tempestuous; @caldergliacon - Tumblr Blog

DATE: April 21st TIME: 12 noon LOCALE: Training Pavilion

It had been nearly a week already, but he still couldn’t quite believe anything was real. Especially that he could be... well, happy. This happy. It was a shocking sort of sensation, one that crept up on him when he least expected it. When he forgot to worry about who watched before he kissed Max in the hall, or when he remembered that he didn’t have to fall asleep sitting outside her door when he was worried. There were so many little things that had changed massively, and it was overwhelming as it was... lovely.

And distracting. He supposed a distraction was due, since he hadn’t truly let himself worry about anything but his position since before he could really remember. So to get himself back on track, Calder went back to training --- he hadn’t been in over-long, and he was due for a solid beating. It was around time for luncheon, so there were hardly any people within, but he took to target practice at first. A warm up, normally.

The first three knives he threw went wide into the farthest three rings of his target. He started to laugh, shaking his head and marveling at hands that had once held such precision and now seemed utterly useless. He couldn’t blame them, not when Cal himself was hopelessly distracted. But the sound of footsteps behind him as he took another wide shot seemed to decide his fate. “Terrible,” he murmured, not seeming particularly put out. “I never understood the term ‘love-drunk’ before, but it seems I’m wasted.”

#'due for a solid beating' even at his happiest cal is still like? the worst? i hate him #ofsilverstarter

✖ MAX

The morning of the circus ball Max had woken up late and lazy, with the strangely happy – perhaps content was the better word – feeling of calm in her chest and the kind of smile on her face that people would see and know it was private, that it was a smile made for one person and one person only. There had always been a sloping inequality to her relationship with Calder, a kind of devotion that could only be allowed to be one-sided. She had grown to be okay with that fact, that she would never be able to give herself to him the same way she gave herself to her people, trying to protect them from themselves even if it meant shredding her heart like wood in the chipper. It had been a long line of loneliness and impersonal connections with men that she didn’t care about, and even those small interactions had come to a jolting halt some years ago, about the time that the world realized the princess had gone from girl to woman.

But this morning, well, now it was all different.

She had awoken with the feeling of light in her chest, like the fluttering of butterflies wings and the welcoming of spring after a long winter. It was crisp and bright, the clarity she felt about her own emotions – like one of those days when you forget just how cold it actually is until suddenly your cheek is frozen. The heartbreak she had endured three weeks prior – had it really already been three weeks since her sister had fallen to the hands of fate? – finally beginning to feel less heavy, beginning to feel dim, distant and far away even. It would always hurt, but she was learning how to live with it instead of just coping. (And let’s be perfectly clear here, drowning demons in a champagne bottle is hardly even coping. If anything, Max has been running and running and running).

But at least not she was moving forward instead of running in circles, and if she had it her way she would be running straight to the man who would reach out and take the stars from the sky if only she would ask it of him.

The princess hasn’t missed the game that Rahul has been playing, hasn’t missed the fact that Lord Gliacon is dressed head to toe in her house colors instead of his own, hasn’t missed the fact that the crisp blues of her own gown are reminiscent of the color in Calder’s eyes. No, she hasn’t missed it, the same way the ornate mask covering his features isn’t enough to make him unrecognizable to her. If she’s being honest, she’s terrified to go up to him tonight, because her inhibitions are low ( and she’s already experienced on rejection, she really could do without another ) and her expectations are high. This is the moment that everything changes, so she hasn’t been giving him her full attention. She’s been flitting from room to room, from side to side ( how was it possible that one of those sides had actually involved a proposal – was the world trying to tell her to get off her ass already? ) in an attempt to build up her confidence, in an attempt to keep running from this changing situation in the hopes that he will make the first move.

She is shocked when she feels like hand on her elbow, but it’s in the best kind of way, and she turns around quickly.

❝ You missed me? ❞ she says just as she turns away from the man whom Calder had pulled her away from. She’d given the fellow a quick curtsy, a rushed tilt of her head that might as well have said fuck off – I’ve got a a heart to give away.

She’s a smiling wolf, all of her canines bared as she stands on her haunches, ready to howl to her true lord and savior. It’s unholy, really, how giddy those words make her feel, how they make her stomach flip because this, well, this is what they have both been waiting for, what they have been holding back. This moment where he can approach her in a crowded room and be unafraid of telling her that he loves her, of touching his lips to her ear to say you’re mine. ❝ Well, I think I’ve missed you just enough to allow you to whisk me away for a time. ❞

She doesn’t question it when she slips her hand through the crook of his elbow, beginning to make herself a home in the space she one day hopes to claim as hers and hers alone. Her hearts, a bouquet of dahlias to give to him, beats faster and faster every moment.

❝ What is it you want to show me? ❞ They say curiosity killed the cat, but Max prefers to think of it as a welcomed drowning in the unknown, the sea swallowing the ship they sail on and she wonders where it is that he is going to take her, what it is he is going to show her, what it is he is going to say. She thinks her only response will be Kiss me.

The delight in her voice positively fizzles through him, like he’s got champagne for blood and firecrackers in his bone marrow. Calder is glad for the dance, because he wouldn’t be able to stand still, the anticipation and terror too much to bear with any sort of stoicism. He is at his worst tonight, but perhaps she would take it as his best --- it’s not Max that rejects his enthusiasm, but the memory of harsh words and a stern glare to keep him in line. Keeping so many secrets had threatened to ruin him, and now he holds her warmth in his hands and knows he would be foolish to give that up.

Yet he still doesn’t know what it is she feels in return. He hopes that the smile she offers and the fire she provides are a sign of her intent, but the words have not been spoken, and his fear of them is mainly motivated by not wanting to let guilt obligate her into saying them in return. If she loves him, she will tell him --- at least, he hopes and prays she will. Her giddy you missed me? is enough to rattle his self control, but he manages to steer her toward the door with at least a semblance of elegance. He’ll never be the perfect dance partner, but he hopes she can overlook it.

She missed him too, and it’s enough to heat him from the inside out. Calder still can’t quite believe that. Princess Adeline, Max, has always been so far out of reach as to be impossible, yet here she is, quiescent beneath his hands and pliable to his suggestion as he leads her away from the people she’s always given all of herself to. He loves her for it, her blind devotion to Norta and its citizens, yet he hates what they steal from her, whether she notices or not. If anything, he would end tonight knowing that she would be selfish between the two of them. That she would keep him if she pleased and toss him aside if she did not, and he would be happy just to see her doing it for herself and her own whim.

❝ A surprise, ❞ he replies with no small amount of coyness, leading her on a leisurely walk toward the gardens. ❝ I hope it will be to your liking, but it’s best to wait and see. ❞ After ducking out for an hour just to set it up, he prays it will be. And hopes the staff won’t be too mad when they find out what he nicked from storage. He’ll replace it all, somehow, he’s sworn already. Twice over.

Nerves assault him as butterflies race through his stomach. He’s always been a sentimental fool, but he didn’t think he would be doing himself in by placing the scene a five minute walk from the party. To distract himself, he begins to speak, hoping to capture her interest and distract her so he can get in range and check with his ability on the decorations. ❝ This is where I walked when I thought you were going to fire me, ❞ he teases, half a smile gracing lips that rarely wear one. ❝ It felt rather like I imagined a walk of shame would feel. I mean, I was walking and I felt shame? But in the end, there was no choice to make. I cannot help but come to your call. ❞

Calder stops at the entrance to the garden, his thumb brushing Max’s cheekbone as he studies her a moment. He’s close enough now to feel the ice he’s put in place, fortifying the thinning walls of it until the frost glows again. ❝ How was I to know you would speak such sweet words to me? Like I’d never heard before. ❞ There is truly nothing left to lose. This act will lay it all on the line, and there’s no point in pretending to feel less than he does. If he can’t tell her now, when can he?

He takes her by the hand, leading her forward to where the bushes have grown thickest. Nothing like the place beneath the stars where she took his hands in hers and made the ground feel hallowed. Instead, they are soon arrivals in the densest area of the maze, turning sharply into a dead-end that has been strung with humming light.

Around them, tucked into the bushes, are frosted spheres of ice. Inside each, a lit candle rests, the flame very carefully not touching the ice but warming it from within just the same. It took him long enough to light them, and even longer to keep them on a shelf of ice long enough to form a sphere around them, fusing them with frost to the thicker branches he could find. He thanks luck and his own control that none have shattered, and instead give an ethereal glow to it --- there aren’t too many, so as not to be overwhelming, but there are enough to light their surroundings on a moonless night.

❝ It’s like us, ❞ he whispers, facing her and determining not to look away from her, not to hide in embarrassment. He is shy in his romantics, never having witnessed this sort of theatrics outside of stories, but Calder cannot do anything but give her his all. ❝ I’m... not a warm person, you see. Except for you. You sneak into the very heart of me, and melt it all away, until I’m happy for the whole of Norta to see if they wanted. ❞ He brushes his thumb across her knuckles, that shy feeling in his chest causing him to duck his head at last. What is he to do, when she is the sun and any glow left to him is merely parhelion from the light she gives?

Now begins the hardest part. The part he dreads, because he cannot predict her answer. Only hope may sustain him from here on. ❝ Your brother King approached me tonight. He had an ultimatum. ❞ Calder half laughs to himself. ❝ He --- wants you to be happy. If I do that... he would like to see us wed. ❞ He meets her eyes, then, and desperately wonders what he’ll see there. ❝ But I have made a vow of my own. And I would not put you on the spot to satisfy anyone’s whim, even the King of Norta. So I will offer you a choice instead, and I will abide by it in all things. ❞

He breathes deep, trying to get control of his voice so it does not crack with the emotion lurking just beneath the surface. ❝ If you would not want to consent to the question, I will not ask it. It is entirely unfair to ask, without discussing it first, and I --- I cannot bear to think of you feeling anxious for it. No, if you have never considered it, I will stay mute, and we can merely enjoy a dance, here, shielded from the world. Just you and me. ❞ His eyes darken, but perhaps it’s a trick of the light. ❝ But I know my heart well, and there’s never been anyone in this life I’ve wanted to spend the rest of it with but you. I have wanted to marry you, Max, since I was 10 years old, and I’ll want it every day hereafter. And when you’re ready, if you’re ready, I will kneel before you and beg your hand. But only on your order. ❞ He smiles, and it’s bittersweet with all the nerves he can’t stop feeling. ❝ You may ask it of me any time. Now, or ten years from now, my wants will not change. Never have changed. And if the King wishes it sooner, I will cheer as you tell him no, because there’s nothing that I desire more than for you to choose me. Truly, and whole-heartedly, over anyone. To be selfish in it. ❞

Calder cups her face in his hands and hopes that his daring, bright matchstick of a Princess will give him just a little longer to speak before interrupting. ❝ I have seen you give yourself in every iteration a thousand times a day to anyone who asked, for every year I’ve served you. I couldn’t bear for you to give your heart to me because I asked for it. ❞ He swallows, tilting his head until his forehead touches hers. ❝ I have always belonged to you. And I cannot --- I will not take a yes from empathy or selfnessness. I want only a yes from you, Max, if your whole heart, your whole spirit, wants it too. As selfishly and brazenly as possible. ❞

And then, as if to encourage her, he does something brazen too --- he kisses her, with sugar-sweetness and butterflies filtering through his torso. He kisses her and knows that if he’s done nothing else right, they will have this.

#( god i cannot with my innocent child and all the accidental sex jokes ive made )#✖ ; every breath you take is precious; you feel like honey in my veins. (max)#✖ ; give a little bit of my heart to you.

✖ MAX

The princess has found herself uncomfortably familiar with the venom-tainted emotions of guilt and grieving, with the brass-knuckled hands of a Fate that favored anyone but the Royal family it would seem. At this point, there was nothing she could do about it, nothing she could do to make it change to make it better to make it end. This was not like a tree, where the roots have to come to an end at some point, or like a stag running through those trees that must come to a halt at some point to catch its breath. This was something else, something otherworldly, something terrible.

This was the kind of bright red that stayed on the back of your eyes long after the sun had gone, tainting the world around you with darkness and devastation. The world felt blurry under the weight of such mangled grief, as though her heart had been crafted from cardboard boxes and then the blood in her veins had been made to set fire to her own body – she was swimming in the heat of it, in the complete ruination. She kept trying to think of way to explain it, to herself, to the family that she had left, to the kingdom, but the words kept getting jumbled up, tangling in her chest the same way she had misunderstood what Calder had been trying to say to her.

Could she get anything right anymore?

Perhaps her brother was right to put her on the back burner, to tell her that she did not even deserve the role of pawn on his chest board – she was too much of a wild card, too much of an enemy to his cause, to his rule. Perhaps that was one of the reasons he had given her permission to love whom she wanted – no matter who it was would be a victory for her brother, because she would leave the family quarters and she would be out of his hair, so to speak.

Staring at Calder’s blue eyes, stark and jolting against the silver streaking through them from crying, time is frozen, and max is swimming in the poison of her thoughts. I won’t cry anymore, he said, as though that was why she was leaving his side, as though she cared about the weakness hidden beneath iron-born skin. As if that wasn’t the safest place. As if that wasn’t the place she wanted to crawl under and hide, right up there underneath his chest alongside his heart, the softest place in his body she’d been able to catalog. Explaining this thought would get her nowhere, so she moves away from it, stepping towards him once and then once again.

Slowly, her arms unlatch themselves from around her waist, from around her shoulder, unlocking herself from that lonely place between the shadow and the darkness, desperately hoping he might drag her from it. Because this is a love scene, right? She thinks so, maybe, thinks this is one of those carefully crafted moments of development where she is meant to see his weakness and turn it into a strength, morph it into an ability. After all, courage is not the absence of fear, but action despite the abundance of it – was this not the same? Was this not pouring salt directly into the wound? Opening it up and infecting it with the poison of pain? Was not grace, after all, the product of violence?

At least her god had a kind face. Calder, her breathless glory. Calder, her shaking hands.

She doesn’t really register when it happens, but one moment she is in the corner of the room and the next she has already carried herself back to his side, taken his trembling hands in her own. She can still feel the dampness from his eyes on his palms and she lifts one to her mouth, pressing a kiss there the same way he did so many weeks ago now. You’ve swallowed me whole, it says. I let you do it and it was beautiful.

❝ I won’t go. Of course I won’t go. ❞

She wouldn’t have been able to stomach it anyways.

She wants to crawl into bed with him, curl up beside him the same way she did the night she learned what his lips feel lips, but the last thing she wants to do is hurt him anymore that he has already been hurt. But she is selfish in the face of death, and the moment she knew she was wanted she would take it all, even if it was more than he was offering – and she knew he would let her, because that was the man she loved. Yes, she is selfish, so she begs him with her eyes to move over, only just a couple of inches ( the less he moves the closer she is forced to lie beside him, and that is all fine by her standards ) and then slips her feet out of the flats she’d just as easily slipped her feet into and crawls her way into his space, slipping back into the hollow space between his arm and his side like she never left. This time it’s gentler, less of a desperate grab for warmth and more like coming home.

She listens for how he is reacting to this position she’s put him in, where her jaw is still quivering and she doesn’t think the shaking in her spine ( and in her soul ) is going to alleviate anytime soon, but she makes no comments on his breathing, only a quick Is this okay? passing her lips as an address to where she is sitting. Instead she talks about Eve, and she talks and she talks and she talks. Do you remember how she spun the world into gold? And she talks about the time that her half-sister wove a crown from the dandelions that grew in the grass beneath Max’s balcony. Max doesn’t talk about how quickly the flowers wilted atop her head, or how she lost the crown only an hour or two later. Do you remember how she made the world smile? And she talked about how happy she always made Marius, a kerosene heart made to seem like candlelight at twilight. Do you remember how she made words taste like melting sugar cubes? And she talks about watching Calder dance with her sister at the Festival of the First Frost, watching as a smile touches his cheeks and stars danced in his eyes as she twirled around him.

Max doesn’t think she’s ever shown her sister such love, and with every story she feels more tears and more happiness and she clings to Calder like she never has before.

He can’t bear her hurt, especially not at his own hands, but neither can he stop the relief flowing through him at her acquiescence. Calder has never considered himself particularly selfish, but he wants to be, wants it until his mouth fills with the honey of desire and sticks against his teeth. He wants, awfully, miserably, to be selfish with the only person he cannot claim as his and his alone. Princess Adeline must belong to the citizens of Norta first, and Max? He cannot cage her, knows the strength in his hands would crush her. But the way she comes when he asks makes him want it all the more.

It shocks him, that amid her anguish at Eve’s loss, there is also a rising empathy. For the grief he’s shared with her and her alone, for the tears he couldn’t bear to show anyone else. The thought of opening his wounds in front of another person is anathema, but Max doesn’t really feel like another, wholly outside of himself. More, it feels as though he’s attached himself to her, inexorably, and there is nothing for him to do but be vulnerable, for he is only showing another part of him: the heart she holds, raw and bloody and beating far too fast, in her palms.

Of course. Does she know, the way the words twist into the hollows inside him and try their best to fill the absence? The lack, deep within him, eats them with such gusto it would seem that he’s been starving. The warmth of her voice, the surety with which she speaks of staying, calls to all the vespertine darkness he’s ever known and tries to breathe fire into the night. It’s easier than breathing, to shift his body, barely more than an inch --- merely the pretense of moving, if anyone asks --- and help ease her into laying out across him. ❝ Thank you, ❞ he whispers, throat still raw.

Calder can’t help but think that it might just be the most scandalous thing he’s ever done. Adeline Calore, with her legs fully flush against his and her weight a small, comfortable thing against his side. He doesn’t mind, and once he’s confirmed that it doesn’t bother her shoulder, he gingerly wraps his arm around her waist. The other cards very carefully through her hair, the thick darkness of it spreading across his chest in a fan of tickling warmth. He deliberately doesn’t think about the fact that bandages are the only things between his skin and her hands.

It’s soothing to him and he hopes to her as well, the gentle repetition of his fingers through the heavy length of her hair. It certainly feels like indulgence, the way he can inhale the scent of her soap and press a kiss to the crown of her head. Comfort does not come easily to him, but the fact that she’s there, that she’s stayed when others have run or screamed at him for having such emotions that threaten to tear him apart... it means more than he can convey with simple words. So he lets her talk, and when she needs to breathe or to cry, he responds in kind.

Of the way Eve just seemed to know, whatever it was he needed that day, and how she hadn’t begrudged him anything. Not an emotion nor a distasteful face when offered white wine. It didn’t matter to Eve if he behaved with the comport of a guardsman. She’d wanted him to be free, and he had been. He told the story of the day he’d promised her, both of them impossibly young for such a serious vow, that he would guard both princesses. That she was just as important as any Calore, and he would fight anyone who told her otherwise.

Dances at First Frost and snow sticking to her eyelashes until she was hitting at his arm. He even mentioned the night of Max and his fight, when he’d let her hold him instead of pretending at being strong. When he’d fashioned her the worst ice sculpture anyone had ever done, but she’d teasingly accepted it with all her grace. She’d been so warm, the warmest person he knew --- he feels the sting in his eyes and fights it, instead tilting his head and squeezing his eyes shut against Max’s hair. It wasn’t proper, for him to befriend the bastard-born Calore daughter, but he doesn’t care about propriety and Max knows it. He'll miss her every day, and the guilt perhaps will never ease. But he has to try. Eve was the person least likely to punish him for this sort of thing.

#✖ ; did you mean to be my sanctuary?#✖ ; every breath you take is precious; you feel like honey in my veins. (max)#(ADMITTEDLY: i had to read this over and realize there was NO dialogue and then i put some in)#(also we can def end it here since i imagine they cuddle and share stories for the rest of their time together?)

✖ VALERIA

“Well. If you didn’t go about punching trees for no reason you wouldn’t have to see a healer.” Valeria joked, the humor feeling like ash on her tongue. Nicolaus had just died and here she was, joking about trees instead of mourning. Not that Valeria did a great deal of mourning to begin with, but it still felt wrong. Part of her figured Nicolaus would be okay with this. Would be supportive of her. Would tell her that she was supposed to live her life, not mourn it. But telling herself all this didn’t remove the bitter taste from her tongue. So she bit it, determined to keep her humor in check and act like the dignified person she damn well was supposed to be in this sort of situation.

“No. It never feels good to be helpless. I agree.” Valeria said, her gaze drifting across the wall, her expression glazed and far away. She’d been helpless at the explosion. Helpless to save the princess. To save Nicolaus. The most she’d been able to do was barrel a dazed and confused Orion into a safe place. Which, was admittedly her job, but that didn’t change how she felt. She’d been, in a word, helpless. She sighed, pulling herself back to the present, unwilling to linger on that pain in Calder’s company. “No. Being here isn’t making my day better.” Valeria admitted, frowning. “But I needed to get away…and I did want to make sure you were all right.” She shook her head. “I’m not sure why you think I find this visit a disappointment.”

Calder didn’t necessarily pride himself on social interaction, but he did when it came to reading others, and it seemed like Valeria was... joking? It confused him, considering how she’d given him a thorough tongue-lashing for the incident. But then, he hadn’t always known her to be serious. Dedicated, and determined perhaps, but before Alexei Laris had died, she was a different creature altogether. Perhaps that person was still trying to peek through the dark clouds that had fallen over her. ❝ Well, the trees shouldn’t paint themselves as such inviting targets, ❞ he argued with a slight lilt, hoping the tease would hit rather than miss. He would hate to push her even further into dislike of him.

This, at least, was a sentiment most guards shared. Helpless. Yes, choking on the word even in his mind, he hated the taste of it. Being trapped, being unable to help, being unable to do anything but wait. It was going to drive him mad. ❝ The most terrifying thing I’ve ever witnessed, ❞ he admitted, because he knew she understood. One guard speaking to another. ❝ The realization I couldn’t get to Max in time. ❞

He wondered whom she’d lost, but decided not to bring it up before she did. It was already difficult not to dwell without him drudging it up too. ❝ Thanks, ❞ he mumbled, embarrassed and surprised by the fact that she’d even considered checking up on him, without an ulterior motive. ❝ I mean --- you just haven’t really seen me at my best. I wouldn’t be surprised or offended if you didn’t think I was adequately performing my duties, considering this is twice I’ve failed in front of you, now. ❞

#✖ ; maybe building bridges.#✖ ; quiet like you; violent like you. (valeria)

romillygliacon:

Where did regret come from? Time that passed, letting the divide split and crack? A sour tongue that burned with words unspoken? No matter – the grief had been building up within Romilly’s chest for some time, layers of sadness and solitude that choked and ruined a girl. There was no way to turn back time to stop the walls from being built, to keep her kind and soft.

The cold and unfeeling woman she saw when she looked in the mirror was unfamiliar. She still could close her eyes and remember when she was composed of soft edges. Looking at Calder now sent a wave of melancholic nostalgia through her veins.

It seemed that the ground they stood upon was made of ice. They were trapped, having to stay in the same place, for fear of everything cracking and finally falling apart. Every motion, every movement – precarious. It was a pity and a shame.

You’re twice as strong of will as I am and you know it.

Her head tilted towards the side, doubt crossing her features. She wanted to contradict him, to say that it wasn’t true – how she wished to say it was; what a dream that would be – but how could she? Did he know her anymore? Did she know him? She wished she could say she did. “ I would hardly say that. ” Her gaze turned downwards, and she dismissed his words with a flick of her hand. “ I have done nothing of any importance, and should say I likely will not in the coming future. ”

She paused in her deprecations, looking at him. She wondered briefly what view he had of himself. Time had passed, but she still thought of him in the same ways she did when she was young: he could tell her he held the stars in his hands, and she wouldn’t doubt it.

At his last comment, she looked at him, her eyes widening. It took a moment, but then a laugh bubbled up to her lips, spilling out in semblance of amused surprise. The sound startled her, and she could feel her cheeks begin to flush. When she spoke, she had cleared her throat, trying to regain her composure. “ Calder Adair Gliacon – you will do no such thing. ” She wouldn’t admit it, but the idea of the support was nice. The idea of it being in such a visual manner was even better.

The doubt that painted itself across her face, at this mention of her being strong, of being fierce, was a pounding ache in his chest. Was it he, who had made her feel so inadequate, through some sort of failure to communicate? The thought was entirely probable, and slammed guilt into him as fast and hard as a freight train. Nothing of importance. He would rather sink into the ground than attempt to decipher that sentence.

Yet it was Romilly. Unlike with anyone else, he couldn’t shirk a brotherly obligation to try. Because while social anxiety could excuse most of his interactions with others, he shouldn’t want to avoid Romilly or her feelings. Even if they carved like blades against his throat. ❝ You’ve either inflated my importance or degraded your own, ❞ he said, not harshly but quite firmly in his belief. ❝ You and Sofiya, you’re the ones who keep Max from entire isolation. Without you to trust, it would just be me, and we both know that my function has nothing to do with emotionalism. Effectively, I’m an object --- and a person, with all your complexity and capability, will outrank me in importance every time. ❞

He swallowed around the thought that he’d gone too far, revealed too much of how he thought of himself. But then, what did it matter? The time where he would’ve hid his distaste for himself to spare Romilly’s feelings was no longer necessary. He imagined it might twinge at her empathy, but wasn’t hoping for anything more than that. ❝ You’re irreplaceable, you see. Don’t say things like that. ❞

Calder was startled himself, at her laughter and how the sound made him feel. There was a time where he was never prouder of anything than his ability to make his sister laugh, and the echos of that still lived inside him. A prouder boy than he’d become, and a far more cavalier one. ❝ Would it embarrass you? ❞ he teased, crossing his arms and leaning to one side against the wall. ❝ I’ll be sure to make it very large. Get myself on the broadcasts. It’ll be extremely impressive. ❞

#( SHORTENED IT YAY )#✖ ; we were born to grow together and instead we fell apart (romilly).#✖ ; all around me are familiar faces.

nyssc:

DATE: APRIL 15th LOCATION: GRAND HALL OPEN: to @caldergliacon

It had been hope the kept Nyssa smiling, a flute of champagne in her hands as she watched happy couples dance, her heart sinking however at the sight of Calista and Orion, masks or no she knew who they were but she couldn’t figure out who she was more broken over. She hadn’t needed to hurt for long as her cousin stormed over, screaming quietly the way she had practiced so well. Zaira hurled insults at her, bringing to life the words Nyssa feared most, disappointment, being disowned, disgrace but she fumed with her own anger and argued right back, she had never let her fear keep her from loosing her tongue on Zaira. “Jealousy is an ugly color on you cousin, and where you failed I was victorious, you have no choice but to deal with that. I will not fight you here, that is a true disgrace.”

Zaira practically turned blue with her fury and Nyssa was afraid but not cowed, never for Zaira. More insults, words cutting her deep even if she tried not to show it. Zaira knew exactly what to say to cut Nyssa even if she knew the blonde lower was inferior still. Nyssa had brought honor to her family name and she knew it infuriated Zaira, she shouldn’t even be allowed to compete. Then came the vicious lies and suddenly the anger manifested physically with Zaira knocking her champagne glass to the floor, gathering attention with it’s clattering shatter. Nyssa reacted on instinct, slapping Z across the face.

However, when Calder Gliacon came to RESCUE Zaira, of all people in both positions, she broke inside, feeling her heart strings tear at the sight. She did not regret slapping Zaira but she was crushed by Calder taking her side. She hurried away, as slowly as she could to not draw more attention and found herself just outside Calista’s room, holding back her own despair and fury, but no tears came despite how shattered she felt inside by the sight of it all, of the man whose life she’d saved, her actions bordering on treason to do so, pulling Zaira away to comfort, to save. She could not figure out or understand why. After several minutes she thought she had composed herself and headed to the refreshments for a new drink.

By chance she walked straight up to Calder himself and she worriedly looked for Zaira with no luck. She didn’t want to talk to him, she didn’t think she could bare another scolding, not from someone she admired so ardently. “Please, I just want a new glass of champagne. May I?” she wanted to get past him without incident, what were the chances he’d let her? There were too many people that disliked her, or worse, she really would hate to add his name to that list. Wasn’t it long enough already?

Calder was exhausted. Not, in particular, by the party, which was unusual in and of itself, but by Zaira Samos. What a strange position he’d put himself in, yet when he’d promised not to let her slide, he hadn’t expected to walk away from it. It was clear she thought differently. Regardless, he took oaths seriously even if she did not, and it was up to him to remind of that fact, among others. Look at yourself, Zaira. It was said with care, despite the fact that many would have thought she didn’t deserve it. There were brief flashes in her where he thought perhaps she would turn out to be more genuine after all, and he couldn’t abandon that dim sliver of hope, now that he’d witnessed it.

You’re losing the battle for yourself before you’re even out of the running. What will it look like, if someone decides to broadcast that moment? Jealous little Zaira, traitor to her family when she should be supporting them. How will the Reds feel? How will they all? You want to be loved and you can’t even tell when you’re losing them. She’d raged at him as well, but strangely, he’d hardened himself to it. He knew that whatever she said, she was only reacting to his pointing out her flaws. He wondered, again and again, if he was the only one doing so. It seemed not. Nyssa had done a good job of it herself.

After Zaira calmed, he’d gotten her to admit that it would probably not help her in the polls. He’d call that a success. Leaving her to stew in her own disappointment --- for it was really about that, was it not? Her failure against Cyrene had made a fool of her in front of them all --- he entered the festivities again, hoping to check in with Nyssa herself. She’d handled Zaira rather admirably, especially considering the irrationality of the younger Samos’ behavior, yet when he found her, Nyssa seemed desperate to move past him, anxiety littering her thin frame.

He stopped her with hands on her shoulders, frowning down at her slightly. Normally Calder wasn’t one to touch first, but Nyssa’s hands had been covered in his blood, and he figured she wouldn’t mind over-much if the hands that touched her were at least without that. ❝ Are you alright? ❞ he asked before she could speak, moving his hands to hers now that he’d stopped her forward momentum. He examined the palm that held the glass, but there was no cut, nothing to indicate it had happened at all. When she spoke, he was surprised, but moved out of her way without incident, following her lead instead as she went to get another glass.

❝ Zaira knows she’s taking her emotions out on others, ❞ he said, disapproval layering his tone. ❝ But I can’t guarantee she’ll apologize, and I won’t do it for her. She needs a better technique to soothing wounded pride than stepping over others to gain it back. ❞ He refused the champagne the table attendant offered him, instead studying Nyssa. There was still a nervousness to her that he disliked. ❝ Did she scare you? You seemed to be holding your own. ❞

#✖ ; there's something lonesome about you; something so wholesome about you (nyssa).#✖ ; in shattered sympathy.#✖ ; event: le cirque ball.

caloreprincess:

A part of her recognizes that she should know better by know, that she knows him far too well to actually believe when he I can’t that he doesn’t mean he can’t have her near. She knows him as intimately as the sea knows the southernly winds, or a nightingale knows song. For longer than her parents ( Damn – she had to stop doing that. She’s only got the one. ) would care to recall, she has studied him so closely that he feels as soft to her as the skin on her palm; ironically, the very same place she wants to use to cradle his face to claim for her own. Yes, a part of her knows that to feel rejected would be ridiculous. A part of her.

The other part was screaming in insecurity.

( Because wasn’t it, of course, all about her? )

❝ I know… I- I know. ❞

She doesn’t know what she’s meant to do, the only course of action for her own arms wrapped around her waist and shoulders to pull tighter, to pull desperately; she suddenly feels horribly, terribly alone. All her adult life, he had been on her side, lifting her up from any darkness that manages to weave its way into her wildflower crown soul. And now here she stood, with more darkness than she had ever had to encounter, and Calder was drowning in his own. Max forgets, sometimes, that he has his own emotions, that while she is the center of his world, she is not his entire world. She can’t be.

It’s juvenile, truly juvenile the way she seems only able to think of herself in this dark moment. He can’t? He can’t what, have her near? He can’t bear to be near the one who came bearing bad news and heartbreak? Could she really blame him?

Of course not.

So instead she will continue to wallow, allowing the pain she feels to take its course through her bloodstream when she watches the grief play out so clearly on Calder’s body – she takes in the tension in his shoulders, in the spot on his forehead not hidden behind callous palms, wishes her own hands were the ones dragging through his night-dark tresses. Alas, there she stood, a distance that could have been crossed so easily, and yet it felt like she was standing at the ocean’s edge, Calder an entire world away. She had never seen such plain heartbreak on a person’s face before, and to see it on his – at her own hand – made her bones turn to dust, her heart to shattered glass.

❝ I – I understand. I will leave you be then, ❞ she says, thinking that is what he wants when he says I can’t and I’m sorry once and then once again, as though he cannot believe he is incapable of having her near, as though there’s an incredulity to these words passing his lips. Her own jaw is quivering and tears have ruined the black paint that had been so delicately traced over her lashes for her brother’s announcement. ❝ I do not want to burden your grief further. ❞

Her voice sounds farther and farther away, like taking a seashell from the museum and trying to hear her speak through it. That, perhaps, is worse than anything, and isn’t that selfish of him? That he would take anyone dying over Max abandoning him? What a fool he is, to think he has that right. What a bastard, too, that he should care about that over everything. He seems to be wired incorrectly, born in the wrong fashion, for there is nothing on earth that moves him more than she. And in this moment, he wishes that weren’t so. If only so that he could be fair to Evelina, and to her memory.

Max’s gown rustles as she steps even further away, and he wonders, as he ever does, why he must constantly disappoint the ones he wants most not to. He is her guard, meant to be stalwart and true, meant to hold her through her tears rather than collapsing inward before her. This is not what she needs from him, but he doesn’t know how to stop. He doesn’t know how to be what she needs when he wasn’t what Evelina needed and she died. The heartbreak of it doesn’t leave him, but he tries desperately not to lose her, too. To have Max leave in the wake of this would devastate him beyond recognition, and remembering their previous conversation, he desperately hopes that perhaps she has misunderstood him again.

( the alternative, that perhaps she only loves him when he is strong, is one that he will bear if necessary. he would be anything so long as she would care for him even half as much as he does for her. as long as she would continue looking at him as if he were worthy of it. )

I understand, she says, but her next sentence makes it clear she understands nothing of the sort. She could not burden his grief any more than he has burdened it on his own, and she has misinterpreted his words to the point of mangling them. He wants to reach out, to say or do something to hold her, but he doesn’t know how. In that moment, he nearly loses her trying to figure it out, to navigate the minefield his thoughts have become enough to speak the words.

❝ Please, ❞ he says, looking up only for a moment. His eyelashes are still wet with tears, and the vulnerability of it terrifies him, forcing him to face away from her, to look at the ground on the other side of the bed as he speaks. He doesn’t quite know how to bare his soul just yet. ❝ Please, stay. I won’t --- I’m not going to cry anymore. ❞ He can’t breathe from it, from the panic or the shame, it feels like his lungs are collapsing and he chokes on the words like they have substance, like they have weight. The words are far too reminiscent of memories he’d like to leave behind, of all the times he begged his parents not to make him go back and they did anyway. Of the cold, removed look on their faces when he would cry, until he learned to stop, because it disappointed them.

He shouldn’t ask. He knows better. He’s always wanted, needed someone to stay, to care in return, but asking them for it has always felt wrong when he knows he isn’t worth it. Max said she felt differently, though. He wants to believe her. His chest aches with the longing for it. ❝ Don’t leave me, I can’t --- please don’t. Do that. I’m sorry. I can do better. ❞ He isn’t sure what he can do better at, but he will. He will, if it just means she won’t leave. If it means she won’t let him be alone. If it means he will collapse and someone will be there to catch him, even for a moment.

#✖ ; did you mean to be my sanctuary?#✖ ; every breath you take is precious; you feel like honey in my veins. (max)#( BOOM i unmatched you too we are doing so good )

decadentlonging:

They never quite looked at Calder, their eyes unable to focus on any one thing. What a strange thing, all the dancers twirling in a blur, yet slowly losing their bright colors like pages in an aging book.

A ring.

Rahul felt like a sketch whose lines were quietly, gently, vibrating apart. Not quite coming apart at the seams, so to speak, but loosening. Shifting outside of themself. Their mind raced and yet was blank. Thoughts were confusing, muddled–

A ring.

Their eyes snapped to Calder when it truly sunk into their skull. The world sharpened right before them, crisp lines and colors once again. A ring, short notice, in that effort. Was the whole world shifting suddenly underneath their very feet? What had happened to the Calder Gliacon who, barely weeks ago, could hardly say what he knew to be the truth about his relationship with the princess? Who still couldn’t seem to bring himself to speak that truth into existence? And now, a ring?

What does it matter? He is relying on you for that most important favor. Someone should get that happiness in their life.

And, so it seemed, he knew what it could do for Rahul. What it meant to them in the moment. “I know where to find what you need,” they said, eyes scanning the man before them, no different and yet completely changed. “Tell me what you want and where to find you when I return.” That was it, that was all; it would not solve their problem for the night but it would serve as an escape from the crowd, and from the circumstances that would plague them long after the night was over.

The moment they turned their gaze on him, it was nearly like a mark --- Calder felt it keenly enough to look up. It was almost accusatory, by way of why did you not tell me sooner? The simple answer to that would have been that he didn’t know until now, but alas, he didn’t want to admit that he’d been forced into it by Orion. He wanted to marry Max, of course he did. But he’d wanted to talk to her first. Make sure she wanted that too, rather than putting her on the spot. At the very least, he would do this in private --- it was the closest thing he could afford to asking her about the idea beforehand.

A sigh of utter relief rushed from his lungs when Rahul said they could get it done. He hadn’t ever lost faith in that, but still, the confirmation, that someone knew what the hell they were doing, was a good one. Calder’s hands brushed the back of his neck, gesturing for Rahul to follow him closer to the wall, away from the crowd and their conversation covered by the din of music and others’ voices. ❝ I don’t want anything over the top, ❞ he said, looking at his shoes before forcing himself to look at Rahul. He was proud to want to tie himself to Max --- who wouldn’t be? --- but he was also terrified, and it showed. If he didn’t get this right, then Orion would be disappointed in him, and he was desperate to avoid that as well.

❝ I just --- I want it to speak to Max. And me. But not... the Princess, or the crown, or anything else. That stuff will pressure us from the outside, but this... it’s about what happens beneath that. And I want that to mean something. You see? ❞ He didn’t really feel like he was at his best communicating all this, so unpracticed as he was talking about his feelings. He was so anxious he could scream, yet excited at the same time. It wasn’t the thought of marrying Max that set him on edge, but the thought of the spectacle they would be forced to make, of the fact that he would be center stage with her for the very first time.

Calder was relieved to see that spark of flame in Rahul’s eyes once more. They’d needed something to focus all that intelligence on, to ignore the confusion of feelings Cal certainly shared some part in. So if rings would capture their attention, it was the least he could do, no?

#✖ ; moments to be worked through.#✖ ; draped in decadent rubies as sharp and lethal as any blade. (rahul)#✖ ; event: le cirque ball.

stxneskin:

Valeria noticed the wince, it was hard not to, but she couldn’t blame him for it. She’d seen what had happened to him with her own eyes and truthfully, she was mostly just grateful he was alive to tell the tale at all. “That’s a healers job, you know. To yell at us when we get hurt. Personally I think they get a kick out of it.” Valeria felt the joke fall a little flat, she had no humor to make it funnier and she shook her head. She hadn’t come here to banter with him like nothing had happened. Because everything had happened. And none of it good. “If you showed up to work in your condition I would haul your sorry ass back here before you could swear by your damn colors.” And Valeria meant every word. Grasping for control of her emotions again Valeria took a moment to compose herself, flopping rather un-ladylike into a chair.

“I feel like I should be hurt by that.” Valeria quipped, not in the least bit hurt at all. It’s not like they were close and if their last encounter was anything to go off of…there wasn’t much there. But that didn’t mean she didn’t like him. It also helped he was working as a distraction but she wasn’t going to tell him that little tid-bit. “I can leave if you’d rather.”

Calder rolled his shoulders and winced a little at the sensation, half-smiling and shaking his head at her anecdotal comment. ❝ Perhaps you’re right. I confess I don’t allow use of their skills often enough to know. ❞ The fact was written across his face for anyone to see, the scar unmistakable and pronounced. His father had instilled in him an almost unhealthy relationship with symbolism, after all. Her next words were far harsher, leaving him confused --- he was an avid reader of others’ faces, but he couldn’t parse what she was trying to get across to him. Was she dressing him down or trying to lift his spirits? Silly question. Why would she care about his spirits in the least?

❝ I wouldn’t endanger anyone by doing that, ❞ he decided, a little wounded by her tone. The only thing he prided himself on was his position, and she’d made it clear several times now that he wasn’t good enough at it for her. ❝ But it doesn’t feel good to be helpless. ❞ He tilted his head, almost curious by the way she said that. As if she hadn’t hurt him thrice over already. Perhaps she didn’t know. If she didn’t, he wasn’t going to be the one to tell her. It wasn’t in his nature to expect guilt from someone who’d hurt his pride. ❝ I can’t tell you what to do. Only that perhaps it isn’t making your day better to visit with me, as I seem to disappoint on many levels. ❞

#✖ ; maybe building bridges.#✖ ; quiet like you; violent like you. (valeria)

opheliugh

House Gliacon ↳ Shiver

#( this is so nice )

Date: April 15th Time: Nearing Midnight Locale: Dance Floor Availability: for @caloreprincess

At this point, his hands are shaking so much that the power his house is known for truly does apply. Shiver. And he is, shaking and nearly delirious with the decision he’s made. It’s not as though he hasn’t always known he wanted to spend the rest of his life with Max. But knowing it’s an actual possibility? That is quite new, and the idea of it still sneaks up and rattles at his brain when he least expects it.

There is a devious sort of pleasure in doing something that has never been allowed to you before, even if you’ve done it anyway. Permission makes everything feel new, and he knows that he has never been more grateful. Under the old King, it would not have happened. Of that he’s certain. Yet Orion has trusted his sister, someone he truly loves and is close with, to Calder, which makes it fifteen times more special than if the elder Calore had deigned to grace them with his approval.

It’s not difficult, to find Max. He feels as though the rings Rahul helped him with are currently burning a hole in his pocket, and his hands feel cold as his power begins to swirl beneath his skin. A response to the anxiety littering his features. Calder schools his face, knowing Max will think something is wrong if he approaches her like this, and not wanting to give away the fact that things are unbearably, unfathomably right. When he approaches, it’s difficult not to see what Rahul was doing. They do, after all, seem to match, to fit in every right place. It makes his blood sing and his face feel warm.

The music croons into a softened halt, and whoever her partner, it doesn’t matter. He murmurs an apology and asks to cut in a moment, his fingertips brushing her elbow. She can say no. She can always say no. ❝ Hello, ❞ he says, unable to help his smile as he leans low to speak to her alone. ❝ I missed you. ❞ It hasn’t been long, but that’s irrelevant --- he doesn’t need to hide his heart from the person who owns it, does he? Calder leans away, spinning her into whatever dance they’re meant to be doing. He can barely focus on it. She’s beautiful in the dim light, but he wants to pull her out beneath the stars, where he first realized she might love him too. ❝ I have something to show you, if you’re willing to sneak away --- I would monopolize a bit of your time. ❞

#ofsilverstarter #✖ ; every breath you take is precious; you feel like honey in my veins. (max)#✖ ; give a little bit of my heart to you.

caloreprincess:

❝ I could never forgive myself if I didn’t tell you, ❞ she begins, having heard all that softness leave his lungs to fill the space between them. Her jaw is still quivering and even as he passes his hand over her cheeks to wipe away the weakness displayed there, more tears take the old one’s place. He deserves to know, she thinks. You have to tell him.

Still though, not a single name has passed her lips.

( Perhaps it is better this way, if the news does not come from her. Then they could continue on in this new state of bliss they have found.

Perhaps she really could use him as a means for escape.

She is lying to herself. She will never use him that way, not anymore. )

She stares at him for what feels like years, drawing a strength from him that she knows he does not have, that she knows he will need in the coming moments, and then she pulls away. She wants to stay there, safe in his arms until the end of time ( maybe if they stayed there the world would fade away. they could live their happily ever after, if only she just stayed in his arms ) but she knows that she cannot. One moment his arms are a home around her waist and the next she has arisen from her perch beside him, her legs stretching out as she moves back one, two, and then three steps.

She does not know why she is afraid to be the deliverer of this poison; Calder has never been one for cruelty. The princess has wrapped her own arms around herself, hands clinging at her own shoulders as some sort of half-assed version of comfort, as though she believes herself undeserving of the warmth her sister would have radiate, of the warmth she knows would come from Cal’s embrace. If she knows him at all, his first reaction will be for the princess herself, not to mourn his own friendship with her sister. If she knows him at all, she should not be afraid.

Emotions are a funny, fickle thing.

❝ It’s, well – ❞ she breaks again, the set of her mouth so firmly in a line and shaking that she finds she can barely get air to her lungs, much less for a coherent sentence. ❝ It’s Eve, Cal. She, she died right when the bomb went off. ❞

What a bloody mess.

She’s sliding through is fingers, but the tips of two rest against her cheekbone before falling to his side as he says, ❝ But I would forgive you. ❞ He is desperate to prevent her unhappiness, but it’s a lost cause, and the way she pulls from him makes him feel bereft of something necessary. He wonders if he’s done something wrong --- should he have demanded the truth? Would that make him seem better in her eyes?

Tears in her eyes cause her lower lip to tremble, and he wants to take the shakes from her skin, wants to freeze her tears before they have a chance to hit her cheeks. But he stays, and he waits, because he knows he cannot push her into anything. Max must do what she thinks is right --- he loves and admires her for it, and cannot begrudge her that trait. She continues stepping back, until they feel like mighty strangers, and it only serves to set his teeth on edge.

Hands that should be his are replaced by hers, wrapping around her torso in a facsimile of the hug he wishes to give her. If only he weren’t relegated to this damned bed, useless and weak until his blood replenishes itself. He has half a mind to tear the equipment from his body just to give himself peace of mind, because the thought of being far from her when she is hurting is as painful to him as his physical wounds. But her voice stops him short, arresting his heart and the very breath in his lungs.

Calder is held on a precipice by the pause of her tongue, and then, without warning, he falls.

Like Icarus, he has flown too close to the sun, tasted the ichor of true happiness only to have it stolen from his lips. Only to cough it from his lungs as he drowns on the sunlight that had been replenishing his spirit, until it becomes fire in his veins, until he is choking, choking, can’t breathe, can’t think ---

❝ She -- what? ❞ He isn’t sure what his face must look like, but he knows it can’t be good. He holds it very tightly in his hands, pressing his fingers to his eyes because if he cries he won’t stop. The memory is as sharp as each piece of shrapnel in him, how he’d acquiesced to being away. How they’d said they could handle Max just fine. How he hadn’t bothered to ask who was guarding Eve. Had anyone? He had thought better of his fellow guards. He had thought, of course they will protect her just as avidly as they protect Orion or Max.

But they had not. And he had not been there to do so. He hadn’t -- he hadn’t been there. He promised. That she was just as important as any Calore. That he would fight for her if anything happened, and he hadn’t even seen. He hadn’t been there. The silence in his room is so profound that he can hear the shift of his shoulders against the pillow as they shake, and he doesn’t know what Max is doing, but he doesn’t know if he can look up to ask. His voice has deserted him the wake of raw guilt and horror and shame.

There was so much Eve wanted to do. She had such a vivid imagination, a joy in life and in others that he’d never quite seen matched. She was the person he could be anything to, or anything with, because she would never be so lofty as to judge another, and he trusted her. As much as she’d trusted him. Would she hate him, knowing he hadn’t fulfilled that trust? He hates himself for it. If there was a promise made, a duty, and he did not keep his oath, what is left of him? Where is he, if he is not that pact?

A raw gasping noise escapes his throat and he muffles it, clenching his teeth until he feels as though they’ll crack down the middle. He forgets Max is there at all, forgets everything but the way Eve’s eyes had lit up during First Frost. How light her feet had been on the dance floor. How she’d delighted in his little ice sculptures even as she teased him for them, and how she hadn’t been afraid, to be affectionate or free. How she’d been so opposite to him but had reached across the divide anyway, to take his hand and pull him forward when he was most stuck in his ways.

His hands slide over his face into his hair, the pain of pulling on it at least reflecting what he thinks he should be feeling. How is it that his skin does not burn, when his heart feels as though it will collapse? How has his chest not burst with the weight of it, this truth he wishes so desperately were a lie? He feels selfish as he thinks of who Eve was to him, of how much he’ll miss her, even just as a presence across the room. Instead, he thinks not of what he’s losing but of what she has lost. Of the way she always wanted her family to be closer, to get along even when they couldn’t always do so. The way Narcisa looked at her and the way Eve was only barely starting to notice. There are a million things he thinks she could have done, and each one is lost, to time and to blood and to fire.

It’s been a long enough time that he should say something, he’s sure. Yet he feels... a cavernous loneliness, one that makes it nearly impossible to believe Max is still there. He should have said he was sorry, for she is a woman without a sister, but he can’t make the words come. He can’t push beyond anything into a thought coherent enough to be spoken. ❝ I can’t, ❞ he says, a broken, rasping thing flung from his chest without volition. How do you say the impossible? He presses his palms against his eyes once more, though he’s positive tears had escaped anyway. ❝ I’m --- I’m sorry, I’m sorry, sorry. ❞

#✖ ; every breath you take is precious; you feel like honey in my veins. (max)#✖ ; did you mean to be my sanctuary?

decadentlonging:

“Please.”

The first sign of something entirely wrong.

“Don’t thank me.”

The second, a contraction, like those of their heart. Too informal to drop from their lips otherwise, but they cannot think linearly just now.

“You two look meant to be no matter whether or not your clothes are cut from the same cloth.” It was truth, at least as they believed it, but then nothing they could think to say at the moment was sincere. Rahul was hardly paying attention at all. They were unraveling, a thread yanked, the whole world around them rippling uncomfortably.

Why Calder was even taking the time to be away from his beloved princess took drawn-out seconds for them to process. Time stretched as far as the walls of the ballroom. Sofiya. That was why. He must know. Doesn’t it hurt?

He won’t hurt like you do. / He will feel lonely, like you.

He has lost his best friend, too.

“You should not leave her side,” they murmured, unsure at first which her they meant. It hardly mattered. The words fell uncomfortably flat on their own ears, even their assumed aloofness fading into nothingness. “You are never apart, you are never meant to be.”

Calder had always seen Rahul as someone to bottle their emotions. So the tenor of their voice, the bland sort of please made him generally have cause for concern. Rahul wasn’t the sort of person to ask him for anything, let alone say please. They would order with good natured yet dry sarcasm and Calder would reluctantly comply. This conversation thus had him feeling slightly... unmoored, from the first.

A pale flush rose to his cheeks at the compliment, but he also grew even more worried for Rahul. It wasn’t generally something that they would say up front to him. More implied than said, generally --- but as they continued it was clear the meaning in their tone. Sofiya and Rahul were not meant to be apart either, yet they were, and there was an uncomfortable quality to that thought that Rahul clearly didn’t want to process at the time.

It was worry that had diverted him here, and possibly some avoidance as well, for Orion had set to him a difficult task he wasn’t quite sure he had the resources to accomplish. But Rahul.... the thought occurred to Calder that perhaps Rahul did. ❝ I do not want to be, ❞ he agreed, glancing back toward Max. It was impossible to skim by her, even masked as she was. ❝ And in that effort, I had thought perhaps you might be able to assist me. If you’re desiring to be distracted, of course. ❞

His gaze now avoided theirs, as if he could stop himself from believing it was real so long as he didn’t look at anyone when he said it out loud. ❝ I am attempting to procure a ring. On... rather short notice. I confess I have no idea where to start, especially with everyone attending the festivities instead of at their normal occupations. ❞

#✖ ; moments to be worked through.#✖ ; draped in decadent rubies as sharp and lethal as any blade. (rahul)#✖ ; event: le cirque ball.

bvrner:

Soft, delicate twirls from his sister could distract any man in the room that watched her, but it was only Calder that had a look laced with such genuine admiration for her that caused Orion to even step out of bounds. If he were not king, this conversation would have happened earlier in a different way with pleas being made towards his father to allow the two to unite in a marriage that would reflect greatly on the kingdom, but this decision fell into his own lap with such a heavy weight that he understood why so much thought had to be put into them.

“Who said you had to settle for less when you have your sights set on something so much more than you deserve?” Orion asked with complete interest in an answer, but there was no time for such a heavy conversation to take place as his gaze fell back to his sister. The music would soon come to an end, and he would have to watch someone else take her for another spin around the room. He had little time to make sure that what he was about to do was right for not only the kingdom, but his sister — first and foremost, the person he wished to see smile on more than rare occasions.

Calder spoke with such a deep care for Adeline that there was only the suggestion that he would never see himself as the answer to her happiness. With this thought, Orion made it his mission to paint such a clear understanding that no one else would be able to question it. “If that is how you truly feel, there is only one thing I can do in this moment,” he said with a lift of his hand as an advisor popped up quickly beside him. “Please take note that there will be a wedding in two weeks from today for Princess Adeline. Make haste as I desire the invitations to be handed out at the night’s end.”

The advisor seemed to wash over in confusion as he turned to face Calder with a large smirk captivating his features. “That should give you plenty of time to ask for her hand, correct? I mean — This is not a real question. It is more of a demand from your king. Do we have an understanding?” He asked as he rose to his feet, shaking off his suit with a quick adjustment of his mask. “If you fail to do so, I will simply do it myself in a manner that is not as romantic as the chance I am giving you to make it. Enjoy the rest of your night. I will check back in later.”

Your father. My father. A whole society of people. Yet those limits wouldn’t truly be on Orion anymore, not with his father dead and the kingdom at his fingertips. It was not a position Calder would ever envy. Yet how did he explain that the very words Orion said were the reasons staying his hand? He did not deserve the honor and thus did not want to take it, nor did he feel it was possible to do so. There were so many obstacles, it wasn’t plausible to imagine something like forever or even future with Max. Doing so would give him too much false hope.

Instead, he settled for the most neutral answer possible. ❝ it has always been made clear to me that the Princess runs in quite different circles from my own. ❞ With that, it would be easy for Orion to infer that he meant his family, without accusing his parents or relatives outright. Instead, he watched the music come to an end, slowly and with languid beauty, as Max gave a smile away to some helpless courtier Calder was sure would fall half in love with her for it. Who couldn’t? he thought, and he wished he could muster up more bitterness, but all he felt was a helpless sense of loss at the thought.

The King’s next sentence made him want to wince, sure there was an ax at his throat, metaphorically speaking. He was, after all, rising far above his station, and even with Orion’s kind words, he couldn’t shake that feeling. Surprise filtered through him when he heard something he thought it impossible to be said. Calder ran it through his mind again, at first mistaking it for a threat. Who was Orion going to marry Max to? Who would he have to watch her bind herself to?

Calder replayed the words once again and found that they made less sense than even that disastrous idea. Invitations. That should give you plenty of time to ask for her hand, correct?

He blinked in utter shock before stepping into a low bow. He could think of nothing else to do, and it gave him a moment to shadow the utter surprise and stupor that had overcome him. When he rose, he was composed enough to reply without tripping over his own tongue. ❝ I have never begrudged an order, ❞ he began, with a nervous twist of his hands behind his back, ❝ but this is the first that has made me as joyful. ❞ Orion was a busy man, and he stepped back to leave with Calder still shell-shocked behind him.

He’d almost left when Calder stepped forward, clearing his throat. ❝ Thank you. I won’t --- I’ll make sure not to waste the opportunity. Nor will I forget your generosity. ❞ He bowed again, helpless to express his gratitude without going far over the boundaries he knew should exist between the King and a guard. But he hoped Orion saw it anyway.

#✖ ; an atlas burdened with all that humanity. (orion)#✖ ; the only road that i have ever known.#✖ ; event: le cirque ball.

melodywalsh:

balter: (v) to dance gracelessly, but with enjoyment date: april 15 location — the grand hall closed — @caldergliacon

The night is alive with its own private magic, and it has invited Melody into its arms like a new lover. Her mask hardly hides the deep flush of her cheeks as she sways, spins, slides into each new song like it is a siren’s call to her ever-feeling heart. She is a mere girl in the presence of gods, a curious Jack in the giant palace in the clouds; how can she refuse its hand when it extends a chance at belonging? For her blush gives away the color of her blood, but Melody feels unmistakably safe behind the pretense of a mask. If eyes are the window to the soul, then the addition of curtains is enough delusion for her to play like she was a Silver all along.

One thing she cannot ignore: the pensive expression of a guard who finds pleasure only in the solitude of words and a story, who sees food as a necessity and not a luxury; his height, especially. But once, on a night less celebratory than this, he gave comfort and solace when she did not know how to ask for it. Once, Cal made her forget the color of her blood in favor of awe — at him, at his strangeness that amused and befuddled her all at once.

A Silver would return the favor, yes? A Silver would fall back to their manners and extend the same open hand to one of their own?

And so Melody claps her hands with a decision made and glides across the ballroom to stand before him. She does not curtsy; only beams with the excitement of a girl whose heart is too light to consider rejection when she asks, “If I promise to tell you a story that I read in a book, will you dance with me?“

Calder doesn’t exactly know what to do with himself at a celebration. Parties confuse him. Is he meant to socialize or meant to stand apart? People see him mostly as window dressing, not there to participate unless a fight breaks out. This is also how he sees himself, in most cases. His go-to behavior would be to find someone he knows, normally, while Max plays the role of Princess and he is relieved from his duty as a guard. Yet with everyone in masks, it’s impossible to tell friend from foe --- and that puts him on edge more than ever.

He doesn’t mean to stand out, but it seems as though someone has noticed him --- or perhaps they’re going for another drink at the bar to his left. He can’t be sure, but she walks with purpose, and the closer she comes the more apprehension he feels. If she is looking for him, is it someone he likes or someone he’ll have to pretend with? Masks are supposed to be freeing, yet all he feels is trapped with it clinging to his skin. At least without the pretense, everyone knows he’s not a fantastic conversationalist. With it? They might mistake him for someone more Silver-tongued.

She doesn’t curtsy, though he can see the Red staining her cheeks, and it fills him with relief enough that he studies her for familiarity. Yet beneath the mask, it isn’t until she smiles, the expression filled with bubbling joy, that he recognizes the Red chef he spoke to at the last event they had like this. Of course it would be her. Something loosens in his shoulders at the fact that no one has come to demand anything but his genuine conversation, and he holds out a hand in response to her question, as gentlemanly as he can.

❝ I will, though I’m a bit of a wooden partner. ❞ He takes her hand and leads her to the floor --- even a Silver with no social graces must know how to dance to survive. At least, that’s what he was taught. As an heir to his house, it would be reprehensible to have no skill, but he’s never been truly imaginative with it. Still, he knows where to rest a hand on her waist and how high to hold the opposite one, knows how to spin her in a relatively graceful fashion, and he’s a strong enough leader. ❝ Did you visit the library, then? ❞

#✖ ; made of sugar spice and all things nice. (melody)#✖ ; my spirit doesn't move like it did before.#✖ ; event: le cirque ball.

Date: April 15th Time: 10pm Locale: Dance Floor Availability: for @decadentlonging

He still felt the shadow of it, the wound that Sofiya had left on him not minutes ago. I need to do something, she’d said, something more than words alone. But why did that something have to take her away from Max, away from him? Because he could dress it up in worry for the Princess, but in truth, he was desperately, impossibly lonely. He could already feel the change in him, having the person he wanted most to share with so far away that letters would take weeks to return. She wasn’t that far yet, but she would be tomorrow, and then who would hear him out? There was no one to listen.

Maybe that was selfish, that anger and abandonment, but at the very least it was real. Even if he never shared it with anyone else. He filtered through the crowd along the dance floor, eager to be as far from the press of bodies as possible but knowing that there was someone else who might share this wound. And if he felt abandoned, he couldn’t pretend to imagine what Rahul would feel. The two were impossibly close.

The least he could do was try and talk to them. He wasn’t going to bring up Sofiya unless Rahul did, but he could try to take their mind off of it by showing that he hadn’t even ruined the very nice suit they’d designed for him. At least he didn’t think he had.

Calder spotted Rahul and gravitated forward, pulled by his nervous and awkward desire to attempt to make things better for someone he knew was hurting. He wasn’t sure if he wasn’t about to make it worse, or if he could in any way make it better. He just knew he wasn’t going to stand there and say nothing at all.

❝ Thank you, ❞ he said, starting small. ❝ I’m glad I didn’t embarrass Max tonight. ❞

#✖ ; moments to be worked through.#✖ ; draped in decadent rubies as sharp and lethal as any blade. (rahul)#✖ ; event: le cirque ball.#✖ ; locale: the palace.#ofsilverstarter

caloreprincess:

His words, of course, are a delicate kind of intimacy, a new kind of delight – both familiar and strange all at once: a glory song sung by the armies of Hera, a soldier returning home from war. I was upset. I worried for you. I had to see you. They all ring in her ears and envelop her in a warmth that she’s never felt before, a kind of softness one would expect from a mother or father that Adeline had never grown accustomed to. Children weaned on poison consider harm a comfort, they say, and they were right. The warmth, despite the fire in her veins, felt foreign.

That being said, Max never wanted to let go.

When he wraps his arm around her slender waist, she thinks this must be what prayer tastes like on the gods tongue. This has to be what it taste like to be given a blood sacrifice, what it feels like to gain the world but cast death upon the earth as penance. Because that’s exactly what this was, wasn’t it? Some sort of greek tragedy? The princess found her happiness, found her blessing, and the Fates lit all of her strings on fire and shoved them down her throat.

Max can feel it, the exact moment that her heart drops from its place between her ribs like a thunderbolt at it crashes straight through to the floor, crossing the space and all the blood and marrow to leave her open and bleeding. Her throat feels like the ground after it has rained, something open and caught all at the same time, as though the moisture as slicked her throat for easy speaking while also clogging the spaces between her lips. She finds the words cannot come, but she cannot move. Maybe, just maybe, if she stays there buried in the warmth of him the world will just fade away. Max is too tired to feel the pain, is too tired to fight the good fight against the darkness and all of that bullshit.

She was done with death. She was done with loss. She was done with mortality.

❝ No – nobody’s told you anything? ❞

She knows how much he loves ( scratch that, loved ) her sister, and she knows that he will be ruined by the death of one soul that he had sworn to protect. Maybe it hadn’t been a formal oath ( Calder was, after all, meant to be pledged to one soul and one soul only, but one of the many reasons Max loved him was his inability to adhere to that rule, his love far too expansive to allow for the protection of only one ), but it had been an oath he made with himself.

❝ How, how could they not tell you? How could no one tell you anything? What kind of cruelty is that, to make you sit in the unknowing? ❞ She pulling away from him now, but it’s not far. She couldn’t stand it if his hand left her waist, if his hand left her neck. No, she’s just far enough back that she can look into his eyes, just close enough that he can see the terror or torment that fills her own. She jaw is quivering and there are tears in her eyes and then suddenly they are on her face because she is angry: at the nurses, at the silvers for not seeing this coming, at Orion for being the kind of king people want to murder, at herself for not loving Eve as well as she should have, at everything. She is a jumble of mixed up puzzle pieces and she knows that Cal is the only one who will be able to make sense of her chaos, the only one who will be able to calm her from this sudden onset of grief and guilt. ❝ I – I can’t – I can’t believe – ❞

❝ I can’t believe no one’s told you. ❞

She can’t do it. She can’t be the one. But she will have to be.

He is basking in the glow of her. Perhaps that’s why the tone of her voice, the way it drops from worry to near-panicked anger, the way she looks at him with such sorrow in her eyes, hits him in the gut. Who? If not Max, if not Romilly, than who? He can’t bear to consider the many people he would hate to lose. Sofiya? Eve? Cassius? Any thought is painful, riddled with guilt and hopelessness, and still he waits for her to tell him it’s better than he thinks. Who was so seriously injured that it would put such horror in her eyes?

In the end, however, his concern for Max outweighed his terror at the news to come. ❝ I only just woke up, but no. No one has said anything. I don’t know why, either. It’s better to have truth than to sit and enjoy a pretty omission. ❞ His hand slid, almost feather-light, up her spine, a comforting gesture that ends with it on her cheek, cradling her jaw against his palm. She’s looking at his eyes and he’s looking at hers, studying the amber of them and marveling at just how close they are to his.

Max looks on the verge of tears, and quite suddenly, Calder would do anything to make them go away. ❝ It’s okay, ❞ he says, murmured nonsense to try and end her obvious discomfort. ❝ We don’t have to talk about it. Not yet. We can -- I can read the lists, I can ask a healer, anything. ❞ He brushes a thumb over her cheek and is entranced by the softness of it, distracted by everything new and lovely they have shared between them. ❝ I would not steal light from your eyes, Max. I would rather be an escape from worry than an additional burden. ❞

#( i'm just trying to shorten things and live my best life??? )#✖ ; every breath you take is precious; you feel like honey in my veins. (max)#✖ ; did you mean to be my sanctuary?#✖ ; locale: the hospice.

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