Tucked near the docks of River Port, the River Port Great Lodge exudes a cozy charm with its dark wooden beams and walls lined with old maps and trinkets from the sea. The warm glow from the hearth fills the room with a comforting orange light, and the smell of woodsmoke and freshly baked bread drifts through the air. Fishermen, traders, and adventurers stop by here for a warm meal, good drink, and a bed after long days. Boarding Prices Single Room: 12 amas/night Double Room: 20 amas/night Common Room Bunk: 6 amas/night Meals & Beverages Lunch & Dinner Traveler’s Stew: 8 amas Seafood Sensation: 10 amas Fried Sarelion: 9 amas Chicken Curry: 8 amas Boar Meat with Utajakl Sauce: 8 amas Desserts Alaberry Roll: 4 amas Cinnamon Cream Bread: 4 amas Beverages Riverfruit Slush: 3 amas Cheap Wine: 1 ama Beer: 1 ama
The lodge's warm interior did little to mask the undercurrent of tension that thickened the air. The fire crackled in the hearth, but shadows moved in every corner, and whispers of something dark, dangerous, and inevitable hovered over the scene. Sensing a change in the atmosphere, the clerk suddenly ducked behind the desk.
Seated in the far corner of the lodge, the Black Maw Syndicate watched with cold, predatory eyes. They were an infamous gang in Avalia, a pack of cutthroats made up of demi-humans, orcs, and dark elves, who thrived on smuggling, extortion, and drugs. Vasco had already danced too close to the flames, unknowingly pulling his companion, Rowan, into the fire.
At the head of the group sat Kaelin Vore, a dark-elf with slicked-back silver hair and cruel violet eyes. He leaned back in his chair, his lips twisted into a permanent smirk, as if always one step ahead of everyone around him.
Flanking him was Zarnak, a towering, muscular lizardman with scaled skin and a demeanor that screamed violence. His long, black claws tapped against the table as he watched Vasco and Rowan with a predator’s patience. His slit yellow eyes were fixed on Vasco, and the hunger for blood was unmistakable.
By Kaelin’s side, Shira, a sleek feline demihuman, lounged lazily, her amber eyes half-lidded but always sharp. Her tail flicked back and forth as she purred under her breath, her claws gently raking the wood of her chair.
A hulking figure loomed near the door: Gorruk, an orc with jagged teeth and scars crisscrossing his greenish-grey skin, each a trophy from his brutal life. His fists were like boulders, and he cracked his knuckles as he eyed the newcomers, eager for a fight.
The moment Vasco swaggered into the lodge, Kaelin tilted his head slightly, the smirk deepening. He flicked a finger toward Zarnak, signaling the start of the hunt.
Zarnak rose from his seat, his heavy footsteps echoing across the wooden floor as he approached Vasco and Rowan. The lizardman’s snarl curled his lips, his fangs glinting in the low light.
“Well, well, look what the gutter dragged in,” sneered Zarnak, stepping forward. His gleaming eyes locked onto Vasco. “You’ve been causing trouble, haven’t you? Running around without paying your dues. And now... you bring a new friend.”
“This one looks... valuable,” Gorruk rumbled. “Bet the rich boy’ll fetch a nice price for our troubles.”
Meanwhile, Shira circled around Rowan, her eyes sparkled with cruel amusement.
Zarnak took a step closer, his breath cold on Vasco’s face.
“See, boy, your mess comes with consequences. We don’t appreciate debt, and since you’ve been running up quite the tab, it’s time to collect. And this elf—” Zarnak's eyes flicked to Rowan,“—he’s going to help pay your way out.”
The gang members subsequently moved with silent coordination. Gorruk, the massive orc, cracked his knuckles again as he approached Rowan. His heavy footfalls echoed through the lodge.
“You're coming with us, rich boy,” Gorruk growled as he stepped behind Rowan, yanking his arms back and binding them roughly with a coarse rope. The elf struggled, his lithe form twisting, but the brute strength of the orc was overwhelming.
Shira leaned in close, her feline eyes glittering with cruel amusement. “Don’t fight it,” she purred, her voice a dangerous whisper. “You’ll only make things worse.” She brushed a claw lightly against Rowan’s cheek before stepping back, leaving a thin red line where her claw had kissed his skin.
Meanwhile, Zarnak’s attention shifted back to Vasco. His towering form blocked any escape, and with a sinister smirk, he drew a sleek blade from his belt, its edge gleaming in the light. He pointed it directly at Vasco.
“You’ve made a mess,” Zarnak sneered. “And now your little friend here is going to pay the price. Unless, of course, you have a better idea. Do you?”
The cold steel hovered inches from Vasco’s neck, as Kaelin, still lounging in his chair, watched the scene unfold with a twisted grin. “Time to see if you’ve got anything worth offering, boy. Or maybe we’ll just take the elf and leave you to rot.”
Time:10am Location: Edwards Estate - Drake's Party Attire: Dress, Amulet Interaction: @PapaOso Cassius @FunnyGuy Lorenzo @Helo Callum @Potter Olivia Charlotte turned her attention to Callum, her smile lighting up her face as she leaned in slightly, and teasingly said, “Well, maybe I am your sister. We do share strikingly similar features, don’t we? Dark hair, blue eyes... Perhaps there's a royal family secret worth investigating.”
With a quick glance at Cassius, her voice shifted to a breezier tone, “A legend, huh? Well, I suppose I can’t argue with that.” When he leaned closer and claimed he’d be carrying her, she raised her brows with an exaggerated tilt of her head. “Oh, you really think so? I’ll have you know, Cassius, I can hold my own.” Her hand casually brushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear as she lifted her glass, smirking confidently, “In fact, I think I already have the trophy.”
Cassius downed his second cocktail and her brows shot up in surprise. But as he issued his challenge, her eyes widened, and she repeated, ‘A drinking contest?" She glanced around the table as if appalled by the very suggestion. “At the son of the Duke of Soralia’s birthday party, no less! And need I remind you, it is only 10 AM!” It was clear from the giggles that followed the statement, that she wasn’t sober enough to deliver the logic convincingly. The warmth from the cocktail had settled in quickly, loosening her usually measured demeanor, though she had always been a lightweight.
“Let’s! The Duke of Vermillion could use a warm-up… Like a rival of mine famously says, ‘I’m here to play… and win.’” Charlotte whirled to face Lorenzo, half-raising her hand to object, but before she could even get a word out, he downed his cocktail just as swiftly as she had earlier. She blinked in surprise, only to hear Callum’s voice pipe up again. Callum, too, emptied his glass. She knew she should have been exasperated with them, yet she couldn’t help but grin at the absurdity of it all.
"Well." she began, raising her finger as if she had just thought of something profound, "if you boys insist on carrying on like this, I suppose someone will have to teach you a lesson in how to properly handle your liquor like a lady." She grinned, then plucked one of the shots and gulped it down with a quick flick of her wrist. The alcohol burned briefly as it slid down her throat, a sharp reminder of what a terrible idea this was. But Lottie, for once, didn’t care. After all that had transpired—the constant swirl of drama, the weird aura around her, Calbert Damien, and those intrusive memories of her father that seemed to force themselves into her reality when least expected—she needed to let go, even just for a moment.
Besides, if she was going to be dragged into another one of those surreal flashbacks, better to be a little too tipsy to care.
"...We could play strip poker." Her gaze slid to the table next to them as they remained perfectly in earshot. As Anastasia had been speaking, she had dimly registered her words as background noise, but it hadn’t been until that last bit that she felt the need to look over and spot the scandalous amount of PDA between Farim and Anastasia. Compared to that spectacle, she figured a few shots would be the least scandalous thing happening at this party.
Her eyes met Olivia’s for a fleeting moment to check up on her, then her attention shifted entirely as Drake made an announcement then sat at a piano, the serene notes wrapping around her like a comforting embrace.
Clasping her hands together in delight, she squealed with a rare burst of excitement. “Oh! This song is one of my favorites!” She idly sipped from yet another cocktail as the music filled the air, swaying slightly to the rhythm, a contented smile on her face.
Then, Drake’s words made her freeze mid-sip.
”...And this next piece is a surprise one - gifted to me by a special someone. A spectacular person by the name of Charlotte Vikena. Thank you for blessing me with such a fine gift on such a fine day, milady.”
Charlotte’s eyes darted around as heads turned toward her. Instead of shying away, as she might’ve done before, she eventually gave the crowd a cheeky little wave.
“What a lovely piece, you composed it? ...It’s magical.”
She slurped the remaining liquid from the bottom of the glass as she replied casually,"Certainly did," she said, "I suppose that makes me magical, doesn’t it?" It wasn’t long after that Drake tumbled off the stage, and Callum had rushed to his aid, along with several attendants. Charlotte assumed his parents would also be soon to follow as gasps filled the air.
She craned her neck to check on Drake as he tumbled off the stage. Gasps filled the air, and Callum, along with several attendants, rushed to his aid. She watched for a moment, her lips forming a faint pout before deciding he seemed alright. With a dramatic sigh, she turned her attention back to Lorenzo and Cassius, her cheeks flushed and her eyes gleaming with a giddy energy.
"Well, that was quite the performance," she giggled, playfully swinging her now empty shot glass in the air before setting it down a little too forcefully. "But you know..." she began, her words starting to slur ever so slightly, "I think I could do better—without falling off a stage, mind you."
She hiccuped and blinked, her train of thought momentarily lost before a mischievous grin crossed her face. "Cassius, Lorenzo," Lottie continued, swaying slightly as she leaned closer to them, "I've been thinking... If we were all animals, you'd definitely be a... hmm..." She paused, her gaze locking onto Lorenzo as she squinted in mock concentration, leaning in as if unveiling a grand revelation." A ferret like Kier! All squiggly and sneaky. You clever little thing!"
She paused, giggling uncontrollably at her own words. Then, turning to Cassius, she poked him lightly in the chest, "And you, you'd be... oh! A peacock! Always strutting around, thinking you're oh so pretty." With that declaration, she snatched up another shot and poured it down her throat, perhaps enjoying the pleasant feeling a little too much.
Time: Morning Location: Drakes Birthday Party Attire:Dress Interaction: @Lava Alckon Farim @Rodiak Zarai @Potter Olivia @JJ Doe Fritz Anastasia's amber eyes turned her she noticed Olivia's flustered reaction and giggled as the girl stammered through her greeting. She leaned forward on Farim's lap, resting her elbow on the table, “Why, thank you, Olivia,” she said with a smile. “But you know, I don’t think you need my permission to touch my hair! I mean, how could I say no to a compliment like that?” She twirled a loose strand of her ashen blonde hair playfully around her finger and swung her head over to offer up her hair.
Her gaze subsequently shifted to Farim, hearing his words, “Oh, Farim,” she cooed, “You know you have nothing to worry about. You two can share me.” She giggled, clearly enjoying their teasing dynamic as she leaned back against him to peck his cheek sweetly. However, as Farim’s arm wrapped around her, his hand brushed teasingly against her hip, sending a delightful shiver up her spine. She couldn’t help but bite her lower lip, suppressing a giggle as his touch tickled her in the most delicious way. She leaned back against him, letting her body sink more comfortably into his, enjoying the warmth and closeness between them. Then, she placed her hand lightly over his, tracing slow circles along his wrist.
She then leaned back to whisper in his ear,"Farim, darling," she whispered, her voice laced with both amusement and sensuality, "If you keep that up, I might not be able to behave myself. We wouldn’t want to scandalize the whole party, would we?" With a soft, almost daring smile, she shifted slightly in his lap, the movement deliberate.
However, Farim did not get a chance to answer as Zarai spoke up about having them all painted, causing Annie to add excitedly,“Oh my Gods yes! I'd love to be painted with you guys and by my beautiful Rai! Please!”
Before Zarai could answer, the princess's face then lit up the moment she heard a familiar voice. “Fritz!” she exclaimed and rose up to greet him, her excitement bubbling over as he twirled her around. She clapped their hands together in rhythm, giggling at the playful spin. “Oh, you know how to make an entrance, cutie!” She rested her hands on her hips after the twirl, her gaze brimming with amusement.
"The music practice is going well! I picked a song I know really well since it's kind of short notice and I've been playing it late at night until my fingers hurt!" she added, her excitement practically radiating from her."I’m so nervous, but also super excited. It’s going to be the best concert ever!" As he turned his attention to the others, she returned to her comfy seat on Farim's lap. Anastasia took a moment to admire the easy grace with which Fritz interacted with everyone. It was so effortless for him—he had this way of making people feel special.
But as Zarai’s gaze found Fritz, and the unspoken emotions flickered between them, Anastasia’s couldn’t miss the subtle shift. Her lips quirked up in a soft, knowing smile as she watched her dear friend exchange glances with the charming count, “Ohhh, look at you two,” she whispered in a sing-song voice, leaning closer to Zarai as if sharing a secret. “There’s something interesting in the air today, isn’t there?” She gave her a playful nudge, her tone affectionate as ever. “You know, I’d love to include Fritz in the painting, but I think you might be painting more than just his face in that picture, darling.” Her eyes twinkled mischievously as she whispered in her ear.
However the fun didn't last. Anastasia's smile fell as noticed Charlotte approach. She seemed cuddled up to Cassius of all people. She had seen enough to know that there was more to that girl than her delicate appearance suggested, and it left her wary, even if she didn’t want to admit it to anyone. Her mind flashed back to that morning in the tea room with Callum, Wulfric, Stratya, and her mother. Magic wasn’t evil, Callum had reassured her, but that didn’t change the fact that Charlotte’s magic had been evil.
Her fingers curled slightly, resisting the urge to fidget with her dress. When Charlotte greeted her, there was no hug, no warm greeting like she had given the others. Just a smile. Anastasia forced herself to smile back, though it felt stiff. Inside, she couldn’t help but feel relieved that Charlotte didn’t offer a hug. It was easier to keep that distance between them, even if it felt awkward.
As Charlotte whispered something to Fritz, Anastasia felt an unwelcome pang of curiosity. Even Olivia, Farim, and Zarai all seemed to know and like her. Sometimes she wondered if she should warn people about her. Intrusively, Darryn crept back into her mind and she quickly pushed it away all her might. She hastily turned her attention to hyper fixate on other emotions swimming inside her. Anastasia turned her gaze to the table, suddenly beaming as she addressed the group rather boldly, "I just have to say, I absolutely adore every single one of you here!"
She leaned back instinctively into Farim, tracing a finger idly down his jaw as she continued, "Honestly, you’re all so beautiful, so fun, and I’m having the best time. I can't help but think... why not continue the party later? I’d love to invite all of you back to my bedroom sometime..." Her gaze shifted back to the table and she smiled as she declared, "We could play strip poker."
Time: 10am Location: Small drawing room on second floor Mention: @Helo Callum @Silverpaw Wulfric
But the man sitting in the room now was a shadow of the king in the painting. King Edin Danrose slumped in a grand armchair, his broad shoulders hunched and his once sharp eyes dulled by a fog of intoxication. His golden crown sat crooked on his head, and the royal attire he wore was disheveled. His face, weathered, was flushed red, either from the brandy he clutched in his trembling hand or the mounting weight of secrets.
He took a long, slow sip of brandy, the glass in his hand shaking slightly. The room, despite its grandeur, felt suffocatingly small to him. His father’s voice rang in his ears, mocking him from the shadows, always demanding more, more, more.
The door creaked open behind him, and Edin barely lifted his head. The faint rustle of fabric and the soft clink of elegant heels announced Queen Alibeth’s arrival. Her long chestnut hair cascaded down her back, topped with a tiara of diamonds. Her enchanting features reflected her cool composure. But beneath her beauty was the unshakable presence of a woman who was never easily fooled. Her sharp, amber eyes locked onto Edin’s figure, her lips pressed into a thin line, betraying the storm of thoughts swirling in her mind. She stepped further into the room, the gentle rustle of her gown the only sound for a moment.
“Edin,” she spoke softly, her voice cutting through the heavy silence. “We need to talk.”
Edin raised his head slowly, his bleary eyes fixing on her with irritation and weariness. He downed the rest of his brandy, grimacing as it burned its way down his throat. “Not now, Alibeth,” he spat, his voice dripping with impatience. “I’m busy waiting for my consorts, and I certainly don’t need you hovering around, nagging like you do. Your place is to keep quiet, not to meddle in men’s affairs.” His eyes, bloodshot, flicked over to the door as if expecting his “entertainment” to walk through any moment.
Alibeth’s lips twitched in a faint, cold smile. “How utterly predictable,” she mused softly, taking a few measured steps closer. “But as your queen—your wife—I’d say this matter takes precedence over your usual indulgences.”
Edin’s irritation flared. “You women always think you can fix everything with your little schemes. But you don’t understand what’s going on—Wulfric is handling things. Everything is under control.” He struggled to stand, eager to get away, “You wouldn’t understand these matters, Alibeth."
“Is that what you tell yourself?” Alibeth asked coolly, her eyes narrowing slightly. “That Wulfric will solve everything? Because from where I stand, you’ve abandoned your responsibilities and left the weight of the kingdom entirely on his shoulders.”
Edin shot her a glare, his jaw tightening. “Wulfric is the heir, Alibeth. He has to learn how to handle these matters. It’s his duty. You women would never understand the pressure of ruling—leave it to the men, as it should be.”
After only a moment, Edin spoke again before Alibeth could, “With that topic in mind, you are to halt your meetings with my sons without my presence. Yes, I know your secret, so don't try to lie!"
Alibeth’s eyes darkened, “Speaking of secrets, Wulfric has told me quite a bit about your conversation yesterday,” she began, “He told me how you advised him to stay away from Marek Delronzo. How Marek and his Black Rose are behind forced fighting rings, drug trafficking, abductions, enslavement—all of it.” Her voice dropped to a dangerously soft tone. “He said you find Marek… useful, helpful even.”
Edin froze in place, his face hardening, though a flicker of panic flashed in his eyes. “It’s not that simple,” he muttered, looking away. “Marek… he has his uses. Keeping him on our side is smarter than making an enemy of him. These are the types of decisions you wouldn’t be able to comprehend.”
Alibeth’s lips curled into a cold, humorless smile. “Is that what you believe? That by allying with criminals, by letting your kingdom be tainted by the filth of men like Marek, you’re protecting us?” Her voice cut through the room like a blade. “Wulfric was right to laugh at the absurdity of it. You’ve sunk so low, Edin, that you’ve convinced yourself that a man who runs forced fights and drug rings is an asset to the crown.”
Edin’s face flushed with anger, but he faltered. “You wouldn’t understand. Marek is more dangerous than you realize. If we cut ties, he’ll turn against us.” He glanced toward the door, his paranoia bubbling up.
Alibeth stepped even closer, her voice dropping to a venomous whisper. “And whose fault is that, Edin? Who let this monster into our midst? Who gave him the power to blackmail you, to turn you into his puppet?” She tilted her head, her gaze piercing. “This is all your doing. You’ve let yourself become weak, and now you’ve dragged the rest of us down with you.”
Edin turned away from her, his fingers gripping the back of his chair tightly. “You wouldn’t understand the sacrifices I’ve made to keep this kingdom safe. A woman like you wouldn’t know what it means to carry the weight of a crown.”
Alibeth let out a low, bitter laugh, her amber eyes gleaming with barely contained contempt. “Sacrifices? Don’t make me laugh. You’ve sacrificed nothing but your dignity. All you've done is clutch at power while others clean up after you.” She crossed her arms, her tone growing colder. “Marek has you in his grasp because you were too arrogant, too foolish to see the danger until it was too late.”
Edin stiffened, his voice dropping to a growl. “It’s not too late.”
Alibeth’s eyes glinted. “Then prove it.” Her words were a challenge. “Let Wulfric and me handle Marek. You’ve made a mess of this, but it doesn’t have to be the end of the Danrose name.”
She paused, her voice growing colder, “And speaking of messes, what happened to Alden? Your trusted advisor? He’s missing and there was blood in his chamber. Did Marek have something to do with that too?”
Edin flinched, his eyes narrowing as he waved a dismissive hand, trying to brush off the subject. “Alden was a fool. He’s gone, and that’s all there is to it. You don’t need to know more. Leave it.”
But Alibeth wasn’t easily deterred. “Gone? You expect me to believe that’s all? No, Edin, there’s more to this.” She knelt down and met him eye to eye.
For a long moment, Edin remained silent, his face pale and drawn. Finally, he muttered, “You don’t know what you’re asking for.” Even through his severe intoxication, Edin was confused. He had always believed Alibeth to be predictable—soft, malleable, even if at times annoyingly sharp in her own way. But this…this was different. His eyes darted toward her, narrowing, suspicion rising in his mind.
“Why are you acting like this, Alibeth?” he demanded, his tone sharper now. “Usually, you stand there, all sweet words and sympathy, telling me how things will be alright. But today…” He shook his head, trying to make sense of the cold, calculating energy radiating from his queen. “You’re different. What is this?”
Alibeth’s sharp gaze softened, but only slightly, like a mother masking her disappointment with a thin veil of understanding.“Why, Edin, because I see you slipping,” she murmured softly as she brushed some damp hair from his forehead, her tone laced with something far deeper than the usual warmth she used to soothe him. “I’ve spent years at your side, watching, supporting, and cleaning up behind the scenes while you indulged yourself with your pleasures, your consorts, your power.” Her voice dropped to an almost predatory softness. “But now, you are faltering.”
The silence stretched between them, the tension in the room thick enough to cut. Edin’s gaze flickered, his grip tightening around the glass he still held. He looked away, trying to maintain the facade of indifference, but Alibeth could see the cracks. “I won’t let you endanger my children. That man's already hurt Anastasia and Callum once...” Alibeth’s voice cut through the thick silence. “I won’t let you endanger Wulfric by leaving him in the clutches of that vile man and having to clean your mess.”
“...You think you know what’s going on? You don't. So shut your mouth, Alibeth! " Edin looked upon his wife with rage, "...Before I shut it for good.”
Her gaze didn’t waver. “I know more than you think, Edin. Wulfric told me enough and I've suspected enough for some time.” She leaned in slightly, her eyes burning into his. “But I want to hear it from you. What does this Marek have on you? On us?”
For a moment, Edin said nothing, his eyes darkening.“...Things you can’t understand. Things you don’t need to know.” He waved his hand dismissively again, trying to push the topic away.
But Alibeth didn’t relent. “You owe it to Wulfric, to Auguste, to Callum and Anastasia... You owe it to this kingdom to tell me.”
Edin’s hand twitched, and for a brief moment. There was something in his eyes—fear, shame, something deeper. But just as quickly as it appeared, it was gone. He straightened up fully out of the seat and stood before her, his face hardening once more. “We're done here Alibeth... As the King, I command you to leave."
Alibeth’s smile returned, soft but her voice a deadly calm. “Of course, Edin. You are the King,” she said smoothly, her fingers lightly brushing the edge of his sleeve.
For a moment, Edin was silent, staring at her as if he didn’t recognize the woman standing before him.
She turned gracefully, beginning to leave the room. She paused to linger in the doorway with a narrowed, firey gaze, as she reminded him coolly. “But even kings fall.”
The words hung in the air like a guillotine, poised to strike. Edin's lips parted—How dare she—but the words died on his lips.. His fury choked in his throat as the door opened fully, revealing a crowd of beautiful, laughing women waiting to attend to him, their giggles jarringly out of place in the tension-filled room.
Alibeth offered one final glance before she disappeared into the corridor, leaving Edin surrounded by the hollow echoes of their laughter. Certainly won't be the last time you get fucked, you imbecile.
Time:10am Location: Edwards Estate - Drake's Party Attire: Dress, Amulet Interaction: @PapaOso Cassius @FunnyGuy Lorenzo @Helo Callum "Yes! I'd like to make a toast to all of you!" came Lottie's voice as she made her way over to the table. Her enthusiasm was almost infectious as she gazed at the vibrant drinks a servant had just left on the table. The assortment of bright, jewel-toned cocktails, with little garnishes of citrus and mint, sparkled like a rainbow across the table.
As she approached, Cassius rose from his seat with a sweet bow, pulling her chair out for her with such charm that it made her blush ever so slightly. "Thank you, Cassius," she said softly, settling into her chair as he placed an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close once again. She felt her heart flutter for a moment at the touch, but her attention was quickly stolen by Callum’s booming voice before her thoughts could even race.
When Callum rejoined the group, she met his lingering gaze with curiosity, but it didn’t make her uncomfortable. "Oh! Shots, yes—how thrilling!" she said with a little laugh, her hand instinctively reaching for one of the cocktails. But then, Callum’s remarks about Cassius and his father made her pause.
Her eyes shifted between Cassius and Callum. The directness of Callum’s statement caught her off guard. It was her turn for her gaze to linger on Callum. As she mulled over her thoughts, emotions of sadness and even moments of anger swam in her eyes.
Prince Callum had always been different from his siblings. His short, tousled black hair and deep blue eyes rarely mirrored the familiar features of the royal family. Naturally, rumors had swirled around the kingdom when he was born; whispers of an illegitimate child with no place in the line could be heard in every corner. But to Charlotte, he bore a striking resemblance to the late King George, and she reasoned that King Edin must have simply passed down the recessive trait of those piercing blue eyes.
Yet, it wasn't his appearance that set Callum apart the most—it was the ever-present undercurrent of anger and melancholy she had seen in his gaze from time to time. Beneath that handsome face, there was always a trace of something darker, something unspoken. That bitterness undoubtedly had festered from years of living with a monster like King Edin. The way the King had spoken of him, the way he had treated his children in general, had not ever gone unnoticed by Charlotte, and certainly not by Duke Walter Vikena years ago. She could remember nights of him wistfully speaking of how sorry he felt for the royal children, and particularly for Callum. Raised by a man as venomous as Edin, it was no wonder he could recognize a snake like Calbert from a mile away.
She could still remember the quiet nights when her father, with a far-off look in his eyes, would sigh and say, "That boy carries a burden far too heavy for most, one that I know all too well. He could use a friend like you someday, Lottie, someone to remind that his life has worth despite all that has been said. "
Lottie thought back to what she had seen in the church and her shoulders slumped. Walter, who had suffered under the harsh cruelty of his own father, had seen in himself in Callum. She wished she could go back in time and hug her father just a little tighter, just one more time... Alas, she could not.
But she could do today what she should have done a long time ago and show the Prince some much-needed kindness. Finally, she glanced at Lorenzo and smiled, the love she felt for him clear in her gaze. "He is rather splendid, isn’t he?" she agreed.
When Callum raised his shot glass in their direction, Charlotte’s cheeks flushed pink once more. "To us?" she repeated, glancing at Cassius. They certainly were not a couple but with his arm around her the way it was, she understood why Callum had mistaken them for one.
"Well, Cassius and I are just—" she began, her voice light with a hint of objection. But despite her words, she found herself instinctively raising her glass, the motion so natural it almost escaped her own awareness.
As her sentence hung in the air, she froze, mid-gesture, her eyes widening slightly as she realized that the dynamic of the room had subtly shifted.
She was surrounded by completely different company.
Everything looked almost the same—perhaps there were less green decorations everywhere, but still, it was as if the world had been gently muted by time. Her gaze swept across the gathering and then froze. Sitting across from her was a boy who looked no older than sixteen, his brown curls tousled in a way she knew all too well.
Father.
Her breath caught in her throat as she recognized the young man immediately—Walter Vikena. And sitting beside him, with a face so eerily similar, was a girl she had only seen pictures of-Aunt Willow. She had curled brown hair, loosely gathered, giving her a soft appearance. The hazel-eyed twins stood as near perfect reflections of each other.
Walter was effortlessly entertaining the table, his laughter filling the air like music. Young Duke Gideon sat with him, looking as if he hadn’t changed much over the years, though his face was a touch softer, more boyish. And to her surprise, seated among them was a younger version of Calbert Damien, his usually sharp features softened by youth and an unfamiliar short haircut. Even Duke Laurent Petit was present, immersed in his religious reading, his demeanor serene amidst the lively gathering.
But it was Walter who drew her in completely. His vibrant energy was magnetic, and she couldn’t help but smile as he playfully teased Willow.
"If you were any more girly," Walter said, twirling a worm on a stick and waving it in her face, "you’d start vomiting flowers."
Willow squealed, laughter bubbling up as she swatted at him in mock indignation. “This is why our parents never let you out!” she shot back, her voice a blend of exasperation and amusement. Calbert moved a hand toward her, as though to shield her from the worm. “Honestly, Walter, some of us prefer not to be pelted with wildlife.”
Walter grinned mischievously and turned to Calbert, offering the worm with a cheeky flourish. "Care to meet Gerald, Bert? He’s very well-behaved, I promise."
Calbert’s expression soured, his lips curling in distaste as he swatted Walter’s hand away, though Charlotte noticed the faintest twitch of amusement at the corners of his mouth. Walter shifted his attention to Gideon.
"Here, Giddy! Meet Gerald the Worm," Walter teased, thrusting the worm toward him with a laugh.
Gideon, with a dramatic roll of his eyes, caught the worm and played along with a wide grin. “Oh, Gerald’s mine now. I think I’ll marry him.” He winked, holding the worm as if it were a priceless treasure.
Walter raised an eyebrow, his grin widening as he leaned forward, eyes gleaming with mischief. "No, don’t you dare marry that worm, Giddy! He’s too good for you!"
Gideon, never one to miss a beat, clutched the worm close to his chest with a mock gasp. "How could you say that, Walter? Gerald and I are in love! We’re eloping at dawn, and there's nothing you can do about it!"
Calbert, shaking his head, muttered under his breath, “You two act like children.”
Walter, quick on his feet, stood up with a theatrical flair, wagging a finger at his best friend. "You’ll have to pry him out of my cold, dead hands, Giddy. Gerald deserves better! You’d just tie him down with all your gods. damn. bullshit." He was chaotically sneering at the end by the end of his statement.
Willow, stifling giggles behind her hand, couldn’t resist joining the fray. She dramatically clasped her hands together as if in prayer, her eyes wide with mock desperation. "Please, Giddy, I’m begging you. Make me your maid of honor!"
Walter, aghast, spun on his heel and turned his accusatory finger toward his twin, his jaw-dropping in exaggerated betrayal. "Traitor!" he cried, his voice loud enough to startle the birds in the trees. "My own twin! How could you do this to me, Willow? My flesh and blood! How will I ever recover from this vile betrayal?"
He placed his hand over his heart as if mortally wounded, staggering back with a melodramatic sigh, and then shot a glare at Gideon. "This is all your fault, Giddy. You’ve corrupted my sister!"
At that moment, Laurent Petit, finally lifting his gaze from his reading, furrowed his brow and hissed, "For Primitus's sake, will you shut up? You're attracting the attention of everyone! Even Prince Edin is staring."
Undeterred, Walter lunged forward, snatching the worm from Gideon’s hand. "Gimme that worm!"
Before anyone could say another word, Walter’s eyes landed on a group of girls giggling and whispering nearby, clearly watching the spectacle. Without missing a beat, Walter flashed them a charming grin and waved flirtatiously despite the worm in his hand. "Ladies, don’t worry—there’s enough of me to go around." He winked, causing the girls to erupt into even more giggles.He turned back to the table. Calbert and Laurent looked incredibly confused, meanwhile, Gideon and Willow remained amused. "What can I say? They love me."
Without missing a beat, Gideon shot up from his seat, flinging his arm out dramatically. "Back off, ladies!" he hollered in mock possessiveness. "He's mine!"
Then suddenly, everything changed again. Charlotte blinked, finding herself back in the present. Lorenzo sat nearby in his pink suit, and the warmth of Cassius's arm around her waist returned, grounding her. Her gaze found Callum's piercing blue eyes once more
I'm never going to get used to these sudden shifts in reality, she thought to herself. her brows knitting in thought. Even if it was rather amazing to see everyone so young... She glanced down at the drink in her hand, her fingers lightly brushing the glass. If I was shown that for a reason, it’s beyond me. Still… it did bring some comfort.
Charlotte cleared her throat as she awkwardly realized she must have spent a good amount of time spacing out. She quickly raised her glass, hoping to smooth over the strange moment. "Right! A toast!" she exclaimed, her voice filled with a forced brightness. Her gaze flickered to those around her as she offered them a wide, warm smile.
"To wonderful company and a long life of prosperity for Lord Drake Edwards!" she declared, raising her glass high.
In her effort to quickly move past it all, she lifted the drink to her lips and began to sip. Caught up in her nerves and racing thoughts, she realized a moment too late that she had downed the entire glass in one go, gulping away. Eyes widening slightly, she lowered the empty glass and stared into it sheepishly.
Location:Sorian Beach Time: Morning Mentions:@Apex Sunburn Sada Kurau
Seraphina Duval stood at the edge of the dock, her keen brown eyes narrowing as they focused on a foreign ship. There had been a look about them she had seen thus far—undeniably from distant lands. A calculating smile crept across her lips as she considered the implications.
Beside her, a few lackeys lingered, their expressions a mix of anxiety and anticipation as they awaited her instructions.
“ We need to test their capabilities and, more importantly, their weaknesses.”
She paced slowly along the wooden planks, her heels clicking against the surface. “Word from Yola is that their trade has been thriving with pirates not succeeding lately, especially with the recent rise in demand for ‘Harvest of the Sea.’ If we allow their operations to succeed unchecked, they could easily become our competitors, threatening the very foundation of our drug empire.”
Marvin, another lackey, chimed in, “What does this have to do with that ship?”
“From what we've gathered, it seems they've taken pirates captive before, which leads me to believe they’re pirate hunters. Possibly capable ones at that, and they’ve been in Sorian for days now. That alone makes them worth watching.” Seraphina's her gaze fixed on the ship. “However, we still know far too little about them. And that is a vulnerability I won’t tolerate.”
She paused, her eyes narrowing as a plan formed in her mind. “But fortunately, I have someone in mind for this task.” A cold smile tugged at her lips. “A spy—a disposable asset who’s already slated for death. She’s resourceful, sly, and has proven herself useful before. I'll send her to sneak on, gather what intel she can. If she succeeds, we'll know what we’re dealing with. If she fails...” Seraphina shrugged with casual indifference. “Then, we’ll escalate. A mage can be sent to slip through their defenses and see what they’re hiding.”
The tension was palpable as her lackeys exchanged wary glances. It was always a question of who was next to be sent on a suicide mission. “In addition to this, we must leverage our connections with the local pirates. They have been loyal allies to the Black Rose, and their expertise in these waters is invaluable. By engaging with them, we can orchestrate strikes against shipments of ‘Harvest of the Sea’ coming from Yola.”
“And what if they turn on us?” He asked, his brow furrowed.
“They won’t,” Seraphina replied firmly. “Their survival is intertwined with ours. We provide them with opportunities they can't resist, and in return, they’ll help us keep our rivals at bay. If we disrupt Yola’s trade routes, we’ll not only diminish their profits but also send a clear message to any other would-be competitors.”
She looked out at the port, the bustling activity reflecting her ambition. “Yola is a smuggling capital at this point. If we can weaken their hold on the drug trade, we will maintain our dominance over the market.”
With her final words, Seraphina turned her gaze back to her lackeys, her eyes blazing with determination. “I want to know everything about those on that ship. Their capabilities, their intentions, and how they plan to position themselves against us. Failure is not an option, and neither is complacency.”
Calbert could feel the slow burn of anger intensifying as Lorenzo’s words reverberated in his mind. His hands gripped the armrests of his chair so tightly that his knuckles turned white.
What stung the most was Lorenzo's audacity to bring up the one thing Calbert had no control over—his lack of time with Cassius. Since when did Lorenzo dare to speak back to him, let alone in front of the likes of the Duke of Soralia? To point out, so publicly, that Calbert had been separated from his son for most of his life, as though that diminished their bond? It did not matter if he had been apart from Cassius for fifty years, he'd love him just as fiercely as he did now. It made Calbert seethe that Lorenzo so boldly had drawn attention to that wound in front of everyone, to question Calbert’s role in his son’s life... It was an attack on his pride, his authority, and everything he had worked to build. And for that, Lorenzo would pay.
But it could wait. Calbert was not a man driven by impulse. His ambitions ran deeper than that.
As Lorenzo and Charlotte retreated, Calbert’s eyes flicked to Cassius. As his son moved his arm around the girl, the very sight of it churned his stomach. Charlotte Vikena, a criminal by Calbert’s estimation, had no place near his son. And yet, Cassius was putting an arm around her as if he had not cautioned him to avoid her within the last week. And it was certainly not the first time. He had not missed that little dance at the ball where he watched the criminal bury her face into her son's chest.
Cassius wasn’t just being careless, he was doing this to spite him.
The realization only stoked Calbert’s anger further. Cassius was defying him, deliberately ignoring his warnings as though testing the limits of his father’s control. Before he could react to the scene, Prince Callum’s voice broke through. Calbert’s eyes flicked to Callum, his expression unchanging, though the slightest twitch of his jaw betrayed the simmering irritation beneath the surface. His lips curled into a thin, polite smile as his mind refocused. As directed, Calbert remained silent and redirected his attention back to Cassius. For a moment, it seemed Lorenzo was actually unhappy as well with the situation given his facial expression and Cassius had reacted with seeming indifference. His son had put his arm back around Charlotte as they had sat down at the table. It seemed Cassius was going to continue the temper tantrum then.
Calbert’s attention snapped to Victoria as her words. He could feel the familiar burn of irritation rising once again, but he kept his expression calm, his features set in a neutral mask. "Indeed, my son has a flair for the dramatic," he replied smoothly, his voice carrying none of the tension that lurked just beneath. "Though I must confess, Cassius’s current…attachment is less a matter of his own choice and more an act of rebellion." He paused, allowing his gaze to linger on Cassius and Charlotte, his eyes darkening slightly as his true feelings on the matter simmered below the surface.
"I cautioned him recently quite strongly to stay clear of Lady Vikena." His tone remained calm, though there was a deliberate edge to it. "It seems, however, that my son is keen on making his own decisions—if only to spite me. Charlotte—" He broke off, a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips, though it was devoid of warmth. "Let’s just say, I’ve made my stance quite clear regarding her." Calbert had noticed that Victoria's sly smile had deepened, clearly enjoying the revelation. "He'll be done using her when his tantrum ends." He paused as he noticing Prince Wulfric approaching.
“Good morning,” came the prince's greeting. “Duchess Edwards, I greatly appreciate the obvious care with which you organized this event. The splendid arrangements, strategic placement, and delicate balance are all the hallmarks of your touch.”
Victoria’s eyes had sparkled with delight, her earlier smugness replaced with the warmth of a noblewoman receiving such praise. She extended her hand, which Wulfric took gently, kissing the air above her knuckles.
Calbert stood, offering a deep nod to the prince, his demeanor composed but respectful.
"Your Highness," he greeted smoothly, a smile playing at the corners of his lips. "It is always a pleasure to be in your company, and as ever, I admire your keen eye for the finer details. You honor us with your presence." His voice carried the practiced elegance of a man who knew the importance of every interaction.
As the pleasantries hung in the air, Calbert's gaze shifted, and he let it travel across the scene in front of him. His eyes landed on Cassius, arm still around Charlotte, and a flicker of displeasure crossed his face. From Cassius, his attention drifted to Charlotte, then to Ryn, and finally to Olivia, where it lingered.
His gaze narrowed slightly as he studied Olivia, the wheels of his mind turning.
Everything I want will come into place. And you'll see just why you should always listen to your father, Cassius.
Calbert felt the familiar shift in the air—the transition from the city above to the cold, quiet depths below. His polished shoes clicked softly against the worn stone steps as he made his way down, the faint echo of his footsteps filling the narrow passage. The cold dampness of the tunnels immediately wrapped around him, but he barely noticed. His mind was consumed with thoughts of vengeance.
The tunnel walls had a damp sheen from the underground moisture. A torch flickered as Calbert's hand, its light reflecting in the cold glint of his eyes. He walked with purpose, his long coat brushing against the stone as he moved swiftly through the winding pathways, retracing a route he had come to know well.
The air grew colder, and the faint, distant sound of dripping water echoed off the walls. The walls were lined with ancient glyphs, and Calbert’s eyes skimmed them with disinterest—he knew their power, but tonight, they were irrelevant. His thoughts were elsewhere.
As he walked deeper into the network, the atmosphere felt heavier here, as if the very walls whispered warnings of what was ahead. Finally, he reached the large underground chamber that served as the last stop before the mansion’s entrance. The chamber was dimly lit by lanterns casting long shadows across the walls, but Calbert’s eyes focused on the ornate door ahead. It stood at the far end of the room, embedded into the stone like a secret waiting to be revealed.
The Black Rose’s symbol was etched into the surface of the door, and as Calbert reached into his coat to retrieve a pendant. His fingers closed around the it, and as soon as it came into contact with the door, the magic activated.
The door shimmered briefly before swinging open with a soft creak, revealing the darkened interior of the Black Rose mansion. Calbert stepped through without hesitation, the tension in his posture only growing.
He had come with a purpose—to see those who had crossed him and his family suffer.
The tunnel sealed behind him with a quiet hiss, leaving only darkness and silence in its wake and Calbert followed the familiar route to Marek's office. Instead of knocking, he simply barged through the huge wooden doors. The faint scent of burning mingled with the musty aroma of ancient tomes and parchment, filling the air with an oppressive atmosphere as he stepped into the room.
Shelves lined the walls, crammed with thick, leather-bound books that bore no titles, their spines etched with cryptic symbols. A few ancient scrolls, crumbling with age, were carefully placed in glass cases. Skulls of various sizes—human and otherwise—adorned the shelves, their empty eye sockets gazing out into the room, silently watching.
The large mahogany desk at the center of the room was the focal point, immaculate and orderly except for a few scattered documents, and a single candle flickering near the edge. Behind the desk, Marek sat in a tall, high-backed leather chair, his hands folded and his gaze fixated on Calbert.
"Count Damien," Marek greeted as he spun around in his chair to face him, his voice smooth as silk as he spoke."A late-night visit... I assume this isn't a social call?" The dim light cast heavy shadows across his face, accentuating the hard lines of his features. His dark, unruly hair framed an intense expression, his piercing eyes glinting.
Calbert stepped into the room, his jaw set as he approached Marek’s desk. "I need your help, Marek. There are people—criminals—who need to be reminded of their place." he began, his tone low but vibrating with restrained malice. "They've crossed me, my family, and I want them broken. Not arrested, not brought to justice. I want them to live in fear—unrelenting fear. I want them to dread every flicker of a shadow, every creak of a floorboard, every whisper in the dark. I want to drive them into the corners of their homes, terrified, trapped, curled up in terror, unable to even breathe without wondering what comes next."
Marek’s smile widened, a slow, predatory curve as he gestured for Calbert to sit. His voice dripped with sinister amusement as he spoke, the flickering candlelight casting deep shadows across his face. "Ah, revenge. Such a lovely thing. Tell me, Calbert, who are these individuals that have dared to cross the great Count Damien?"
"Kazumin Nagasa... A crazed psychopath with no emotions. He laughed in the face of a gun, and dared to stalk my innocent Crystal." Calbert's disgust was palpable. "And a blonde woman... unidentified, but I need that rectified. She had the audacity to attack my home, firing arrows at me while I was dealing with Nagasa. Then, as if that weren't enough, she had the gall to cast an invisibility spell to escape. I am certain the blonde woman is the one who tried to murder Violet." He paused, his gaze hardening as he continued, the intensity of his anger growing with each name.
"Next, I want Dr. John Williamson dealt with. If killing him isn’t an option, then silence him permanently. He saw Violet with that axe in her head before she was cursed. And finally, Roman Ravenwood... I know he's involved as well. He needs to be kept far, far away from my daughter."
Marek raised an eyebrow, amusement barely concealed. Calbert watched Marek intently, awaiting acknowledgment. "I trust you can handle it quietly." He said, his tone authoritative.
"Of course." He replied with sinister amusement. "Fear works best when it whispers through the shadows, doesn’t it? Rest assured, they will all be reminded of their place. Consider it done." He grinned devilishly, before adding, "But... there is something else you may want to know."
Calbert raised an eyebrow, glancing over his shoulder. "Go on."
Marek took a step closer, his voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper, relishing every word. "That blonde woman you spoke of... She’s casting more than just invisibility spells."
Calbert's eyes narrowed, his mind already racing to fill in the gaps. "What are you getting at?"
Marek’s grin widened, clearly enjoying the suspense. "She’s now parading around as someone else entirely. A red-haired girl. She calls herself Olivia."
Calbert’s breath hitched. "And how exactly do you know this?"
Marek grinned. "Kazumin and the girl did not go very far to find a hiding place... They went into the Vikena estate. "
"The guards searched the estate," he ground out, though his anger was palpable.
"Yes... but Lorenzo deterred them from going inside. They’ve been spending time with Charlotte. The stepdaughter," Marek added with a chilling smirk, his voice heavy with implication.
Everything clicked into place.
His fists slammed onto Marek's desk with a thunderous crack, his face contorted in rage.
"That girl—she’s harboring them... shielding these criminals! After everything!"
Charlotte was leading them, rallying against him, seeking vengeance. She was scheming, playing a far deeper game than he had anticipated.
"She’s behind all of this... They’re all working together against me." The revelation dripped with fury as he paced.
Marek leaned back, a smile playing on his lips as he watched Calbert unravel before him.
Calbert’s fury had only begun to take shape as he continued, his voice a dangerous growl. "It’s not just her... I want Count Fritz Hendrix and Lord Leo Smithwood included in this."
"They’ve been spending too much time with her. It’s no coincidence. They’re all part of this scheme. They’re working against me... against my family. They need to be reminded of their place." His tone was thick with venom, his paranoia evident. He leaned in toward Marek, his fists still pressing hard against the desk.
"Make them understand the price. I want them isolated, terrified. Count Fritz, Lord Leo... no one gets off easy. They’re in this just as much as Kazumin and the girl."
"As you wish, Count Damien," Marek replied, "Count Fritz Hendrix and Lord Leo will know the weight of your wrath. They, too, will learn to fear the shadows, to question every step they take. Their punishment will be as thorough as you desire."
Calbert nodded, his anger still simmering but satisfied with Marek’s assurances.
"Good. Make them suffer. Let them regret ever thinking they could cross me."
Marek leaned back in his chair as he studied Calbert’s furious demeanor. He allowed a moment of silence to pass, letting the weight of their conversation settle in the dimly lit room. Then, with a casual air, he leaned forward again, his fingers steepling beneath his chin.
"Tell me, Count Damien," Marek began, his voice smooth and almost curious, "Do you still have the globe?"
Calbert's eyes flicked toward Marek; his response was immediate. "Yes, I still have it."
Marek's grin widened. "Good..." he said, "I have a plan."
Time: 8am → 10am Location: Castle Corridors → Drawing Room Mention: @Helo Callum @SilverPaw Wulfric @CitrusArms Stratya @Inertia Auguste(Has given me NPC rights), @ReusableSword Roman King Edin strode through the corridors. The rising sun filtered through the windows, casting a warm glow that brushed against his skin and scattered light from the jewels in his crown. He had been on his daily morning mission to descend to the dining room for breakfast when the soft murmur of voices from within made him freeze. His gaze fixated on the nearby tea room.
It was Alibeth, speaking in her usual composed tone. Wulfric and Callum's voices followed. He could make out Anastasia’s light hair through the window of the door. But what infuriated him most was the voice he didn’t recognize—some random woman speaking in some accent from Gods knew where… As if she belonged there among his family!
The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end as anger began to bubble inside him. My family, meeting behind closed doors—without me… Again… Even inviting some unknown woman into our inner circle? It was as though they had willfully excluded him from whatever conversation was happening, whatever decisions were being made. And this hadn’t been the first time. Lately, Alibeth seemed to be habitually gathering their children to speak to them unsupervised.
His hand hovered near the door handle, but he stopped himself. No, he thought bitterly. I won’t go in there like some fool, begging for answers. Let them have their little meeting. Let them think they can scheme without me.
Edin clenched his jaw, muscles tightening as his mind raced. He had always known Alibeth was capable of things like this—behind that perfect wife facade, she was clever, too clever. And Wulfric, he had the same calculating mind, but it stung to think he might be conspiring with his mother. But this stranger… She was the final insult, her very presence a reminder that they thought they could do whatever they wanted without his say.
So this is how it’s going to be? His thoughts festered as he then marched down the hall.
He stormed into one of the drawing rooms down the corridor, slamming the door behind him. The loud echo reverberated through the castle, but no one dared come near him. Edin paced, running his fingers through his hair, seething with frustration.
They think they can have meetings without me, the King? he snarled to himself, his mind spinning with thoughts of betrayal. I’ll show them who holds the power in this family.
His hand reached for a decanter on a nearby side table. It wasn’t wine, not this time. He needed something harder. His fingers wrapped around the neck of the bottle, pouring himself a generous glass of brandy. He downed it in one go, the burn doing nothing to soothe the storm brewing within him.
What are they talking about in there? His thoughts twisted darkly. Is Wulfric telling Alibeth about Marek?
He set the glass down harder than intended. His heart raced with the thought. After their conversation at The Royal Curd, Edin had shared far more than perhaps he should have.
Did I trust him too much? The idea that Wulfric might be sharing that knowledge with Alibeth ate away at him. He poured another drink, slower this time, trying to quiet the paranoia that gnawed at him.
He sipped this one, pacing once more. "I should have kept it to myself," he muttered under his breath. But what was I supposed to do? Wulfric will step into my shoes one day. The Black Rose will put strings on him just as they had me.
He turned, expecting to find his own reflection in the ornate mirror hanging on the wall. But it wasn’t his reflection, not at first. A stern face framed by messy black hair stared back at him, eyes full of the same intensity that Edin had tried so hard to forget. His brow was always furrowed in displeasure and deep lines were etched into his forehead from years of scowling. His piercing blue eyes held no warmth, only the cold, calculating gaze of a man who demanded perfection. His thin lips, often pressed into a hard line, had rarely broken into a smile.
"Everything must be perfect, Edin. The Gods demand it. If we falter, if we slip, everything will be ripped from us. Do you understand?"
The glass in Edin's hand trembled. His throat felt tight as he stared at his father in the mirror, the weight suffocating him. "Perfect… It all has to be perfect," he muttered, feeling the familiar fear claw its way up his spine.
Wulfric has to understand, Edin thought, He has to know that everything depends on him. Not just the kingdom… our very lives. If we lose control, if we don't keep this image…We’ll lose everything.
The Black Rose had its claws deep in their family, and no matter how much power or control Edin thought he had, they were always there—pulling strings, watching, waiting. They couldn’t escape it. Not now. Not ever.
The image in the mirror shifted, his father’s face blending back into his own reflection. “...Wulfric will understand if I tell him the whole story. He has to… Right?”
His mind wandered back to a moment in his past. He had been around ten years old as he had stood trembling in a cold stone room. The floor beneath him felt like ice, but the real chill had come from his father’s gaze. King George sat in a high-backed chair, staring down at his son with the contempt reserved for a dog that had soiled the floor.
"You think crying will fix this?" George’s voice was sharp, each word sinking into Edin’s skin like a knife. "You disappoint me. You are weak. Pathetic."
Edin’s tears stung his eyes, but he dared not let them fall. George hated tears; he saw them as the ultimate sign of weakness. "I—I tried, father," young Edin stammered.
CRACK!
The sound of his hand slapping the boy’s face echoed in the room. The boy recoiled, the fear overwhelming him, but he remained frozen in place, terrified of moving, terrified of what might happen next.
"Trying isn’t enough," George spat, standing and towering over his son. "In this world, in this family, you succeed or you die. Understand?"
Edin nodded frantically, but it wasn’t enough. George sneered and grabbed his son by the collar, lifting him off the ground with one hand. His strength was monstrous, and Edin felt utterly powerless, like a ragdoll in his father’s grasp.
"You are nothing without me. Do you hear me? Nothing! If you fail again, I’ll show you pain you couldn’t even dream of existing." George whispered, his voice lowering to a menacing growl. "I will strip away everything you are, everything you could have been, and I will make sure you wish you were never born."
George slammed him back down, the boy crumpling at his feet, gasping for breath. He didn't cry. He couldn’t.
"Clean yourself up. Tomorrow, you’ll do that speech again, and this time, you won’t fail. Or so help me, Edin, I will break you."
The memory faded from Edin’s mind as he stared into the mirror.
You are nothing without me.
"Wulfric has to be perfect," he said darkly. "Just like I had to be. If he fails… if he doesn’t understand…" His voice trailed off as he saw the image of George once more in the mirror, mocking him, always there, always watching.
Our family will lose everything.
As the minutes stretched into an hour, Edin’s paranoia grew. His head buzzed, his body swaying. Every shadow in the room seemed to twist into George’s figure, looming over him, silently judging him.
Then the door creaked open, pulling Edin out of his thoughts. He turned his bloodshot eyes to see Auguste standing in the doorway.
“Father?” Auguste began cautiously. “Is everything alright? I heard the door slam.”
Edin’s jaw tightened at the sight of him, a sudden surge of anger boiling to the surface. He’s always so soft, Edin thought bitterly. Just like George said I was. Always so kind… too kind.His hand clenched into a fist. That’s what makes him weak.
“Come here, Auguste,” Edin commanded, his voice sharper than intended. He poured another glass of brandy and gestured for his son to sit.
Auguste hesitated but obeyed, sitting across from his father with a wary expression.
Edin stared at him, the alcohol fueling the fire in his veins. He could see George’s sneering face in his mind, could hear his father’s cruel words echoing through the years. If you don’t fix him now, he’ll be worthless. Just like you were…
“You think being soft is going to get you anywhere, Auguste?” Edin spat suddenly. “You think this kingdom will respect a prince who spends all his time doting on his sister and letting random people eat from our kitchen?”
Auguste’s eyes widened, taken aback by the sudden aggression. “Father, I—”
CRACK!
The sound wasn’t real, but Edin felt the ghost of his own father’s hand echoing in his mind as if he were back in that cold room all over again.
“I don’t care about your excuses!” Edin snarled, standing abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. “Do you know what it takes to be a Danrose? Do you understand the weight on your shoulders?”
Auguste stood as well, frowning deeply. “Of course I do, Father. I’ve trained my whole life—”
“Training isn’t enough!” Edin roared. His hand shot out, grabbing Auguste by the collar just as George had done to him so many times before. “You succeed, or you die. You hear me?”
Auguste’s eyes flashed, but he didn’t resist. He knew better than to fight back when his father was like this.
“If you fail… If you even think about failing… I will break you.” His voice dropped to a low growl. He subsequently released Auguste, shoving him back slightly, who stumbled but kept his balance.
Edin turned away, unable to face the look in his son’s eyes. “Leave,” he muttered, his voice hoarse. “Just… leave.”
Auguste hesitated for a moment, but then he turned and left without another word, the door swinging behind him.
Perfect… It all has to be perfect…
“Your Majesty,” A voice cut through the silence. Edin raised his gaze to find one of his three new advisors standing in the doorway. “I’ve come to inform you that we’ve scheduled the royal decree regarding the Varian guests for this afternoon. As per your orders… the Varian attendees of Lord Ravenwood's ceremony will be mandated to attend the upcoming banquet and then be questioned afterward one by one.”
Edin’s head lifted slowly, his gaze focusing on the advisor with bleary eyes. The memory of his conversation with Wulfric came rushing back along with the conversation he had with his new advisors earlier this morning.
“Good,” he pushed himself up from the chair, steadying himself against the armrest as the room tilted slightly.
The advisor hesitated for a moment, concern evident on his face. "Your Majesty, Lord Roman Ravenwood is a noble from Varian," he began carefully. "Direct consequences against a noble of his standing, particularly without a diplomatic discussion, may provoke a response from their royal court. Given the precarious nature of our relations with Varian, perhaps... it would be wise to proceed with more caution. The Varians are already be spinning the incident in their favor. Any direct action might escalate tensions further."
Edin’s eyes narrowed, irritation rising at the thought of having to tread carefully with someone who had assaulted his guards. His fingers tapped rhythmically against the arm of his chair as he considered the advisor’s words. “Then what do you suggest, hmm? Let him off without punishment?” he growled lowly, “We cannot afford to appear weak.”
The advisor cleared his throat, treading carefully. "Perhaps… a trial, Your Majesty. One where we can publicly hold Lord Ravenwood accountable for his actions without directly condemning him ourselves. It would give the Varians a chance to defend their nobleman, but it would also make clear that we demand justice."
“A trial…” Edin mused, leaning back in his chair, the idea slowly settling in. Wulfric had also mentioned the notion of a trial. “Yes… yes, that could work. We’ll hold a public trial for Boman, and even let the Varians have some say in it... Make it clear to the Varians that we demand justice for the attack on our guards. If they defend him, then let them. We’ll see how well they spin it when the facts are laid bare before the court.”
He stood abruptly, the alcohol in his system giving him a renewed burst of energy. “Prepare the necessary arrangements for the trial. We will not do it immediately as we need to gather evidence and witnesses. I want everything in place before we send word to the Varian court. Make sure Wulfric is involved and kept informed. Send word for him to receive after he’s done with the Edwards’ stupid birthday party that the Varians will be spoken to tomorrow night after the banquet.”
The advisor nodded. “At once, Your Majesty.”
As the advisor bowed, Edin raised his hand. “I also require that you bring me as many beautiful women as possible. Now.”
Time: 10am Location: Nearby Sorian Temple Interaction: @Conscripts John
In the shadowed alleyway, a figure leaned casually against the stone wall, hidden from view. The rays of the sun painted the cobbled street, though none of that light reached the figure’s darkened corner. From there, he could observe the bustling street unnoticed, his presence silent. Only the gleam of his eyes hinted at the anticipation within.
The crowd moved about in its usual rhythm. Merchants called out their wares, the clatter of carriages filled the air, and citizens hurried about in search of breakfast. Among them walked a man that they had been tracking: Dr. John Williamson.
Alejandro grinned as a woman positioned herself ahead, leading a group after her. Her voice was lively as she demonstrated a bottle of perfume to a few passing ladies. She held the bottle aloft as any other perfume seller would, but there was something almost too casual about the way she moved, too deliberate in her actions.
Luckily, as far as Alejandro could tell, John had a destination in mind, and might not have picked up on such a thing. Just as he passed the woman, a fine mist sprayed out—not toward the women she was demonstrating for—but directly into John's face.
“Oh! Oh, I’m so sorry, sir!” the woman exclaimed, her voice flustered, her eyes wide with feigned shock. “I didn’t mean to—oh no, the bottle! I must’ve aimed it wrong!” She fluttered about, apologizing profusely. The scent was strong and dreadfully overwhelming.
Back in the alley, Alejandro allowed a small, satisfied smile to curve his lips. From across the street, a second figure appeared, moving silently to join him in the darkness. “What was the point of that?” the second man asked. Alejandro's eyes gleamed with dark amusement as he kept his gaze fixated on Dr. Williamson. “Patience,” came a quiet reply. “The good doctor is about to give us a very enlightening performance.”
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