier things—systems, rot, and the men they hollow out. But if your mind was made up before you walked through the door, then let us not dress suspicion as inquiry.”

“So what you demand is absolute obedience, to never question what you say or do.” Riona nodded, “Thank you, Mr. Delronzo. That does clear things up.”

That is incorrect, unfortunately, Riona.”

“Why is it unfortunate that you need to correct me? Is it because my suspicions prevent me from accepting your answers at face value? … The Crown also finds questions ‘unfortunate,’ Mr. Delronzo.” Another similarity between the oppressors and the people’s “savior.”

The conversation turned too antagonistic. Callum stopped thinking and started speaking. “Darryn was right. It’s not just the Danroses we have to worry about. The Edwards, the Damiens...there’s a long list of nobles just as awful as their king.” He spoke to Riona then nodded at Marek, as if to say, ‘I’ve got your back.’ Defending Marek was easy; the hard part was figuring out what to say to Riona to clue her in that he wasn’t entirely buying what Marek was selling here.

“Mr. Delronzo is not just an ally; he is the mongoose I’ve been hoping for, someone willing to do the work to clear this den of snakes from Sorian. The only people who need to fear him…are the snakes.” Callum said. He smiled at Marek and trusted Riona to know that she was the only one he’d ever given that moniker to. Cal turned his attention back to her.

“Do not toss insults Mr. Delronzo like that.” He added with a stern, almost authoritative tone. A voice he’d never used when speaking with her; Callum didn’t order Riona around like that. If she hadn’t caught the first hint, she’d surely catch this one.

He needed to stay on Marek’s good side. Not just because Cal might still need him as an ally, but he’d never get any closer to the truth if they burned this bridge right now.

Her eyes narrowed and slowly exhaled through her nose as she straightened her back. “... I am stating my opinion on what was presented, Your Highness. If Mr. Delronzo considers that an offense, then I so humbly beg your forgiveness. I am sure your mongoose has plenty of other proof to offer of how different Black Rose is.”

“What exactly happened to Violet? Who cursed her? How is she suffering?” He asked Marek.

Marek fell silent as Callum’s words echoed through the room. The mongoose.

He watched the prince with an expression unreadable, the stillness of a man who already knew how this would end. “Curious,” he said at last, softly. “How quickly the heart reaches for flattery when the room grows cold.”

For someone who claims they’re fighting against corruption and exploitation, he sure didn’t make any effort to tell Cal not to order me or to dissuade me from calling Cal, ‘Your Highness’. Not for the first time, Riona wondered if there was more to Black Rose’s ambitions.

He began to pace again, slow and composed. “I am no stranger to suspicion. Nor do I fear it. But understand this—secrets are not hoarded here out of pride. They are guarded, because some truths are weapons, and not all present know how to wield them without cutting themselves—or others.”

He turned to face them all, eyes sweeping the trio. “Lady Violet’s fate is not a story for a room still divided. And until I know who stands as ally, and who still waits to serve a crumbling Crown...”

He folded his hands behind his back, gaze narrowing. “That knowledge must remain with me. For her safety. ”

Then came the closing blow. “So this audience is at its end.”

“Then I look forward to our next talk, Mr. Delronzo.” Riona said as she stared straight into his eyes.

But as the guards moved, he leaned ever so slightly toward Callum, his voice dropping just for him: “When you're ready to become the reckoning they fear in the dark.. you’ll know where to find me.”

“Hope that’s at the next party.” Cal whispered back, grinning. “Hey, think you can point me in the direction of warehouse to rent, one like the ones you’ve got? Place I can have some secrecy in?” He asked.

“Of course, I will have someone lead you to an empty one after you’re led out.”
The three of them would then find themselves back outside, just the same manner they had been escorted in, the night sky twinkling above them.

“Weeeell… That was weird.”

“To put it mildly.” After taking in a lung full of fresh air, Riona rolled her shoulders. “Okay. Now that I’ve ruffled his feathers, maybe they’ll make a move on me.” She turned to Cal, “And now he likes you more.”

“It’s the eyes. Makes me captivating.” Cal pointed to his face and grinned.

“No credit for your wingman?” She clicked her tongue in mock disappointment. “That’s the last time I help you get a date with your dark admirer.”

“Hey, Anastasia,” Riona said, turning her attention back to his sister. “Thanks for backing me back there.” A smirk crossed her face. “Never thought I'd hear you call Edin stupid.” Her smile lingered just long enough before her expression grew more serious. “So what do you make of all this?”

“Yeaaaah that much is obvious, don’t you think?” Anastasia replied with a light giggle, though it rang a little too high. She tapped her temple, then let out a long, dramatic sigh. “I feel like I need to lay down and stare at the ceiling for six hours. That was a lot. Like actually CRAZY. My brain is still somewhere on that staircase.”

She chewed her lip thoughtfully, then started pacing in a tiny circle as she spoke. “I’ve been to enough places that I probably shouldn’t have been to know that there is definitely a lot of bad stuff that goes on under our noses. There’s no way to deny that anymore.” She paused, fidgeting with her sleeve. “But… I still don’t think father is pulling the strings. Like, if someone told me he accidentally signed a decree upside down because he was busy staring at a woman’s chest, I’d believe it.”

She laughed softly, but it was a nervous kind of laugh. “Maybe Marek’s just paranoid and it’s a misunderstanding. Maybe… maybe if we just tell Edin about the stuff going on—he’ll do something about it… Like maybe he just doesn’t know because he’s been too busy eating... Or maybe…”

A mix of concern and dread flashed across Callum’s face. Riona touched his arm briefly as if to tell him to wait for a second.

Then, a spark of defiance lit in her eyes, and she straightened up. “Wait. No. Actually, never mind.” She planted her hands on her hips, her tone suddenly brighter. “We don’t need to go to him.”
She turned to Riona, eyes shining with renewed excitement. “We’re smart. You’re so smart. Callum’s basically a rebel genius. And I—” she flipped her hair dramatically, “—can put us in incredible outfits. Sooo we can fix this ourselves.”

She stepped closer and lightly touched Riona’s arm. “You were amazing back there, by the way. Seriously.”

“Always amazing.” He agreed.

Riona blinked. Heat crept across her cheeks. She turned her gaze to a narrow gap between the cobblestones, suddenly fascinated by its irregular pattern. “Thanks.”

Then she looked between them, a little breathless with the thrill of the idea. “Maybe this is what we were supposed to do all along. Help people. Catch the bad guys. Expose the truth. And do it without asking anyone’s permission!” Anastasia snapped her fingers sassily a few times with a grin.

“And if it turns out you don’t like the truth? What then?” Cal asked, his tone entirely neutral.

“Umm… Then we drink booze?” Anastasia replied with a touch of uncertainty.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Time: 6pm
Location: The Castle Dining Hall
Interactions: @Potter Kira @Lava Alckon Farim @Rodiak Nahir @Helo Rohit
Attire:Dress, Hair

---

Anastasia lit up like a chandelier, clasping her hands together with delighted flair. “Kiraaa, stop, you’re going to make me blush through my powder!” she said with a giggle. “You’re so fabulous—I feel like I manifested you.” She leaned in conspiratorially, eyes sparkling. “I accept your offer of entertainment, and I expect a performance. ”

Then, to Kira, “Oh yes, this is the fun side. Over here? Chaos, Thara, and very little shame.” She winked and lifted her glass in a toast. “To poor impulse control and pretty people.”

As she was looking about their area, her eyes fell on Rohit, who she had gotten the lovely chance to party with once already, “Oh! And we got Rohit here!” she said, giving a warm, welcoming smile. “I’m so happy you’re seated with us—we were just claiming this side of the room as the most fun and now I know I was definitely right.”

Subsequently, Anastasia noticed Nahir entering and lit up once more, “Shehzadi Nahir!” she chimed, springing up just enough for a light, elegant curtsy—though her excitement nearly made it a bounce. “I’ve never seen someone enter a room like you do—it’s like watching a star float in.”

Her eyes sparkled with sincerity as she added more softly, “I’ve been hoping to get to know you.”

Not longer after that, Farim finally returned and Anastasia beamed, her cheeks already rosy from the flurry of interactions and compliments she’d received that evening, yet somehow, his return made her glow even brighter.

“You were gone an entire lifetime,” she teased dramatically, her fingers brushing delicately into his palm as she placed her hand in his. “The world dimmed a little the moment you left, but alas the light returns. And yes, I missed you.”

She gave his hand a gentle squeeze, then, instead of releasing it, kept her fingers nestled in his, her thumb tracing an absentminded pattern against his skin. Her eyes lifted to meet his, her lashes fluttering.

“You know,” she murmured, “if you keep dazzling me like this, I might start believing you crossed kingdoms just to see me.”

A slow, playful smile curved her lips, an impish affection in her gaze. Then, with the softest of kisses pressed to the back of his hand to return the earlier favor, she finally released him, though her smile said she wasn’t done with him yet.

Then, with a turn of her head and renewed sparkle in her eye, Anastasia addressed everyone. “By the way, you all know about my charity performances earlier, right?” she asked, sitting up a little straighter. “It went well, but I don’t want it to stop there. I’ve decided I want to do more. ” Her tone was playful, but then softened into sincerity. “I want to go myself to pass out the food and supplies we raised money for. Talk to them, see what they need. Be with them.”

She glanced around, gauging reactions with hopeful curiosity. Her gaze slid back to Farim for a second, “And maybe drag some of you along with me. Does that sound fun to anyone here?”

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Location: Castle Dining Hall
Interactions: @Lava Alckon Farim @Rodiak Nahir @JJ Doe Hala @Potter Kira @Helo Rohit

---

Hafiz’s eyes slid to Kira with polite interest, the kind that veiled calculation in courtesy. Her boldness wasn’t unwelcome, but it was useful. She matched his gaze without flinching, returned his tone with warmth, even flirted with the Danrose girl as if it were a game.

Why was she here? Among the Danroses, the Samis, the Grand Vizier himself?

She wasn’t Alidasht nobility. Not Danrose. And yet, she slipped into their company as if she'd been born to it. No announcement nor clear ties.

He didn’t like unaccounted variables.

He smiled faintly behind his goblet, gaze resting on her just long enough to acknowledge her poise. A woman like that wasn’t idle. And Hafiz would be sure to keep her in view.

Hafiz’s expression did not change as Anastasia loudly announced Farim's arrival like a starstruck maiden from a tale.

He turned to sip from his goblet.He certainly knows how to catch attention. Whether he knows what to do with it once he has it… well, we’ll see. He did not so much as glance at Farim.

There was no need. Flattery meant nothing without victory and Hafiz didn’t crown fools.

Let the fool charm her. Let her believe in love and poetry. If he failed? Well… he was easy enough to replace.

The leash would still lead back to him.

Hafiz watched Farim's grand performance with the detached calm of a predator studying a bird puffing its feathers. He didn’t rise to Farim’s jabs—not outwardly, at least. He merely offered a slow blink, as though humoring a child who thought himself clever. His goblet tilted ever so slightly between his fingers, eyes following Farim’s movements with that ever-calculating calm.

“So many words to say nothing of worth,” he murmured under his breath as Farim kissed the Princess’s hand. The sight of it soured the wine on his tongue. Farim then played diplomat and darling of the court and Hafiz tracked every interaction. The King. The Queen. The Princes. The Princess. Each bow and compliment noted, each attempt at favor logged.

His son was putting on quite the show. And shows, like masks, were meant to be removed.

But when Farim made his final round and returned, Hafiz allowed himself one subtle quip:

“And here I thought the performance was this morning.”

His gaze slid across the room, past the fluttering gown, past the eager smiles, and landed on nothing.

Not nothing... Her absence. His jaw twitched.

He could still see the way she trembled. The way she looked at that man as if he were her savior. Disgusting.

But beneath the contempt, there was a pulse of something else.

Hafiz’s gaze darkened the moment Rohit said his name. Of course. Navi Amar’s son. The spawn of a scholar. Hafiz had little patience for the father and even less for the son.

Where Navi dealt in wisdom, Rohit played in glitter. And now he was pawing at Hala like some treasured pet, clueless to the fire he was stroking.

You're not your father. Even he wouldn't be foolish enough to touch what belongs to me., Hafiz thought coldly. Hafiz’s expression barely shifted as Hala responded.

Milo St. Claire. Of course, that peacock had caught Hala’s eye. Flashy, fawned over, and utterly useless to the mechanics of power. Hafiz didn’t need to glance at him to know the type—men like that existed only to be worshipped and discarded. His gaze slid back to Hala, smirking ever so slightly as they ate from Rohit’s plate like it belonged to them.

Hafiz’s gaze then followed Nahir’s entrance with cool observation. Regal, poised, and fashionably late. Of course.

He inclined his head when she greeted him, a slight smirk on his lips.

“Shehzadi. As punctual as your father’s diplomacy.”

His eyes cut briefly toward Kira, narrowing ever so slightly when he caught Nahir’s subtle pause.

Hafiz leaned in and whispered to her, “You seem intrigued by her, niece. Should I be?”

Neo Genesis: Chronicles of Eberron

🌸 Race: Half-Elf 🌸
🦋 Class: Druidic Mystic 🦋
🍄 Location: The Bar 🍄
🍃 Interactions: Menzai @Samreaper Arya @Potter 🍃
🌼 Equipment: 🌼

Full Equipment List

✦ Druidic Staff
✦ Stone-Carved Dagger
✦ Poison-Tipped Blowgun Darts
✦ Her amulet
✦ Satchel
✦ Flint & dried tinder moss
✦ Waterskin
✦ Dried Medicinal Herbs
✦ Bag of pretty trinkets, marbles and rocks
✦ Sharpening river stone
✦ Oruna tribal moon bracelet

🪷 Attire: Outfit 🪷

Attire

✦ Antler Headdress – Elegant branching antlers wrapped in vines and blooming wild roses and other flowers, dangling with purple crystal teardrops.
✦ Thick Magenta Hair – Flowing in long, heavy waves with many braids, tiny beads and blossoms braided throughout.
✦ Forest Bralette – A natural fabric top adorned with layered leaves, hide, flowers, and shimmering gem accents across the bust.
✦ Arm Jewelry – Vine-wrapped armlets and bracelets studded with glistening stones in violet and turquoise hues.
✦ Green Cloaklet – A light green cloak clasped with a gem like amber—crafted from flora and fauna
✦ Layered Skirt – Flowing petal-draped skirt with high side slits, woven from cloth and flower petals
✦ Waist Adornments – A golden vine belt holding a satchels, feathers, and a charm pouch of herbs and trinkets.
✦ Leg Jewelry – Beaded anklets and thigh cords with gemstone charms
✦ Nature Tattoos & Paint – Faint tribal markings or nature-inspired body paint peek beneath her outfit

🪞 Gold Balance: 23 🪞
🌸 Injuries: Faint Scrapes on Shins & Knees 🌸

Phia watched Korrak’s back as he retreated, her staff still clutched tightly in her hand. She gave a final, defiant “hmph!” under her breath, puffing her cheeks out slightly like an indignant squirrel.

"Coward." Her chin rose, eyes narrowed with fire. "He must have caught a whiff of his future defeat." She nodded to herself as if affirming a great truth of the universe, then spun on her heel, clearly under the assumption that her very presence had sent the lizard boy packing.

She came face-to-face with Menzai, eyes wide with indignant purpose, her brows furrowed like a child who’d been told “no.” He reminded her gently again (this was not the first time he had to remind her this) that she was not here to start fights. Her lips puckered into a dramatic pout.

But as his hand squeezed her shoulder with that familiar grounding touch, her expression melted into a tender smile and adoring gaze. She reached up and patted his hand affectionately, "You are correct, precious Menzai, that my meat awaits..." Her eyes darted longingly back toward the plate she’d left behind before snapping back to him with sudden gravity. "...But if a goddess is insulted and we do not seek forgiveness—then what if the stars stop glowing? What if the moon crumbles to ash? What if the other Gods—or even this one—strike vengeance upon this ship!"

She gasped at her own suggestion, then immediately got distracted by a glint on the floor before catching herself and refocusing. "...No, no… we must apologize on his behalf. We must!" Phia insisted solemnly, placing a dramatic hand over her heart.

With that, Phia made her way over to Arya and gave a dramatically low bow and held the position a beat too long. Then she straightened and clasped her staff like it was the only thing keeping her from floating away. “Great Goddess of the night sky,” she began, very seriously, though her eyes kept trailing off toward the nearby plate of meat, “...on... behalf of the lizard-man who has rocks in his brain... and... a sour smell in his clothes, I humbly ask for your forgiveness.”

She placed a shiny pebble at Arya’s feet as if it were the highest offering. “He does not understand divinity when he sees it. His tongue was clearly cursed. Please do not smite us all.”

Then Phia stood there perfectly still with her hands folded and eyes wide... For a good ten seconds before she started rocking on her feet. She peeked up at Arya with hopeful, shimmering eyes, anxiously awaiting divine judgment or, at the very least, to be formally dismissed. But then.... THEN her eyes flicked back to the plate. Her meat. It shimmered in the sunlight like a greasy beacon of salvation. Her lips parted. Her fingers twitched.

Finally, she broke. Phia suddenly spun around and practically crawled back onto her stool like a starved goblin. She grabbed the slab of meat with both hands and chomped into it like she had been starving. She held the meat aloft between bites.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Charlotte Flashback

FLASHBACK

1724

For a moment, Charlotte couldn’t help but think about how the grand dining hall hadn’t looked so different, even in back 1724.

It was alive with the clinking of crystal and the low hum of conversation. But to the young version of herself, it had felt like a magical world, a place where gold dripped from the chandeliers and the gowns sparkled like constellations.

Charlotte kicked her feet as she sat at the edge of the table, her small legs barely brushing the plush chair. She glanced around at the sea of unfamiliar faces, biting her lip with glee. The night felt special, like it belonged only to her.

Emina sat beside her. Her features were bathed in the soft glow of flickering candlelight, the warm hues contrasting beautifully with her dark hair. Despite the laughter and chatter of the nobles around them, there was a serene intimacy in the way she interacted with Charlotte, her gaze warm and affectionate. She looked every bit the picture of grace, her eyes holding a softness only visible in moments like these, moments when she was most at peace with the world.

But it was more than her beauty that caught Charlotte's eye. It was the way her mother’s gaze softened whenever she looked at her, the warmth in her touch as she ran a hand through Charlotte’s hair. For a fleeting moment, Charlotte felt cherished, as if she were the most important person in the world.

Her delicate smile seemed genuine as she had brushed hair from her daughter’s eyes tenderly, yet there was an underlying sadness in her eyes, an emotion that Charlotte, in her innocence, couldn’t quite understand at the time. “My little girl, “ She softly whispered, a sweet smile on the woman’s face.

But just as she allowed herself to indulge in that fleeting peace, the voice of King Edin cut through the air, resounding across the banquet hall, louder than all the others.

"Perhaps, Duchess Emina, you should have more children," the King said, his voice cold. “You’re not getting any younger, and certainly, you can’t possibly expect to rely on one girl alone to carry the family name, can you? It’s not the strength of daughters that ensures a legacy.”

Charlotte’s smile faltered. She felt a sudden, uncomfortable shift in the air, the warmth from her mother’s presence replaced by a prickling tension. Even at such a young age, she understood the weight of his words and the cruel edge behind them. Though this had all been so long ago, Charlotte could remember those words exactly, and nothing could erase them from her mind.
The memory was engraved in her like a scar.

Emina’s hand had stilled in Charlotte’s hair, faltering slowly as Walter left Gideon’s side, his footsteps growing heavy with anger. He had stormed toward Edin without hesitation, vocal in his defiance in front of everyone. His voice had been so loud, unwavering, and filled with a protective wrath for his family.

But as the memory seemed to press in from all sides, it suddenly shifted, dissolving like mist in the air. Another banquet. Just like this one. Only this time, Walter wasn’t there.

But Emina was.

Charlotte remembered how the view had changed—how, over time, she had grown tall enough to look people in the eye. No longer needing to peek over the top of the table to see the other guests. But the most jarring change had not been her own growth. It had been Emina.

The woman who had once looked at her with warmth, with tenderness, had now fixed her gaze forward, never once meeting Charlotte’s eyes. It was as though even the slightest glance in her direction would have brought some unbearable consequence.

Emina’s hand trembled ever so slightly as it rested on the table. It was the kind of tremor Charlotte had noticed but never truly understood. That subtle distance, that unspoken fear... It had been there, lurking in the quiet moments, in every conversation, every instruction.

It was the kind of thing that seemed insignificant at first, a fleeting thing to brush off, but over time it became undeniable. There was no grand moment, no single shift that she could pin down. But it was there, thick in the air between them—a wall that had slowly, imperceptibly risen.

Somewhere along the line, she had stopped being “momma’s little girl.” That was something Charlotte had not dared to think about since her mother’s death.

But now, in this room, as Cassius looked at her the way he did, there was no way to keep the memory from resurfacing. For her mother had stared at her the same way—as though Charlotte had already slipped through her fingers, as if the love they shared had been shadowed by the quiet grief of something that had been lost long before it ever truly had the chance to be.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Duke Gideon Edwards & Duchess Victoria Edwards

Time: 6pm
Location: Castle Dining Hall
Inteactions: @TpartywithZombi Ariella @Lava Alckon Drake @Tae Thea @Helo Callum

---

As the herald’s voice rang clear—"Presenting Lady Violet Damien and Lady Ariella Edwards"—Duke Gideon turned his head immediately, a subtle smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“There she is.” His voice was touched with unmistakable fondness as he watched his daughter enter the room. While most might see a scandal, he saw only his spirited, radiant girl.

Victoria, beside him, audibly gasped at her failure of a curtsy. Her fan snapped shut like a bolt of lightning.

“Dutchess Edwards, do you think yourself our betters? I noticed you did not bow, or curtsy, before your king and his family. Are you too proud to submit before His Majesty?”

Victoria narrowed her gaze at Callum, then forced a smile without kindness. She rose, presented a curtsy as she said through gritted teeth, "My apologies, Your Majesties."

As she lowered herself back into her seat, she glared daggers into Ariella, “And here she comes, sitting next to me, of course.”

“Yes. I also saw her come in glowing like the sun through the trees.” Gideon turned to Ariella and smiled at her,
“You look beautiful, little star,” he told her softly. “And quite honestly, I’m proud you didn’t fall. You had us all on the edge of our seats.”

Victoria took a sip of wine and muttered beneath her breath: “We’ll be speaking after dessert. And you will wish you had fallen.”

Gideon sighed and added kindly, “Welcome, my dear. I missed you.”

As the herald’s voice carried across the glittering banquet hall—“Introducing, the Lord of House Edwards…Sir Drake!”—both Gideon and Victoria turned in their seats.

Victoria let out a soft gasp as her gaze landed on her son, dressed in sleek black with the flourish of that orange rose on his chest.

“Orange?” she breathed, eyes narrowing like a hawk spotting a fluttering quail. “What is he wearing an orange flower for? He knows that clashes with the Edwards palette!” Her voice dipped into a near-hiss. “And where in the Gods’ name did he get those cufflinks? ”

Beside her, Gideon barely stifled a laugh and smiled proudly as Drake then held out a chair for Thea. “Amazing job with that greeting, son. I'm glad you're here."

His gaze then slid to Lady Thea and Lord Leo Smithwood, his expression lighting up with practiced charm and sincere warmth.

“And what a joy it is to see the esteemed heirs of House Smithwood tonight.” He rose slightly from his seat in polite acknowledgment, offering a gentleman’s bow toward Thea, then Leo. “Lady Thea, your grace is matched only by your reputation—I daresay we could all learn a thing or two from your sense of style.”

Turning to Leo, his smile widened into something more playfully respectful. “And Lord Leo, I’ve heard great things about you. What an honor to sit with you tonight.”

Just as Gideon leaned back in his chair, a flicker of black hair caught the corner of his eye. His gaze turned—and immediately softened.

There she was. Lady Charlotte Vikena.

He felt his heart ache for a moment, then he smiled at her kindly in greeting whilst Victoria grimaced and moved her seat back as if she might catch illness from the presence of a Vikena.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Time: 6pm
Location: The Castle Dining Hall
Interaction: @Samreaper Kazumin @Helo Callum @Silverpaw Wulfric @FunnyGuy Alexander

---

When Alexander spoke, Edin was mid-chew, a juicy hunk of roast duck dripping from his fingers as Alexander finished his flowery pitch. He sucked at the grease with an audible pop, licking his fingers like a man who forgot he was king—or rather, never cared.

“Mmmf—hah!” He swallowed thickly, then grinned, wine sloshing as he raised his goblet. “Now that’s what I like to hear.” He chuckled, then tore another piece from the bird with his hands.

He leaned back, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. “Stick around, Deacon. Maybe I’ll toss a few things your way and see if you fetch like you claim.” He winked, then returned happily to devouring his plate and gossiping, meanwhile Alibeth's gaze had remained on Alexander, shifting occasionally to Wulfric as he corrected him. She averted her gaze downward to hide the grin of pride forming on her face. Now that's the King of Caesonia.

Edin then slowly set his goblet down with the grin of a wolf scenting blood as Callum's words reached his ear. “Well, well, well…” he chuckled, eyes glittering with sudden interest. “Is that my little lamb finally growing fangs?” He leaned forward, utterly entertained. “About damn time one of my sons showed some spine at the table. Public shaming? A touch dramatic—but gods, I like it.” He laughed, throwing a hand in Callum’s direction. “I always said he had it in him.”

Alibeth, on the other hand, tilted her head ever so slightly, her eyes narrowing on Callum like a falcon sighting prey.

However, Callum also brought their attention to entrance of Kazumin. Edin, who had just finished gnawing the meat off a drumstick, lifted his head as if he’d heard the arrival of a long-lost son.

“Ah! There he is!” Edin bellowed, flinging a bone over his shoulder with zero regard for where it landed. “The man of the hour! My Kazumin! Get on in here, boy!”

He stood abruptly, cheeks ruddy with wine and joy, and clapped his meaty hands together as if summoning thunder. “Look at him! Dressed like a peacock at a masquerade and twice as entertaining!” Edin gestured with a goblet, sloshing wine over the rim. “This is the kind of energy Caesonia needs more of!”

He turned toward the room then, arms spread wide, beaming. “To all our honored guests, nobles, artists, and even those who stumbled in by accident—welcome! Your king is delighted by your presence! Eat! Drink! Be merry!”

“Mm,” Alibeth hummed behind her wine glass. “And here I thought Lorenzo Vikena had exhausted the court’s appetite for eccentricity.”

Neo Genesis: Chronicles of Eberron

Korrak

_{@Potter@Samreaper@FunnyGuy}

Korrak's fiery gaze narrowed dangerously, muscles tensing beneath his crimson scales. He clenched his jaw in restrained fury, silently weighing his response. A glance at the crowd watching attentively forced him to reconsider his impulse to violence, though the anger smoldered clearly behind his glare. He offered no words in reply—only a low, resentful growl under his breath.

At his side, his little daughter gazed at the marble now resting gently in her palm, her soft eyes wide with wonder. She looked uncertainly between her father and Menzai, then shyly raised her gaze to the wolf’s eyes.

"Thank you," she whispered softly, clutching the marble protectively. "It's beautiful."
Then the girl scampered off to return the marble to the girl he had pointed out.

It was then Korrak spoke up. "You think your pathetic snarling frightens me?" he spat, voice dripping with venom. "Keep your self-righteous preaching. You’re nothing but a stray animal who forgot his place."

His sharp claws flexed dangerously, barely restrained from violence. Korrak leaned forward, scales bristling. "Mind your tongue—or someone will rip it out for you." Korrak's glare shifted sharply from Menzai, narrowing onto the bearded dwarf seated casually at the bar. His lips curled in disgust, teeth bared in a menacing snarl.

"Something amusing, dwarf?" he snapped, voice echoing with open hostility. "Mind your business!"

He stepped forward slightly, looming threateningly, anger sparking dangerously in his eyes. "Perhaps you’d like to share the Tiefling’s humiliation, tiny filth."

Then, a small elven woman approached him defiantly. Amusement flashed coldly behind his eyes. A goddess? This wild-haired fool actually believed the horned devil-spawn to be divine. His expression darkened further into disdainful mockery as he regarded her staff and the blooming flowers upon it, as if she were some child playing pretend.

"You must be joking," Korrak scoffed harshly, voice dripping with scorn. "A goddess? That Tiefling is nothing. If you're fool enough to confuse filth with divinity, then you're even more of a moron than you look."

He leaned forward, his large frame towering intimidatingly over her, and met her fierce amber eyes with contemptuous dismissal. "Take your pathetic threats and your flowery little stick elsewhere, girl. You embarrass yourself."

He stepped backward and threw his arms into the air, a growl of disgust escaping through gritted teeth as he glanced at the wary crowd now focused entirely on him. Anger and humiliation burned hot beneath his scales, but another glance at his daughter made him pause.

"Enough!" Korrak snarled bitterly, his voice dripping with venom. He pointed a sharp claw accusingly. "I won't waste any more breath on fools like you. But mark my words—I'll remember this insult. The day will come when you'll regret embarrassing me."

With a sharp growl of frustration, he turned sharply, his cape billowing behind him, and strode toward his daughter, roughly but protectively guiding her to a table in the back. He did not look back, though his tense, rigid posture made clear he would not soon forget this moment.

Neo Genesis: Chronicles of Eberron

🌸 Race: Half-Elf 🌸
🦋 Class: Druidic Mystic 🦋
🍄 Location: The Bar 🍄
🍃 Interactions: Gears @PapaOso Menzai @Samreaper Arya @Potter Bobi @Tracxyx 🍃
🌼 Equipment: 🌼

Full Equipment List

✦ Druidic Staff
✦ Stone-Carved Dagger
✦ Poison-Tipped Blowgun Darts
✦ Her amulet
✦ Satchel
✦ Flint & dried tinder moss
✦ Waterskin
✦ Dried Medicinal Herbs
✦ Bag of pretty trinkets, marbles and rocks
✦ Sharpening river stone
✦ Oruna tribal moon bracelet

🪷 Attire: Outfit 🪷

Attire

✦ Antler Headdress – Elegant branching antlers wrapped in vines and blooming wild roses and other flowers, dangling with purple crystal teardrops.
✦ Thick Magenta Hair – Flowing in long, heavy waves with many braids, tiny beads and blossoms braided throughout.
✦ Forest Bralette – A natural fabric top adorned with layered leaves, hide, flowers, and shimmering gem accents across the bust.
✦ Arm Jewelry – Vine-wrapped armlets and bracelets studded with glistening stones in violet and turquoise hues.
✦ Green Cloaklet – A light green cloak clasped with a gem like amber—crafted from flora and fauna
✦ Layered Skirt – Flowing petal-draped skirt with high side slits, woven from cloth and flower petals
✦ Waist Adornments – A golden vine belt holding a satchels, feathers, and a charm pouch of herbs and trinkets.
✦ Leg Jewelry – Beaded anklets and thigh cords with gemstone charms
✦ Nature Tattoos & Paint – Faint tribal markings or nature-inspired body paint peek beneath her outfit

🪞 Gold Balance: 20 🪞
🌸 Injuries: Faint Scrapes on Shins & Knees 🌸

Phia caught sight of the large, shiny fellow from earlier waving at her, and her face immediately lit up. She waved back with unrestrained enthusiasm, her elbow just narrowly missing a drink as it tipped dangerously toward the edge of the table. But then, a sudden yelp echoed through the air, and her attention snapped to the source of the commotion.

A tiny creature was zipping around the bar deck, darting in and out of legs and under tables with startling speed. Phia’s eyes grew wide with delight, and she let out a high-pitched squeal, her hands clapping together with excitement as if she’d just spotted the cutest forest animal. The sight was so captivating that she couldn't help herself.

But then, as if to add to the spectacle, a small bearded man—just as erratic and full of energy as the creature—rushed after it. His enthusiasm carried him straight into the metallic chestplate of the warforged bartender, sending a light thud through the air.

She couldn't help but smile as the little man fumbled, clearly enamored by the warforged bartender, and her heart softened at the sight of such innocent adoration. She whispered under her breath, a gentle blessing to the little creatures and their strange antics. “Sweet little friends. May the spirits watch over you.”

” It’s… It’s nice to meet you all...I’m… Ayra.” Phia's attention turned to the voice and she froze, her eyes widening, unable to tear her gaze away from the celestial beauty standing before her.

The shimmering white hair caught her breath. The deep blue skin, as if the night sky itself had descended to the mortal realm, gleamed softly, dotted with constellations. Phia's heart raced, her senses overwhelmed by the sight of a living goddess. Her own body leaned instinctively toward the beauty before her.

She stared at Ayra with wide, almost childlike awe. "...You must be the night itself."

Then someone yelled at Ayra, using word Phia did not quite understand, however, she knew from the tone and implied idea that she was filth that it was immensely disrespectful. Her eyes narrowed as anger boiled within. She found herself nodding as Menzai informed her he would borrow her marble, but her eyes hadn't left the offending creature- which Phia thought might be a giant lizard.

Phia kept watch as Menzai approached him, eying the situation protectively. The lizard did not seem to be interfering as Menzai gifted its child a marble, so she allowed the laugh of the shiny lady to bring her attention forward.

“You are just too sweet, aren’t ya?”

Phia’s smile brightened with genuine delight as she reached across the bar, taking Gears' shiny, metallic hands in hers with surprising tenderness. Her amber eyes were intense as she informed her very seriously, "Yes. I have been told I am so sweet."

“I’m Gears, sugar. Just Gears. And I’m a Warforged, though if you wanna call me a rock girl, I’ll allow it. Ain’t the worst nickname I’ve earned...And you must be Phia.” She nodded slightly toward Menzai, then back at her, “He looks after you real careful. That says plenty good about you.”

Phia tilted her head, eyes widening with sudden clarity as if she'd unraveled a great mystery. "You are... for war? You are a warrior?" She asked, nodding slowly as if now everything made sense. "That's why you have covered yourself in armor, miss Gears!" she exclaimed excitedly, hitting the table with unnecessary enthusiasm.

Before Gears could correct her, Phia’s attention snapped to the warm, pleasant-smelling pastry placed in front of her. Without any hesitation or care for decorum, she immediately grabbed it, tearing pieces apart and placing them on her tongue with childlike joy. Her eyes widened, and she hummed delightedly, savoring the sweetness as if it were the most exquisite treat she'd ever tasted. "Mmmm!"

“Also, do you mind if I ask you something sweetheart? You doin' alright? Sky this high can be a lot, especially on your first flight. Just takes some gettin' used to, is all.”

Phia’s eyes lit up again, pastry crumbs dusting her fingertips as she eagerly responded, "Yes! It is my first flight on this wood bird! " She gestured excitedly around her, genuinely baffled but clearly impressed. "I don't know how you all managed to find such a giant bird and cover it with wood, but it's incredible!"

She leaned forward, voice dropping to a whisper. "Menzai and I have come from deep within the jungle. Though I can't tell you where so don't ask. "

Phia grinned widely, retracting backward as she placed another sweet morsel on her tongue, savoring its deliciousness with another delighted hum. "I’m eager to see more of this world... especially knowing even its warriors can be so kind. You are a blessing upon us all, Miss Gears. Continue to be kind, and the spirits will favor you. "

Just then, her attention shifted downward, meeting the shy gaze of the little dragonborn child who approached, carefully clutching her beloved blue marble. Phia’s smile softened as she leaned down gently, eyes filled with tenderness.

"It's alright, little lizard baby. You can keep it," she said softly, warmly touching the child’s tiny hand. "Enjoy the blue."

Only a beat passed after the child retreated from her side when Phia suddenly rose to her feet abruptly, pastry crumbs still dotting her fingertips. Her amber eyes burned with determination as she addressed the group around her, her voice ringing clear with conviction. "Everyone!" she declared firmly, raising her chin with purpose. "I have decided something important. It is unacceptable that someone dares disrespect a goddess of the night sky in our presence! Such rudeness must be corrected swiftly, or surely, fate will grow cross with us all."

She tightened her grip on her druidic staff, and the blossoms adorning it bloomed vividly as if feeding off her emotion. Then, Phia marched boldly toward the dragonborn father, the air around her crackling with primal authority.

Stopping firmly before him, she raised her staff, pointing its sharpened end accusingly at his chest. Her voice lowered to a dangerous, intense tone:

"You," she growled fiercely, eyes blazing, "have insulted a goddess who walks among us. Do you understand what that means? Disrespect to her is disrespect to the very stars, the spirits, and every ancestor who came before you."

Phia's eyes flashed dangerously as she pressed the tip of her staff closer toward the dragonborn's chest. "Now listen well," she commanded. "If you do not kneel right here and beg forgiveness from the goddess you dared to insult, you'll leave me no choice but to challenge you to battle. And believe me," she added fiercely, "the spirits will not favor your arrogance."

The blossoms on her staff glowed vibrantly, reflecting her simmering anger. "Choose carefully," she warned, her eyes locked unflinchingly onto his, "for your next action decides your fate."