SilverPaw

Into the Tangle: A Fantasy RP

I'm not that fussed. Either way, I'd like to see the CS and/or OOC thread for this.

Into the Tangle: A Fantasy RP

Mm, the mage guy was my last pick but I could run him if I find a FC I vibe with

Into the Tangle: A Fantasy RP

@SilverPaw I probably could have used a better tag there. It’s not literally tabletop, just that the RP is heavily inspired by old school RPG board games from the 80s and 90s. Think like Shadowlord!, Jumanji, or Cataan. The board game part is just a setup for the fantasy element later.

@RisingRobin

Makes sense. Will you play as one of the heroes or just do the gm/npcs/narrative part?

Into the Tangle: A Fantasy RP

Something simple might do the trick for me too. Are you looking for weekly posts or more freauent? What system will you use? I haven't done much tabletop tbh.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

	Attire: Party fit (one brooch only) Date and Time: FLASHBACK: Sola 25th, Early Afternoon Location: His office Mention(s): @Rodiak Lord Monet Interaction(s):

Wulfric stretched, filed the agents’ documents in a secure location, relocated to a couch, and ordered some tea. After it was brought in, and he begun to sip on it slowly, he called out, “You may join me, Jackal.”

The sliding doors leading to his reading nook opened, and a servant walked out. Well, he was disguised as a servant, but even the prince, who knew he wasn’t quite that, couldn’t discern anything that gave him away. Jackal had a light brown complexion, warm brown eyes, short trimmed black hair, an aquiline nose, and an affable demeanour. He had the remarkable skill to make only so much of an impression on a person that they noticed him as an expected part of any given environment, and promptly forget about him.

“Before we move onto your report, how were they?” Wulfric asked, curious of Jackal’s opinions on the new agents.

“Oh, that Thorne lady noticed me for sure. The others? They were degrees of suspicious,” he waved a hand in a so-so motion. “You’ve got some oddballs, Your Highness, but they’re professionals, that much I could tell. But, hmm,” the man hedged, and the prince motioned for him to go on. “If there’s really magic involved,” Jackal tapped his chin. “Might need folk trained in that, too, Prince.”

“Don’t I know it,” he sighed. With a shake of his head, he moved onto the next topic. “You have the photographs?”

Jackal smiled, crossed the room in a few steps, and carefully deposited an envelope on the coffee table. Having handed that over, he moved away, standing at attention like any other servant would have done.

Opening the envelope revealed a day’s worth of work: dozens of photographs of mundane happenings involving Lord Monet, from the moment he stepped a foot out of bed to the moment he returned to rest for the night. A few to confirm he had slept throughout the night, even.

On the 24th of Sola, Monet started his day with breakfast at the guest house. He met with the Duchess Lesdeman, and was with her for several hours – not because of anything titillating, though. Business only. Afterwards, he went out and about with an old friend, and the two dined together. Next, he had dealings at the bank, where he met with Duchess Lesdeman yet again. Parting ways with her, he wrapped up his evening with a visit at the brothels, where he remained well into the night.

Leafing through the pictures, Wulfric began constructing a picture of the man Lord Monet was. His frequent dealings with Duchess Lesdeman were unlikely to be related only to the marriage offer for Zarai. He and the Duchess must have deeper connections. The lord had no compunction about visiting the brothels, either; he hadn’t taken any precaution to hide his activity. A sleazy, unscrupulous man, he was sure, even if he had no concrete proof for the latter.

“Continue observing him. See if you can position yourself within eavesdropping distance. I want something incriminating, the worse the better. If he doesn’t show the appropriate initiative, feel free to lure him in with appropriate bait.” Jackal gave a single nod, and bowed with a sly smile. Before leaving, he left Wulfric with an irritating piece of news. Alexander Deacon had been hired by Edin as his temporary advisor. With a long sigh, Wulfric thanked the man, and dismissed him.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

	Attire: Party fit (one brooch only) Date and Time: FLASHBACK: Sola 25th, Early Afternoon Location: His office Mention(s): @princess Anastasia Interaction(s):

His next meeting started off much more normally. A tall blonde man bearing a business suit and case knocked, entered, bowed once, and greeted him with a smile. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Your Highness,” he spoke with smooth confidence.

“Welcome…Mister De Fraud,” Wulfric greeted the agent with his chosen name. “On the one hand, I appreciate the humour behind your alias, but on the other, is it not too on the nose?” he questioned mildly.

“It’s pronounced as De Froy,” the man flashed a charming grin. “But to allay Your Highness’s worry, I have plenty of names and disguises I can use when approaching any given target,” he assured.

Wulfric hummed. “Your resume is admirable. Extensive enough that I would be comfortable employing just you were this not a 24/7 job. As it is, I have hired another agent…”

The slightest whisper of wind tickled his neck. Wulfric turned in his seat, only to notice his balcony doors had been opened, and a woman stood right at his back. He blinked, muscles tensing before he forced them to relax, the only signs of his surprise. “Miss Thorne. An…intriguing way to greet your employer.”

So much for ‘normal’.

“Good day, Your Highness,” she spoke softly, and bowed in the Kimoonese fashion. She was tall for a lady, had her black hair pinned up in a bun, and wore the sort of dress he’d expect from an entertainer.

The prince gestured to a sofa. “Both of you, sit, and let us proceed to business.” When his gaze fell on the male spy after his brief talk with Miss Thorne, De Fraud appeared entirely different. His hair was brown, shaggier, and longer; a wig, surely, but he wouldn’t have guessed had he not known there had been a change. His suit had been replaced by casual attire reminiscent of a school teacher. He wore glasses, had a cheaper wristwatch, worn shoes, a pen and notebook sticking out of his coat pocket, and the suitcase had been – Wulfric assumed – hidden within a stack of papers he carried underneath one arm. His demeanour was disparate too. He was more nervous, awkward, and seemed out of place.

“Impressive, truly,” Wulfric murmured.

“Ah-hh, thank you kindly, Prince Wulfric,” he spoke with an authentic Florentin accent now when previously, he had none.

The prince chuckled. “Well, then, let us start.” Once the two were sitting down, he did so. “Miss Thorne, you specialize in assassination, but I read you have accomplished protection missions before. Can you capture your targets rather than kill?”

The woman nodded. “I can restrain myself.”

“Good. I’d prefer to have enemies questioned before they’re disposed of, if possible. Your main mission will be to follow Anastasia, see what she gets up to, and spy on any suspicious associates of her. You are also serving as additional protection for her. I will eventually hire more agents, and switch you out if I need something else taken care of. You do not mind attending to auxiliary tasks, do you?”

They both agreed that was perfectly acceptable. Wulfric went into the details of their assignment, then sent them off. De Fraud had changed into his initial guise, and Thorne had, once again, departed through the balcony.

Recollections: Primal Sinister

Maybe I'll finally join one of these.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

	Attire: Party fit (one brooch only) Date and Time: FLASHBACK: Sola 25th, Early Afternoon Location: His office Mention(s): @Helo Callum Interaction(s):

The meeting with Shahzade Farim concluded, Wulfric continued reviewing, approving, responding to, and filing documents until his next appointment.

He became so absorbed in his work that the knock, when it finally came, barely registered even as he stated, “Enter,” by habit. The doors opened softly, closed with a click just as gentle, and by the time he looked up, his guest was fully prostrated by the entrance, toes nearly touching the doorstep.

“Your Royal Highness, Prince Wulfric,” the man breathed his greeting with all the reverence of a prayer. Since he was on all fours, all that could be discerned was his shorter than average stature, a bony frame, straight black hair, and an unassuming gray tunic.

“You may rise.” His guest obeyed, though he did not stand up. Instead, he straightened his spine, folded his hands on his lap, and remained kneeling. His face was as thin as his body, his features delicate, fine black strands curtaining his cheeks. The flat green of his gaze was averted respectfully towards the ground.

“What do I call you, Agent…?” He was one of the people who’d been able to respond to his and Morrigan’s call on the shortest notice, but his name hadn’t been listed in his portfolio. Only his photograph accompanied by a bullet-point list of notable skills, and a summary of recent accomplishments.

“Your Royal Highness would honour me with any name.” Now that his words were above a pious whisper, the man’s timbre was a reserved baritone.

“Do you not have one?”

“My handlers use NI-311. Few missions require me to have an identity, Your Highness,” he explained tonelessly.

Just what kind of an organization did he hail from that an identity was considered superfluous? That a name wasn’t a basic right? He had thought his guest’s behaviour extraordinarily subordinate, but this…this was a hallmark of slavery. Wulfric’s lips thinned.

If the man’s agency was akin to his most despised form of criminal enterprise, it would have to be destroyed.

The agent’s shoulders tensed as if sensing the prince’s displeasure and assuming he was the cause. Wulfric smoothed out his expression and reigned in the spike of bloodlust.

“Henceforth, you will be known as Nicholas,” he followed up as if nothing of concern had happened.

‘Nicholas’ gasped, twitched, head jerking. He clasped his hands in front of him. “Oh, Your Royal Highness, what an extraordinary gift! My eternal thanks to the holy benevolence of the Divine Child. I am unworthy of Your Highness’s notice, but I will cherish Your graciousness always…” A flush had overtaken him, and he appeared feverish. He bowed at the waist as he continued chanting unintelligibly. After a lengthy moment of silence – or perhaps, of prayer – he seemed to remember the prince’s first statement, and straightened back up into his kneeling posture.

“You are welcome,” Wulfric retorted dryly. What else was he to make of it, really?

Having almost regained his equilibrium, Nicholas choked, and would have snapped his eyes up if his training hadn’t taken over, forcing him to abort the movement. In the end, he cringed awkwardly, wringing his hands before he smoothed them out. “F-forgive me,” he hung his head even lower.

Wulfric withheld a sigh.

Patience.

“You have done nothing to upset me, nor have you committed any wrongs or sins. There is nothing to forgive. But if you still want it, then you have it: I forgive you.” Nicholas swallowed. Were those tears gathering at the corners of his eyes? “I wouldn’t mind even if you looked at me,” Wulfric reassured. Given how the agent froze, breath stuttering then stopping for a moment, that was too much. “Perhaps another time, then.” The prince changed topics. “Let us discuss your mission now, Nicholas.”

Nicholas nodded meekly.

Wulfric proceeded to explain that the agent was to trail after, spy on, and protect Callum from a distance. He revealed the pertinent details, including his youngest brother’s demeanour, the involvement of the Black Rose, and the possibility he’d be faced with magic.

“Heresy? By the Gods,” Nicholas clutched at his chest, wide-eyed.

“Indeed,” Wulfric drawled. “You’d best get comfortable with the idea,” he tapped a finger on the table. “If someone makes an attempt on Callum’s life, capture is preferable. If trying to do so would endanger him or you, killing will be fine. If anyone discovers you, run. There is a reason you have backup. Any questions?” The spy’s head swayed left and right.

“Good…I will expect regular reports. Speaking of – when you are able, I would like a more thorough account on the workings of your organization.” Nicholas seemed puzzled but affirmed he would provide one. “You may leave.” The man reached for the doorknob while kneeling. “Please, stand up, and walk out.” It was the first order that gave the man some trouble. Trembling, he stood up, opened the doors with shaking fingers, and left only after performing another low bow as he excused himself.

---

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Nicholas

It took all in him not to collapse straight outside the Godly Emissary’s Haven. To think he would stand in a divine’s presence and remain alive…Nicholas grasped the fabric of his tunic, fingers clenched tight, knuckles white. A wide grin spread across his features despite the shivers racking his frame.

What a Blessed day it was!

Ooooh, it must have been when His Radiance had claimed him by granting him a name that he received His protection. Surely, his transgressions would have had him burnt to a crisp by now otherwise. To think he had dared, dared! To catch a glimpse of His visage. A hand, maybe? He wasn’t sure. It was like gazing up straight into the sun, a pure blinding light. It’d felt like his eyes were burning. He was glad they’d not boiled straight out of his head. He couldn’t serve if that happened. Lord Zivitas must have plans for him that were more important than his offences. Still, he’d better punish himself to show his repentance.

Nicholas nodded firmly. Having reached a segment of the hallway where no one was present, he opened a window, scaled up the wall, and continued his journey across the rooftops.

An hour or so later, a fellow agent found his prone figure at a secluded forest shrine. He received a kick to his uninjured flank, and stirred with a groan. The tiny campfire he’d created had been reduced to lazily burning embers. His knife, its edge blackened, lay where he’d dropped it. The scent of charred flesh permeated the air. Breathing heavily, he traced his ribs. The valleys between the bones bore two new scars he’d branded with his own hand. He had sweated profusely, and was quite damp. It was an unnoticed discomfort compared to the phantom lick of flames he could sense devouring his side. Every movement was a reminder of his new burns. Even so, he was at peace.

While he was picking himself up, his coworker crouched down. She was taller than him, her musculature better developed, her complexion darker. She wore her thick brown hair in a braid, frowning down at him heavily.

‘Did you really have to do this right now?’ she signed to him. Her vocal cords had been severed as a child, before she’d been saved by their leaders. One side of her face bore damage from acid. It did not hinder the legibility of her facial expressions; she was clearly put out.

“I wouldn’t expect you to understand,” he grumbled as he stood up. “It’s proof of my faith,” he murmured.

‘I’d rather have proof of your common sense. Or sanity.’ He didn’t deign that with a response. She exhaled audibly. ‘C’mon. We’ve a prince to track down.’ That they could agree on.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

	Attire: Party fit (one brooch only) Date and Time: Sola 25th, Morning Location: The Edwards estate Mention(s): Drake Interaction(s): @Rodiak Nahir, @Helo Rohit, @Lava Alckon Farim

The Shehzadi was admirably inscrutable. Only the flicker of her gaze, the slightest pause here and there, and the calculation he could sense behind her actions betrayed her.

“If you wish to sample one, I shan’t stop you.” Lord Rohit hadn’t even hesitated, excusing himself from the table with a drink in hand. The Alidasht princess, on the other hand, was far more reserved. Having noticed how socially aware she was, he accompanied his words with a simple gesture. As if on a whim, he reached for one of the cocktails, and took a careful sip. The liquid was potent and sharp, its sting prickling him. Yet, it smoothly slid down his throat, coating his palate with its delicious taste. He could see why the guests had downed them with such reckless ease. “Whoever made this knew exactly what they were doing,” he commented, and set the drink back down. Now, if Nahir wished to indulge, she needn’t worry he would judge her too harshly for her curiosity.

He suspected the servants had created the concoctions, but if the Duchess didn’t notice, intervention wasn’t strictly necessary. Perhaps, this would only become known as a slightly wild birthday party, and that was that.

Wulfric smiled when Nahir agreed with his suggestion to relocate. “Indeed, she has handled this spectacle well.” Duchess Edwards’ challenge had been odd, but then, Captain Durmand and Duke Vikena heckling her had been strange in the first place. “This does mean that she has a better tolerance for alcohol than her own son,” he smirked. “I will not let Drake live down that one,” he chuckled.

Her assessment of the Duke Edwards was, once again, correct. “He is well practiced.” Nobles who lived in Caesonia, and especially in Sorian were quite familiar with the relationship between the two.

It was then that something floated in the air towards him, falling upon his plate. Wulfric blinked, eyeing the stray…was that hair? A bewildered look revealed an elderly woman gigglin nearby, but not the culprit, as it were. This was getting far too ridiculous. Thankfully, his conversation partner saved him the headache of contemplating the bizarre event with her next words. Nahir queried where he wished to go, and he was about to turn the question back on her when she quickly followed up with a location. Given her disposition so far, this was odd. He couldn’t determine the reason behind the change, however.

Nonetheless, she had accepted his proposition, so they could both spend a pleasanter, calmer time elsewhere. “The opera house is a most excellent suggestion, Shehzadi Nahir.” He stood up, positioning himself close enough that she could take him up on the subtle offer to escort her, yet far enough that she could instead choose to walk next to him without taking ahold of his arm.

“Shall we?” At her go-ahead, he led them on a preplanned path which just so happened to have them pass by his sister’s table. “A moment,” he told her. He stepped towards Farim, laid a single palm upon his shoulder, and leaned down to whisper in his ear. “I will expect you in my office at half past noon.” He gave the man a pleasant nod, but there was a hint of something far colder in his eyes as he did so. However, by the time he returned to Nahir, it was gone. He engaged the Shehzadi in light conversation, entertaining her as they hailed a carriage to the opera house. They enjoyed the performance in good company, then excused themselves to each other, as they both had other business to attend to.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Wulfric & Morrigan
Part I

FLASHBACK. Date and time: Sola 24th, morning. Following Wulfric's ruminations on his chat with Edin

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---

Wulfric was still traversing the space in his office, now merely pensive rather than resembling a caged and irritated tiger. He was deep in thought when there was a knock on his door followed by a prompt intrusion. “Morrigan,” he acknowledged her with a nod, stilling mid-step. “What brings you here?”

Morrigan floated across the room, her rosy cheeks rounded in a playful pout. “Since when do I need a reason to see my little wolf?” A subtle smell of lily of the valley and white musk swirled around Wulfric as Morrigan leaned in, planting a soft, wet kiss on his cheek. “We’ve hardly had a moment to catch up since the big ball. How’s the courting season treating you? Find anyone that strikes your fancy?”

Wulfric’s nose scrunched in reflexive disdain, but though he’d leaned his face away from the kiss, he held his cousin by the shoulders in a semi-hug. He patted her before releasing her. He didn’t bother protesting her treatment of him as a child; it had not worked whenever he had done so in the past, and it wouldn’t now. “That was only a few days ago,” he commented, but it was true much had happened since. “Take a seat if you like,” he told her. “Tea?” he inquired, to which she said yes.

He nodded, and with the press of an unobtrusive button, summoned a servant. Haynes, the slightly chubby ponytail and goatee bearing servant arrived rather quickly, and Wulfric placed an order of his cousin’s favoured tea.

“I have, but it was Shehzadi Mayet, who had to depart. I did like her spirit, even if she was a bit, well.” He took a seat only after Morrigan had. “I am curious about her sister Nahir.” It didn’t need to be said that at least half of the reason was to form a firmer alliance with Alidasht. “What have you been up to?” he raised an eyebrow at her.

Smiling an innocent smile, Morrigan said, “The usual,” and took a seat on the couch.

Her manicured fingers fluttered over the scattered documents on the table, daintily lifting corners and sliding papers apart to better peruse their contents. “Setting your sights on the Sultan’s daughters? What a splendid idea! Those people are absolutely salivating to expand their influence so it’ll be easy to arrange.” She plucked a page from the pile and brought it closer to her. “Of course, you’ll need to have a teensy-weensy chat with the Sultan himself first. Just to leave him with a better impression than your daddy did.”

“Naturally,” the prince agreed, used to taking care of Edin’s messes. It wasn’t as if doing so didn’t benefit him; leaving allies with an impression of the future king being so much more favourable was laughably simple. “You are aware I prefer to deal with my would-be targets personally, however?” he asked rhetorically.

“And I said it'll be easy, didn't I?”

“Have you familiarized yourself with Shehzadi Nahir then?”

“You know her type very well, my dear.”

“Her type is not the same as her,” Wulfric disagreed mildly.

Though, judging by her giggling, she was not talking about Nahir or “her type” in the way that Wulfric was imagining. Worse, she didn’t bother to correct him.

“There are always other factors to consider. Besides, who is to say that she and I would enjoy that about the other?”

“Ooh, what is this ‘that’ you’re not sure you’ll like about her?”

“She seems to be the type to enjoy playing games, so it is a question of whether we would be compatible in that respect, or bore each other,” a tiny twitch of a shoulder accompanied the explanation.

Morrigan made a sad face as she tutted. “Adelard, what happened to ‘her type is not the same as her’?”

Wulfric rolled his eyes. “I am saying I do not know her yet beyond my incredibly superficial assumptions of her. Which is why I mentioned becoming familiarized.”

“You could’ve just said that, sweetpea! But you chose not to. Pretend to have the moral high ground all you want, that ‘type’ ruffles your feathers well enough.” Morrigan tapped her chin. “It certainly doesn’t sound very promising…” His cousin suddenly stood up and perched right next to Wulfric. “Oh, well! I suppose it doesn’t really matter if you two like each other or not. You’ll both get what you want from the alliance.”

To her nitpicking, he merely answered with a, “We shall see.” However, he frowned at her sudden proximity. “I haven’t rebuked you for ruffling through my things, but you know I prefer my personal space unoccupied. Return to your seat, please, or at least detach yourself from my side.”

Wulfric’s disengagement from the conversation left Morrigan looking unimpressed, even disappointed. His poor performance in their verbal sparring seemed to be the only explanation for her next action. Rather than complying with his request, she defiantly pressed closer to him.

“My, oh, my. Since when did red herrings become your favorite animal?”

At that point, Haynes returned, bearing a tray of tea. Wulfric’s gaze pinned the usually nervy man, following his movements as he poured a cup for Morrigan. Despite the prince not requesting it, the man still made sure to check whether he’d happened to change his mind. Which he had not. “No, thank you. You may leave,” he kept watching him until he departed. For a moment longer, he stared at the closed door, apparently ruminating on something. Then, he returned his attention to Morrigan.

“If you’re that interested in him, you should invite him to stay.”

“I should invite a servant to join a familial conversation? I think not,” he shook his head. He paused, then reconsidered with three taps of a finger against his chin. “But a conversation in general? Perhaps in the future…”

A second passed before Morrigan called out, “Haynes! Come back in here, pup.”

Of course, the servant did not. Unimpressed, the prince took ahold of Morrigan by the waist, hoisted her across his shoulder, and promptly carried her out of his office where he set her down on the other side of the doors, laying both hands on her shoulders to lightly hold her in place. “If you are that interested in continuing our previous dull verbal spat, you need only ask. However, if you cannot honour my request, we are concluding this meeting.” He stared her down, studying her closely. “Do not think you can order around my servants, or try to contest my authority. If you believe you can get away with that, then perhaps you are the one who has grown too insolent and requires ‘discipline’, aren’t you?” After that pointed retort, he released her shoulders. “So, which will it be? Will you mind yourself so we can resume, or shall we try this again another time?”

Unshed tears glistened in violet eyes. “I see.” Morrigan breezed past Wulfric and retrieved the tea from the table. “Well, if that’s how matters stand, do be a dear and summon me when you remember the extent of my duties.”

Pausing at the study’s threshold, she turned slightly, “Your mother’s protection spells always had their limitations.”

There was another pause. “Do you know how many would-be assassins I’ve stopped, spies I’ve caught?”

She didn’t answer, she just left.

When Wulfric called for Haynes, he didn’t come.

Concerned both for his cousin and the wayward servant, the prince sought them urgently. He searched Morrigan’s usual hangouts by order of proximity, stopping any servants on the way to ask whether they had seen either of the people he was looking for. As expected, he had more luck when he found a pair of her guards patrolling.

“Good day,” he halted them with a brief greeting. “I am looking for Morrigan. If you know where she is, can you lead me to her?” There was absolutely no need for it, but he added an explanation, “I have upset her, so I wish to apologize. There is also a matter of importance I would like to discuss with her.”

The knights stared at Wulfric, stone-faced. At least the tongueless knight was. Bandages hid any expression of the swathed one’s face so it was impossible to tell. Both were quiet.

Slowly, the mummy knight extended a hand. The tongueless one sighed and surrendered a gold coin. “Follow us,” said the mummy knight.

They led Wulfric to the royal gardens. Morrigan and Haynes sat close together under the pergola. Sharing the tea Haynes had brought.

“Morrigan…” He hadn’t been entirely sure if his servant would have been with her, so he gave the man a brief look of surprise. “Haynes.” Not minding the others present, he gave Morrigan his full attention. “Cousin, may I speak with you? Please?”

Morrigan didn’t face Wulfric, instead she slid her arm around Haynes and leaned in closer to him. The servant twitched, but calmed himself with a resolute breath. “Is that not what you are doing right now?”

“If you prefer me to leave you alone, then I will do so.” At the corner of his periphery, he saw the tongueless knight slowly start to extend his hand out to the mummy knight.

“Is that really what you wanted to say to me? Because if it is, I’d like to continue tea time with Haynes here.” Her hand touched the man’s chin as she looked at him longingly. The man’s cheeks flushed lightly even as he tried to look anywhere but at her.

“It was not that, no. I want to apologize. I hurt you. I did not intend to do so, but I did.” He would have preferred to have ascertained if she was receptive to an apology, but they could both be stubborn when they wanted to be. “What I said to you - perhaps not those exact words, but certainly the sentiment behind them - can be applied to me, as well.” He began to walk across the vine shaded grounds, moving closer to Morrigan. She still refused to meet his gaze while Haynes seemed very unsure of what to do with himself. “Especially to me,” he stated. He was glad he had had some time to consider his words in advance, yet he still struggled how to convey all he wished.

“Given what I have recently learned, it strikes me as the height of irony that we make the pretense of ‘keeping order’, when what we do has no rhyme nor reason. It is because I am questioning myself that I lashed out at you, and I picked out one of the worst things to say to you. I am sorry.” Morrigan’s gaze remained on Haynes, her fingers tracing languid patterns across the fabric of his attire. Was it an attempt at seduction? Or perhaps it was merely a product of idle hands, a diversion to pass the time. And there was a third possibility: a pat-down, disguised beneath a veneer of coquetry.

Wulfric breathed in and out deeply, fully ready to outline in detail why he valued her, yet why he had begun to doubt how their family operated. “I do not know all that you have done for us, not even close. I expect I never will,” he started with something simple.

Morrigan turned away from Haynes to look at Wulfric, but she still clung to his manservant. “Go on,” she prompted.

“What I do know is that you have done your best to protect this family. Even when that protection did not extend to you,” he acknowledged solemnly.

“You have given over your body, mind, and soul to your task. You have done and experienced the kinds of things I wouldn’t wish on anyone. Certainly not on someone I love.” Even as he said it, he realized he had never before fully contemplated what Morrigan might have gone through. Because she had been such a constant in his life, had dwelled in the shadows since he could remember, he had never truly questioned what all she did and why. Some cousin he was.

“You have sacrificed…” he closed his eyes, and swayed his head, once to the left, and once to the right. “…Too much,” he concluded, locking gazes with her. This was the closest he would come to referencing his death without her bringing it up first.

“But do you know what I have appreciated the most?” he asked. “It wasn’t what you have done for our purported safety.” She visibly sighed and half her attention shifted back onto Haynes.

“Pup, your cup is empty! Why didn’t you tell me?” It was only as she filled Haynes cup with tea did Wulfric notice that Morrigan never touched hers.

“It was that you loved me and cherished me, even when I didn’t reciprocate.” When he was a child, when he had only the vaguest of notions that people cared for him, she had been one of the people who had persisted long enough for him to form a bond. Granted, given how they both were, it was an odd bond, but an existent one nonetheless.

“That you coddled me when I was weak, but showed me at least a hint of darker truths when I was ready.” A ghost of a smile formed. It wasn’t what most people would appreciate, or even deem appropriate for a child. However, he had glimpsed one aspect of human nature when she first taught him torture on the man who had assaulted him. That had been valuable in its own right.

“Because you permitted it, I gained my first friend – by choice.” Of course, she would have; he had been her son. But even so, Wulfric had treasured that friendship. “Because you welcomed me when I was certain I wouldn’t be – shouldn’t be.” Into their home.

“That you were there for me when I thought I might go mad.” He’d been 17, had once again inflicted violence on someone on instinct, had despaired over what he had done, told her that he didn’t want to be like this.

“It was when you took care of me, even when I did all I could to stop your meddling.” The sleepless nights when she found ever more novel and intricate ways to drug him to get him to bed.

“When you persisted, even after your loss.” A loss which had inevitably broken her. Morrigan’s countenance shifted at the words. The cheery airiness dissipated, leaving behind something concerningly quiet.

“Because to this day, you haven’t forsaken me.” He watched her closely. “So, I want to return that favour. Even when I am certain that you do some things which are really…truly…entirely unnecessary.”

There was a stretch of silence where Morrigan’s lips remained sealed. Just when he thought she wasn’t going to respond, she said, “I give it eighty-five points out of a hundred. It has its charms, but it could use a smidge of polishing.” Her hand patted the empty space beside her. “Sit.” Wulfric perched onto the bench beside her.

“Pup?” Morrigan cooed as she pressed her hand on Haynes’ chest. “Be a sweetheart and fetch us some more of that delightful tea, would you?” The servant left in a hurry. Wulfric gave him a brief glance, taking the opportunity to assess Morrigan’s knights as well. One knight followed Haynes while the other disappeared behind the garden bushes.

“Now then,” With Haynes gone, his cousin faced him. “Can you explain what you mean by ‘return the favor’? Use small words - so my poor little brain can understand.”

“Playing dumb doesn’t suit you,” he commented.

“Plenty of people would disagree with you.”

“Plenty of people are fools,” he snorted, then went on to answer her question.

“Simply put, I do not want to give up on you the way I have on him.” Him being his father. “I want to help you; I want you to help me.” He cocked his head. “Are you sickened by this world? By people? Have you given up on it all?” He circled a hand in an all-encompassing gesture. “Wouldn’t you, for once, like to see something different?”

Nothing in Morrigan’s demeanor obviously changed, yet Wulfric sensed the undercurrent of disdain at his offer to help her.

“Oh, honey,” she said with the affection of a mother listening to a child promising the impossible. “You’ve finally set your mind on dethroning daddy dearest, hmm? Bettie must be over the moon!”

“Oh, no, perish the thought,” he retorted flippantly. He sighed, sobering a tad. “It depends on him. If he is willing to cooperate...” he rolled a shoulder.

“So, how do you intend to ‘save’ me and ‘change’ the world?”

“Oh, so you can strive to protect, but if I do, that rubs you the wrong way?”

A finger pressed gently against his lips. “Adelard, ‘protecting’ and ‘helping’ are two very different things. It’s precious that you want to protect me and I wouldn’t say no to it. But help me? That, you cannot do. Not with all the power in the world.”

“True enough,” he admitted once she removed the finger. He didn’t know how he would go about saving her. “...Out of interest, how would you imagine being helped? Would you like to lead a different kind of life?” That was his best guess. That, or a world where Aiden was alive, but that truly was impossible.

“Unless you can wind back the clock and make sure none of us were ever born, there’s no point in talking about what ifs,” hair the color of rose gold cascaded over one shoulder as Morrigan tilted her head, “is there?”

“Of course the past cannot be changed.” It was an unexpectedly grim outlook, to believe there was no point if they couldn’t undo what had been done. “But the future?” He leaned closer, a quiet intensity brightening his irises even under the shade. “If you are so convinced we have committed such unforgivable sins, why not work to right those wrongs? Why not bring at least some good into the world? Create a kingdom where we don’t have to lose loved ones for power - or because of those who are in power?”

Again, there was a hint of disdain coming from her as she picked up the teacup, but he pressed on.

“To have a country held in check by the criminal underworld? Where our rule might as well be the same damn thing? Absurdity. Do you know what he said? That their ‘help’ is needed, and that it would be too dangerous to oppose them. Say, Morrigan, do you think it safe to be held hostage?”

“In most cases, I’d say yes: what’s the point of taking a hostage if you’re going to get rid of them so easily?” Morrigan said as if she spoke from experience - whether as victim, perpetrator, or perhaps both. “The only way to feel threatened is if there’s a good chance that ‘safety’ will be taken away. But how can that happen if there is no ‘safety’ to take?”

“There are enough cases where hostages are harmed during or after the fact. Besides, this is a case of a life-long country-wide hostage situation...How is that helpful or necessary? If there is no safety, where is that much vaunted protection?” A sigh escaped her lips as he seemed to miss the actual point. The teacup clinked as she set it back down.

“People march off to war, waving their shiny flags and singing pretty songs about peace, only to paint the earth crimson with each other’s blood.” She twirled a lock of hair around her finger. “And you, silly - you’ve done your fair share of terrible things. Her lilting tone carried a hint of reproach, soft as velvet yet sharp as a stiletto. “But tell me, how much good did those things really do? Was it truly as helpful or necessary as you’d like to believe?” She paused. “We could go round and round on this forever, couldn’t we?”

She arched her back in a leisurely stretch before arranging herself upon the bench with languid insouciance. “Seems to me, sweetie, what you’re really after is absolute power so nobody can take advantage of you. Then you can make your idyllic world, whatever that’s supposed to be.” Only his cousin could make the word “idyllic” sound like the filthiest word known to man, all the while speaking in a voice sweeter than sugar.

“There is no such thing as absolute power,” Wulfric denied. “If I only cared about myself, I would have killed him a decade ago, and to hell with it all.” He tilted his head back, gazing into the skies, obscured as they partially were by the overhead vine-bearing latticework. “I am not so optimistic that I would believe any idyllic state is achievable. There will always be suffering, strife, grief...Atrocities are an inevitable consequence of human existence.”

He turned back to her. “Should I take it all for granted, then? Should I accept that he had to die?” He wasn’t only referring to the person they had both lost, but it applied to Aiden too. “That it couldn’t be helped? That this is how it is, how it should be? That we must ally with Delronzo’s ilk? To what end? He raised both arms, shaking his head and shoulders, an expression of refusal and bafflement at once.

“My, my, my, you do go on so, don’t you? All those pretty words of yours, like butterflies flitting about. But Adelard, beneath all that flutter, you’re still singing the same old tune. You want absolute power. Total control. It’s not a question of whether such a thing exists - you can’t bear the thought of anyone else holding sway over this kingdom.”

Morrigan waved her hand dismissively. “Let’s not dress this up with fancy speeches. It’s plain as it is simple: you want the power to change things and there’s people in your way that you want to get rid of by any means you deem… what’s the word you used? Oh, yes. Necessary.”

“I suspected you had your little patricidal fantasies.” Her tone was as casual as if discussing the weather. “But don’t try to convince me - or yourself - that you stayed your hand because of altruism. No, you were waiting for just the right moment when it would serve you best.”

“The right moment? Is it now, was it years past, is it in the future, is it ever?” He wanted to kill Edin, yes, but if he thought it was better not to, he still wouldn’t. “He has his chances, does he not? As long as he is alive, he could change, he could recognize his folly,” he acknowledged bitterly. “Killing him is not the only option.”

Frustratingly, Morrigan had made several good points. “It is true, people do justify the most terrible actions with the grandest of causes. I have done the same in the past; I may do it in the future. I know I am no innocent,” he tossed his head to the side. “I used to believe it was all requisite, I may fall into the same trap again.” He exhaled sharply. “I told you, I am questioning myself. I do not know what is necessary.” He held her gaze. “However, I cannot find it in me to believe that allying with Black Rose is needed. Do you?” he asked pointedly. “Black Rose with its black markets, illicit drug peddling, ring fights, and who knows what else?” he paraphrased Edin with a heavy sneer.

“Nonsense, she said smiling. “I’m sure it’s not that hard to imagine what else.”

He stared off into the distance again, conflicted. “Maybe I will destroy more people than I could ever protect. I will aim to ensure otherwise, but I may fail. Even so, I consider it my duty to disentangle ourselves from the Black Rose and its ilk.” He directed a skewed smile at her. “Even if it ends with my death, and with someone else in charge.” Yes, he saw those two as conjoined, because she was right that it was difficult for him to imagine a feature where he didn’t end up as king if he lived.

“You’ve already set your heart on this little venture. So why fuss with all these pointless rhetorical questions? Just go on and do as you please with these people.” Morrigan plucked a fallen leaf from the fabric of her dress and blew it away. “We’ll see how it all unfolds.”

“Pointless? Then why do you do what you do? You seem convinced that everything you do is necessary. Or is it all the same as doing as you please? Who and what are you protecting? Why, when you claim we never should have been born?”

A warm hand patted his cheek. “Now you’re getting all scatterbrained and being very presumptuous. A Shehzadi might not find those qualities too endearing, my dear.” Her gaze flitted past Wulfric, alighting on something behind him. A smile bloomed on her lips. “Ooh, perfect! Place that right here, would you, pup?” Morrigan sat up straight, tapping the table with her finger.

“I am speaking with you, not with someone else. If you find me presumptuous, then feel free to correct me. I was inquiring after your beliefs and convictions, after all. Wulfric tilted his head to look at the servant when Morrigan did. Haynes had been gone during that whole conversation, accompanied by one of his cousin’s knights. From what he could see, the other man did not seem worse for wear. “I would not mind a cup of tea now,” he commented as he eyed the heavily laden tray. “But Morrigan, will you have any? You did not touch your cup before,” he arched an eyebrow at her. He looked down at her teacup to see that it was empty.

“Yes, I would love to have some.” As Wulfric did before, Morrigan watched Haynes’ movements while he served tea.

The knight who had followed Haynes appeared soon after. There was an exchange of looks from her and her mistress. The mummy knight nodded and was gone again.