False King

low activity, selective RP blog for Balekin Greenbriar from The Folk of The Air series.

[grackleprince]

GRACKLEPRINCE: Why hello, there! Name’s Liz/Lizzie, and I’m 27; been role playing for a good while now. Zero offense intended to the youngin’s on here, but I’d prefer not interacting with you if you’re under 18 because I don’t necessarily love the vibes of a 20-something being all buddy-buddy with a random teenager, ya know??

RP NOTE: I'm gonna be keeping this blog pretty selective, because Balekin is a monster, and I will feel more comfortable writing with people I already know, who I know I can discuss things with OOC. Not to say I won't write with anyone new, just. . . we're easing into it.

Also, this blog is heavily affiliated with @cruelprincae (pretty much made this blog for her) so any reference to Cardan will be heavily based on her portrayal.

[grackleprince]

" No. Do not touch me. "

Balekin's hand actually stilled in a moment of surprise after Cardan's refusal. Then the moment passed, and cold amusement took over his expression as he reached out to cup the boy's cheek anyway, despite the request. (He wouldn't view it as anything else but a request, because surely Cardan wasn't foolish enough to command him.)

"Oh? Are you feeling shy tonight?" He crowded the young man until he'd backed him against a wall and rested his hand on the wall next to Cardan's head. "Do you need a little wine for the nerves?"

[cruelprincae]

                      Step  by  haunting  step,  Balekin  inches  closer  until  his  frame  is  all  the  Prince  can  see  ―  his  cruel,  gruesome  smirk  as  well  as  the  violent  intent  sparking  behind  the  silver  eyes  ―  and  when  he  next  speaks,  when  he  voices  the  offense  for  which  he  himself  stands  on  trial,  it  is  as  though  someone  brought  down  a  bucket  of  cold  water  upon  him  and  drenched  him  down  to  the  bone.  Chilling  shivers  spread  down  his  spine,  and  the  boy  swallows  harshly,  alas,  he  does  not  break  eye  contact  with  the  eldest  Greenbriar  ―  he  does  not  dare  to,  for  such  would  bring  forth  a  brand  new  set  of  affronts,  to  which  the  punishment  would  be  graver  than  a  mere  whipping.

                      The  girl  ―  the  mortal  girl,  with  hair  the  colour  of  ivory  and  eyes  the  colour  of  moss,  whom  she  told  him  goes  by  the  name  Beth.  Balekin  is  not  supposed  to  come  to  notice  her  absence,  at  least,  not  until  several  more  weeks  have  passed,  and  he  can  claim  he  does  not  recall  the  last  time  that  he  has  seen  her  ―  perchance,  even  mask  her  absence  with  the  pretense  that  she  may  have  been  stolen  away  by  a  mermaid  whilst  running  an  errand  and  drowned  in  their  waters.  Yet  it  has  not  been  a  full  rise  and  set  of  the  moon,  and  the  eldest  Greenbriar  has  not  only  noted  the  absence  of  his  latest  toy  but  also  pinpointed  it  to  himself,  as  though  he  knows  of  his  scheme  of  releasing  the  glamoured  mortals  into  the  mortal  land.

                      Alas,  he  cannot  know,  can  he  ?  Should  he  know  of  it,  then  he  would  not  merely  come  to  his  room  spitting  accusations  and  threats,  but  rather,  the  youngest  Prince  would  already  be  chained  to  the  basement,  where  he  would  be  beaten  bloody  until  he  has  no  more  blood  left  to  bleed.  No,  Balekin  cannot  possibly  know  ―  which,  on  its  own,  means  that  there  is  still  room  to  spin  this  in  his  favour,  still  time  to  escape  the  horrible  threat  of  the  belt  whipping  down  his  already  sore  and  bruised  back,  for  it  has  not  been  a  full  week  yet  since  his  last  beating  ―  the  wounds  have  not  yet  healed.

                      Cardan  dares  not  break  eye  contact  with  his  brother  as  his  brother  runs  a  pointed,  sharp-thorned  finger  across  his  cheek.  He  forces  an  easy  smile  upon  his  plump  lips,  however,  before  managing  to  breathe  the  slightest  bit  of  foolery  to  divert  the  other's  anger,  Balekin  has  already  gripped  a  fist-full  of  his  black  curls  and  yanked  his  head  backward  until  his  silver,  raging  eyes  is  all  he  can  see  ―  all  he  can  feel  scorching  away  on  his  skin.  His  breath  catches  in  his  throat,  instead  coming  out  as  hisses  and  pants  due  to  the  strain  put  upon  his  throat.  Almost  by  instinct,  his  hands  reach  upwards  to  bite  down  to  the  flesh  with  his  own  claws  as  though  to  break  free,  but  the  thorns  dig  into  his  skin,  cutting  it  open  and  making  it  bleed  without  so  much  as  yielding  the  power  they  hold.

                      There's  a  moment  ―  a  split  second  in  time,  that  the  Prince's  wide  eyes  betray  the  fear  that  has  taken  hold  of  his  body  ―  a  split  second  in  which  his  black  eyes  narrow  into  two  slits  of  gold,  and  a  whimper  nearly  escapes  his  throat.  Alas,  he  catches  himself  at  the  last  possible  minute,  and  all  fear  is  once  again  masked  by  the  cruel  facade  of  burning  rage  that  has  been  burning  bright  within  his  ribcage  as  though  two  black  coals.

                      ❛  I  know  not  of  her  current  whereabouts,  ❜  Cardan  says.  His  voice  is  a  breathless  whisper,  and  his  brows  furrow  together  behind  a  sea  of  black  curls  as  he  strains  under  his  brother's  hand,  as  though  to  put  further  distance  between  the  two.  A  lie  all  in  its  own  considering  he  cannot  possibly  know  where  she  is  as  of  now,  given  that  he  left  her  in  the  mortal  land  all  but  a  day  ago,  but  it  is  some  thing  that  the  tongue  of  the  Folk  shall  let  slide.  ❛  To  be  frank,  brother,  you  ought  to  cease  losing  your  toys  and  then  come  accusing  me  of  touching  them.  The  girl  could  be  anywhere.  Do  you  see  her  in  my  chamber  to  be  this  distraught  ?  ❜

[grackleprince]

Balekin let out a thin sigh, disappointed by his brother's refusal to comply with even the simplest of commands. The fact of the matter was, he already knew Cardan had set the girl free, as he had with other servants before her. He'd merely been given the welp a chance to admit to it and accept the consequences of his poor choices with grace.

He loved his little brother; saw so much himself in the boy, and knew his potential to become something great. Balekin wanted to foster that greatness. If only. he. would. listen.

". . .Very well, little brother," he sighed again. "You do so seem to enjoy taking the bloodier, more painful path, these days, so I shall indulge you, despite it bringing me no pleasure." It was necessary, though. Cardan's behavior made that clear. He'd been too soft on the boy as of late.

The eldest stared down at the youngest with cold anger in his silver eyes as he reached down to undo his belt. "I would say that I'll beat the answers out of you, but we both know the truth already. I'll settle for beating the lesson not to defy me into you." He slowly pulled his belt free and held it loosely, casually even, in one hand.

"Now. Be a good boy, bare your back, and take the beating you've earned for yourself. I will not repeat myself, and if I have to make you obey--" Balekin hooked a thorned finger under Cardan's chin. "I will make you regret it."

[cruelprincae]

"How many times, little brother, must I tell you not to touch that which doesn't belong to you?" He may be about to take off his belt to beat the boy, he may just be trying to intimidate him; it really depends on Cardan's response.

unprompted asks / always welcome / @painofhumanity

                      Drunk  as  he  is  on  Faerie  wine,  Cardan  does  not  quite  notice  Balekin's  presence  in  his  chamber  ―  not  until  he  speaks  up  (  a  voice  low,  menacing,  and  laced  with  the  most  subtle  of  threats  as  per  always  )  resulting  in  the  Prince  turning  on  his  heels,  startled  and  unbalanced  enough  to  knock  the  school  books  and  various  other  belongings  from  his  desk  onto  the  stone  floor,  where  they  ring  as  though  an  explosion.

                      It  is  difficult,  to  say  the  least,  to  pinpoint  precisely  the  offence  Balekin  is  referring  to  in  his  mind,  considering  how  very  vastly  it  is  swirling  from  the  wine's  influence  ;  The  offenses  vary  from  releasing  the  young,  mortal  girl  ―  the  newest  addition  to  Balekin's  mortal  slaves,  and  entertainment  toy  on  that  matter  ―  from  her  glamoured  spell  and  returning  her  to  her  home  in  the  mortal  land  to  catching  a  glimpse  of  his  brother's  strategic  plans  that  he  has  purposely  kept  from  him  that  one  time  that  he  found  himself  wandering  in  his  private  chambers  when  in  search  of  him.

                      There,  on  his  desk,  he  had  found  sealed  envelopes  with  the  marked,  embroidered  wax  of  the  Undersea's  seal,  as  well  as  several  other,  opened  scrolls  that  contained  pages  worth  of  scribbles  of  the  Palace  of  Elfhame,  its  structure,  and  its  weak  points  ―  an  oddity,  were  one  to  inquire  Cardan,  considering  that  Balekin  was  raised  in  that  Palace  as  much  as  he  was  and  therefore  ought  to  know  it  inside  out,  alas,  it  was  none  of  his  business,  and  thus,  he  dared  not  inquire  further  about  it,  despite  it  having  spiked  his  curiosity  in  fear  of  invoking  his  ire.

                      It  can  be  either  one  of  these  possibilies  ―  or,  it  can  be  none,  and  his  brother's  ire  is  invoked  by  something  other  that  Cardan  did,  whether  it  be  intentional  or  unintentional  at  that.  Mab  knows  that  his  brother  is  as  easily  agitated  as  the  most  rageful  of  trolls  upon  someone  bothering  them.

                      ❛  I  understand  not  what  you  are  referring  to,  brother,  ❜  Though  the  words  come  out  slurred,  Cardan  has  a  clear  image  of  his  brother  ―  of  the  way  that  his  thorned  hand  is  resting  upon  the  top  of  his  belt,  reaching  to  bring  it  undone,  of  the  hard,  unreadable  features  of  his  face.  The  Prince  posture  straightens,  and  his  face  pales  at  the  silent  implication  as  both  black  eyes,  now  narrowed  to  two  golden,  cat-like  slits,  dart  between  the  leather  and  his  brother's  face.  His  tail  hovers  close  to  the  ground,  darting  from  side  to  side,  as  though  it  too  detects  the  danger,  and,  merely  to  be  safe,  he  steps  further  back  to  his  chamber,  as  though  to  put  further  distance  between  the  two.  ❛  Cease  speaking  in  riddles.  You  are  well  aware  I  understand  them  not.  ❜

[grackleprince]

Balekin let out a soft "Tsk" as he took slow, graceful steps into his little brother's chambers. He looked almost amused as he stopped in the center of the room, staring down at the seated boy, and slid his thumb into the belt, ready to pull it free of the buckle if Cardan tested him.

"Cardan," he began in a tone that was somehow both indulgent and warning. "You are a smart boy. Smart enough to know that you cannot keep secrets from me. Smart enough," Balekin continued smoothly as he finally stepped over to Cardan's desk. "To know the consequences of attempting to deceive me. So. . . I'll ask you once, and once only."

Thorny fingers threaded through soft curls and clutched firmly before Balekin jerked Cardan's head back, forcing the boy to look up at him. "Where. Is. The. Girl?" The question came out like a hiss. "And, should you have it in your head to reply with one of your amusing little quips, I encourage you to reconsider, little brother. I am not in the mood. Answer me plainly. . . You'll get a whipping either way, but at least if you give a satisfactory answer, I won't leave you in the dungeon, raw and bleeding."

Cardan was getting far too bold, of late, and Balekin thought it was high time to remind the welp to whom he owed his life. His youngest sibling had always been wild and unruly, and had always required constant correction and the firmest of hands to keep him in line; Balekin was the only one willing to give either to him.

[mckendrickslove]

Cillian Murphy photographed by Adam Whitehead Photography for Sharp Magazine’s Book for Men, Spring/Summer 2020 Issue (2020)

[theclothesoftheair]

Something Balekin would wear to attend Court.

Elie Saab, Autumn/Winter 2023-24.

[grackleprince]

GRACKLEPRINCE role play blog for Balekin Greenbriar ; low activity, highly selective, canon divergent, and affiliated with cruelprincae

[cruelprincae]

There is a moment in time between Balekin's gleeful, sly smirk and the sharp inhale of breath himself takes in that Cardan wishes to scream that he is wrong; that Balekin ― albeit the one who raised him with an iron fist and a heart of stone for majority of his life ― does not know the first thing about him to make such accusations, that enough time has gone by where his hand has been forced to slain to protect those that he loves and that the eldest Greenbriar would be of no particular exception― and yet, the words seem to die upon his tongue, trapped by the walls of his throat in the all too familiar ( and quite frankly painful ) way of the Folk attempting a lie. Alas, he brushes such into the back of his head, upon the pile of thoughts meant to be avoided until he is four bottles into faerie wine, where his thoughts circle his head like a flock of irksome, angered sprites.

❛ Enough time has gone by, brother. Are you truly certain you wish to bargain your head on a mere assumption ? You, the coward, who has always operated through the hands of others ? I would have thought you would be more careful. Particularly now, when there is nought you can run to and no allies for you to deceive death yet again. ❜ Cardan states, with his voice being little more other than a hissing growl, an act similar to an animal ready to pounce. When the Prince's silver eyes fell upon the hilt of his blade held within his shaking grasp and upon witnessing the mild humour in his face, reminiscing him of a time when the other would scold and laugh upon all the ways with which the youngest Prince held the faux, wooden blade in his hand, Cardan's eyes narrow upon his thin figure and his gaze hardens.

There is half a thought in his head to command him to cease his aimless talking, to point out that he has the power now, and yet, all intent evaporates within an instance as his brother begins to sneer about how his own daughter calls him father, and of all the ways he has hurt her ― and though none was explicitly stated, considering the way himself was raised under Balekin's iron grip, it does not take much for the High King to imagine them all. One is worse than the other and as mental images flash before his eyes of how his flesh and blood, his most alike daughter, was abused, Cardan cannot help but flinch whilst his body shakes with pure, uncontained wrath.

How dared he lay a hand on her ? Who gave him the right to strip her from her youth and fill her with fear and uncertainty, as he had done to himself ? Cordelia was a child whose only fault was that she was born from the Greenbriar whom Balekin felt the most wronged for ― and breaking her must have certainly given the eldest a feeling of exhilaration, of divine justice. In a way, breaking Cordelia's spirit has been a means of revenge, and her suffering is no one's fault but the High King's.

He should have protected her more. He never should have looked away, not even for that split second, for it was nought but that split second that led down to this exact moment. Alas, Cardan shall have the remainder of his exceedingly long life to fault himself for the torn childhood that was granted to his youngest girl; for now, he merely has to take care of the thorny enemy that is standing before him, looking as certain and as arrogant as he has ever been.

He needs not look to know that Cordelia is watching this sparring with her breath hitched within her throat, torn between wishing that the monster before her died, and then being consumed by the guilt of such whim, given that he has been the one to care for her throughout those long years. He needs not see the desperation in her eyes to know it is there. He has felt it there ― It is the same desperation that coated his sharp features upon that fateful night when the crown was placed upon his head and he was declared High King, as well as the night that Jude supposedly ran her sword through his chest.

❛ She was in no need of molding for she was perfect. And you, are not her father. I am and you thieved me from all the moments of watching her grow. And for that, you shall pay. ❜ Growls Cardan. His lips are curled to reveal his sharp canines and his eyes ― filled to the brim with raw wrath ― are diluted in such a way that the gold seems to swallow all evidence of the blackness, shimming in a feverish exasperation. Indeed, his emotions rule him; and yet, he has found that it is reigning with those particular emotions that he has finally found peace. ❛ Pick up your sword brother and spar. Waste not my time. ❜

[grackleprince]

"No one can change quite so much, little brother," Balekin chuckled darkly. "Your circumstances and fortunes may have changed greatly, but you are still the same weak and petulant child you always were. Of this, I'm quite certain."

It was almost laughably easy to rattle Cardan, no matter how much he claimed to have grown and matured. Balekin wasn't even putting in his best effort, yet, and he could see the volatile emotions in the boy's face. He noted Cordelia's concerned frown with a smirk, though it quickly shifted into something more akin to snarl as he saw the hope flickering in her eyes at Cardan's words. She was perfect. What sentimental nonsense. He'd spent years beating such thoughts of unconditional love and boundless affection out of the girl, and here Cardan was, filling her head with them all over again.

Balekin sneered at Cardan's demand. "No. No, I don't think I will. I have a better way of settling this." He locked eyes with the girl he'd raised in his own twisted, tarnished image and smiled darkly.

"Cordelia. It seems that all you've done is cause your father more pain since you've come back. . . Look at him. All that pain and anger is because of you." Because Cardan hadn't protected her, because he hadn't been able to find her all this time, because the carefree and energetic little girl he'd lost came back as a meek woman. "I'm disappointed."

His words had the desired affect; Cordelia's golden cat eyes went wide and she immediately curled in on herself. He'd taught her well what to expect when he was disappointed in her, and even time away from him hadn't erased that fear. Good.

"It's time to come home, now, Cordelia. Clearly I still need to cure you of your less desirable behaviors. . . Come to me." He beckoned her with one thorned finger, and watched with satisfaction as she obediently started walking towards him. Balekin shot his brother a smug look clearly reading She's mine.

[grackleprince]

@cruelprincae continued from here

"You're not a killer, little brother," Balekin said with a smirk. "You said so yourself. You couldn't even kill a glamoured servant. However do you think you'll be able to kill the one who raised you?" He eyed his little brother's trembling hand with one brow quirked in amusement, and made no move to draw his own blade.

"Your emotions rule you now just as they did when you were but a boy. If you think it through, I did you a favor. I took your feral little urchin and molded her into a lady actually fitting of carrying on the Greenbriar line. I saw where I failed with you, and corrected those mistakes when I raised her."

Balekin could see it in her wide, fearful eyes, as she watched. "Look at her, little brother," he said with a nod towards Cordelia. "She loves me. Could you really kill me in front of her? The only father she's ever known? I don't think you could. I don't think you're capable of breaking her heart, Cardan."

[grackleprince]

"Don't you dare lay one more finger on my daughter, you son of a whore."

"I fail to see what our father has to do with any of this," Balekin sniffed, bored already with his little brother's tantrum. "And in any case, I hardly have to lay more than a warning glance on her anymore to ensure she behaves. After all, Cordelia is far more obedient than you ever were as a child. Though that obedience didn't come without an extra firm hand," he continued with a smirk.

[grackleprince]

Ruthlessness is mercy upon ourselves.

Ruthlessness, Epic: The Musical

[grackleprince]

@cruelprincae continued from here

Balekin clicked his tongue in distaste as Cardan had the gall to argue with him, even make threats. He'd left his baby brother to his own devices for far too long, it would seem. Cardan had forgotten the lessons Balekin had carved into him as a boy and believed himself not only his eldest brother's equal, but his better. No matter. Cardan would soon be reminded how short a way he could go without his guidance.

Balekin been giving the boy king small doses of various drugs and poisons since his return to the palace; enough to keep the boy weak, and in irregular quantities to keep his body from becoming accustomed to it. Hence the shaking in his limbs as Cardan tried to make himself an imposing figure.

With a practiced smile that was equally genteel and threatening--the one he used to give a rowdy child in public so he knew Balekin would punish him once the audience was gone--he stalked around the desk. "You are as ungrateful as ever, I see," he commented in a deceptively soft tone.

Thorned hand lashed out in an instant and clamped around the back of the boy's neck with a firm squeeze, bearing down until already quaking knees buckled and Cardan was back in his seat. "You forget yourself. You were little more than a beast when you came into my care. I dressed you, educated you, made you into a somewhat respectable creature, and yet all the thanks I get is your continued defiance. . . You are High King only because a mortal brat defied her father and upset the rightful order of things. You could not have gotten here on your own. And now? Where is she?" Balekin hissed.

"Your bloody spy wench is nowhere in sight, and you're all alone. Unsupported. How long do you think you can last without someone to check you, little brother? You were never a stupid child, yet you're arrogant enough to think you'll be able to rule without being taken advantage of by the vultures our father left behind? All on your own? . . Come now, Cardan. We both know you need me."

[grackleprince]

"Stop. Stop that."

"You may have the crown, little brother, but do not mistake that for having the right to command your betters," Balekin warned with a veneer of polite conversation. "Or have you forgotten who raised you? Were it not for me, you wouldn't even be here to play at being king."

[grackleprince]

I'm not good. I'm not nice. I'm just right.

[inlovewithquotes]

“This is ridiculous,” Cardan says, spitting on the floor. “Why must we play this silly game? Or do you like this part? Is this what makes it fun for you?”

“Swordplay isn’t a game.” Balekin swings again. Cardan tries to jump back, but the staff catches the edge of his thigh.

Cardan winces, bringing up his sword defensively. “Then why call it swordplay?”

-The Cruel Prince

[grackleprince]

GRACKLEPRINCE role play blog for Balekin Greenbriar ; low activity, highly selective, canon divergent, and affiliated with cruelprincae