RP

[zoe31602]

So in a recent post I told you about RP. I'm going to start posting my work here so that people can see my writing style and enjoy good stories.
So without further ado here is the first installment of Jay's Royce Clarendon and my own Alexia Mirrose.


Royce : The ancient castle was ablaze with lights. Tall and formidable it stood, high atop its nearly impenetrable rock face, a pinnacle of history to those who knew and understood its significance. The enormous manse was the Imperial Residence and dwelling place of Emperor Valdemar con Rethoras, Hierarch of the People of the Night, supreme ruler of the aristocracy. The Emperor had ruled his dark realm for over a thousand years; the Emperor himself had seen nearly thrice as many. Ageless were his people, a once proud linage of nobles, their actions governed by honor, chivalry and dignity. But war and ravage had ripped those qualities from the aristocracy; now the nobility was little more than a cadre of degenerates, plotting against the other in the deep dark places, beings existing only to fulfill their slightest whim and fancy. True monsters. Vampires. The Emperor sighed to himself as he pondered these thoughts. How the world had changed, since his youth. But it seemed the fates had deemed his race to fall into disarray, no more the proud angels of darkness as before. With another sigh, this one of tiredness in his old frail bones, he shuffled from the window back to his soft chair, easing into the cushion gently. Pale blue eyes closed for a moment; the slightly wrinkled hand brushed back white hair from his forehead. Oh, age was getting to him, but he was still as powerful as he ever was. Although the state robes did get a trifle cumbersome at times. He subliminally knew his “guests” were gathering belowstairs, but it wasn’t quite time yet to begin this little soiree. Protocol demanded he invite his “nobles” for a saturnalia reverie, mainly serving as a place where they could show off for one another. Yet, diplomacy and politics were thick in this realm, the stink of collusion always rank among his people. Valdemar did have hope, however, that his race would see what they had become, before it was far too late and return to the Old Ways. He had hope, no matter how dim the spark. A valet appeared in the doorway, clearing his throat a bit discreetly. “Aye,” the old vampire said with a wave of a gnarled hand. “Let my guests mingle a bit longer. I doubt me all have arrived.” The servant bowed respectfully and disappeared to carry out his master’s wishes.

As Adia placed the last of the jewels in Alexia’s blond, upswept curls Alexia’s cousin, Lord Derek strode into the luxurious dressing room without so much as a knock. Having traveled from afar they had arrived at the palace the day before and would remain until the next evening to make the journey home again. Home, ah me how I miss the simple elegance of our halls. Derek seemed not to notice how his cousin was lost in thought. “I say Alex, we must hurry or we shall indeed be late! I’ve a few of the chaps belowstairs that I wished to discuss matters with before our time and attention are all taken up with the Emperor.” He intoned the royal title with an arrogance and attitude that reeked youth and foolishness never outgrown. She herself was looking forward to seeing him again, he’d been kind to her in taking personal interest in her Father and Mother’s deaths and helping her to trace the family back far enough to locate her next of kin. Before a calm Alexia could reply their twelve year old ward burst into the room fully dressed, but with her beautiful black curls half formed. She barreled straight to Alexia’s lap, deftly avoiding Derek’s long legs to achieve this. Her harried maid entered after her, scolding soundly but biting off the words at Alexia’s single, raised brow. “Alex, Etta said that I would have to return to my room at my normal bed time, can I not stay awake with you to dance? I promise to be good, please?!” Riana was a bit more than head strong and knew how to get Alex to fold on occasion. It was just a matter if figuring out which tactic to use this evening. But the blonde lady was firm, though amusement flashed in her friendly green eyes. “I am sorry my dear, but this function is rather adult for you. You may come belowstairs for three hours only and then you must return to chambers to rest. We have the journey home tomorrow eve.” She stayed the girls already open mouth with a gentle finger on her lips. “Should you behave tonight, we might stop by the confectioner’s shop on our way home.” She pulled out another chair for the girl at the dressing table. “Now let Etta finish your hair and pull your slippers back on then we shall go down and dance.” She turned to her cousin, who was adjusting his cravat in the mirror beside hers and straightening his forest evening jacket over the gold shirtwaist. “We shall be down when we are when we are down, cousin, and should you like to go before us then do so, but do not expect sympathy should you be snubbed for such a breach in etiquette as forgetting to escort the Lady of the house!” She barely managed to keep the sheer ice from her tone as she stood and let Adia straighten her own gold underskirt before donning the forest over dress. The colors of the house brought out the dark haired lady’s naturally golden looks and emerald eyes to her unnoticed advantage. She herself adjusted the strategic finger curls lingering at her neck before turning to the now finished Riana. “Shall we my dear?” The girl giggled and bounced to slippered feet. “Of course!” Alex took the girl by her right hand and waited till they were outside her suite before taking her cousin’s arm.

Royce : Within the Rose Hall of the palace, the huge reception room, the musicians played beautifully as various elegantly dressed nobles thronged hither and thither. Human servants flitted between the vampires, offering refreshments, glasses of blood-laced wine and a few select fruits and meats. Many of the human myths and legends of the aristocracy had utterly no basis in fact, save for one. They had to have blood to survive. Thusly the wine was always tinged with a thick crimson hue, elegant in its own right within the crystal decanters and glasses. At the far end of the massive room stood a large raised dais upon which sat a golden gilded throne. The Emperor’s throne. To the left and right sat four slightly smaller and less ornate chairs; places of honor reserved for the Council. Made up of those nobles who were powerful and influential, the Council was an active body of members, overruled by the Emperor alone. They were responsible for keeping the peace among the aristocracy, yet they themselves were not infallible to the desires and petty greeds which corrupted those who were lesser. Five males and three females, Counts and Countesses all, they sat with regal dignity upon their velvet padded chairs, gazing with emotionless masks over the congregation. The Emperor had yet to arrive, knowing how to play the game. But still nearly a league from Rethoras, a huge grey stallion galloped with seemingly inexhaustible stamina along the dark road, its grim rider determined to reach the castle gates before too much time passed. For Royce of Langthorne-Trent, Lord Clarendon, was late. And he hated being late. Fashionably late was one thing, but his tardiness couldn’t be helped. Had he not been squeezing Markant’s throat so hard that the man’s hair bled over the years of backpay the huckster owed his liege lord, Royce would have been able to leave on time, thusly avoiding Hasfaloth’s breakneck pace on the uneven road. But he trusted his massive charger to deliver him to the gates intact. Already clad in his House red and blacks, the inky cape flapped in the passing wind as the huge animal thundered towards the spiraling towers of the Emperor’s castle.

The three were escorted down to the Rose Hall by a stoic footman bearing their name card. This he presented to the announcing footman at the door then bowed away into the shadows. Alex stilled the slight nerves clenching her stomach along with the distaste in her eyes with a demure smile. She turned and righted one of Riana’s wayward curls then took the girl’s hand and her cousin’s arm again. The footman looked over their card and thumped his staff on the marble floor to gain attention as he dutifully intoned “Lord Derek Godren, Lady Alexia Mirrose, Miss Riana Mirrose.” The trio entered the room and it wasn’t long before Derek’s less than desirable friends found them and whisked him aside to a whispered conversation while Alex curtsied gently and returned the greetings of those that stop and greet her. Riana’s sky blue eyes were huge as she tucked away all the information her little brain could hold to share with young Andrew when they got home. She would certainly enjoy trumping his brags of favoritism with these memories once they returned to the manor. Derek dutifully pulled a glass of the blood laced wine off a passing tray for his cousin and barely remembers to order a clean glass of sweet juice before he was whispering with his cohorts rather loudly about the indignities they had recently suffered. The indignity was, of course, was identical to his life. Their neighbor, Lord Clarendon had returned to claim his estates from those that had divided it. The land was coastal; just as theirs, the only difference being the terrain supported a very healthy and thriving port in Langthorne’s village where the terrain on their own land did not. She had been the one to break the news to Derek when she had been unable to meet his demands of money as well as the estates. Since the passing of The General, they had been doing much business through that port and her wisdom with money ensured that they profited greatly. Though when the current Lord had returned, he had cut off the trade route she had established between their villages. It was his own right, but it had been she and the estate that had suffered when the wanderer decided to return home. Just has Derek had returned home only when it suited him and was his advantage. She was pulled from her musings by a tug on her hand and whispered comment from Riana and gave her full attention to the girl.

Royce : The clatter of hooves slid to an abrupt halt as the rider reined in the grey horse. The great head tossed, flaring eyes rolled and nostrils flared with the cynical snort the animal expunged at being stopped. Royce grinned. Speaking a few quiet words to the animal, which shook his head and snorted again, Lord Clarendon dismounted and handed the reins to a human groomsman who’d seemed to appear out of the shadows. As Hasfaloth disappeared, heading to the stable, Royce stared up at the soaring spires of the Emperor’s domicile. An impressive stone pile, he had to admit with a slanted grin. Shaking his head a bit, he adjusted his cloak and straightened his shoulders. He was not looking forward to this. But he’d received the command Come, and so he had. Admitted by the doorman, he followed a perfunctory down the gilded hall, ignoring the looks given by scattered aristocracy. No matter what season, a few nobles frequented the palace, some to curry the Emperor’s favor, others to stand in flat opposition of it. This eve, it seemed the old Emperor had desired a bit of frivolity to appease his subjects. Royce himself had little use for any of their politics, thus his sense of foreboding at this appointed meeting. But he’d obey; t’was his oath-sworn duty, as it had been that of his father, who’d stood at the Emperor’s right hand for centuries. The tall figure strode through the throng, the length of form and breadth of shoulder granting the lord passage without interruption. As well as the decorations that littered his frame. Expensive were the arms and raiment, coupled with the stern countenance and sharp piercing grey gaze, those orbs resembling far-off storms. Thus the crowd parted of its own accord to let him pass unmolested. A discontented rumble escaped his chest as the majordomo banged his staff on the marbled floor and announced, “Presenting Royce of Langthorne-Trent, Lord Clarendon.” Royce wasn’t at all surprised at the hush that greeted his name and the countless eyes that alit upon his presence. A slanted smirk creased his lips. So flattering, their attention. Although he just knew he was about to be the subject of some hot gossip amongst the court. Let them squawk, he thought grimly. Nodding his thanks to the valet, he stepped down from the entry way and proceeded to stroll into the room, absently removing his gauntlets and handing them to a passing servitor. Another offered a glass of wine, which he quietly declined. No one approached him; there were still too many whispering in hushed tones and darting covert glances his way. Yet for Royce, melting into the crowd wasn’t any easier than it had been all those years ago. Standing a full six-three, as his ancestors had been throwbacks to the wild Picts and Norse, Royce, as had his father, towered over most. Not so easily dismissed was the unruly burnished mane which fell below massive shoulders, deep auburn strands shot with gold, pulled back in a smooth queue at the nap of his neck. But he eventually tuned out the noise from the ballroom, idly coming to an aggressive parade rest in a far corner of the room, one brow arching with mischievous glee at being such the center of attention. Yes, he’d returned and be damned if he get mixed up in this cesspool again.

At the sound of that name being announced, Lady Alexia turned to view the tall figure that moved unchallenged through the crowd. An eyebrow rose as her well trained eyes surveyed him. He was elder than she, though something in the countenance gives him more age than his years dictate. Impatient at the interruption Riana again demanded why she couldn’t go ask someone to dance. Alexia welcomed the intrusion on thoughts that threatened to turn charitable toward Lord Clarendon, she would not favor him, he was the one who had set her cousin on their peaceful estate by cutting off trade. She explained again to the precocious twelve year old that it was not proper for a lady and that the gentleman had to do the asking. She reminded the girl of her promise to behave and checked the tiny time piece behind a gold brooch that decorated her corset. T’would only be another two hours before they could send her back up to bed and out of the pit of snakes. To distract the child she pointed out various costume pieces at a whisper that soon had them both giggling quietly behind their matching gold lace fans. This diversion was interrupted occasionally by the greetings of those that had known her parents or her uncle and aunt. Each of these she saw coming and used a sip of wine each time to compose herself and greet each well wisher or sympathizer properly. Many of them were simply putting up a show of sorrow for her losses and each she greeted with the same demure smile and thanks before turning the subject away from herself. Most often she would start them talking about themselves, put up with it for a few moments, then introduce the child. These were noble folk that believed children should be neither seen nor heard until a certain age, and that age was certainly far above twelve. It was tool enough to encourage a hasty excuse and departure from her and she wielded it well. Riana was oblivious to this however and shyly allowed Alexia to introduce her as their young ward. In between these false offerings of sympathy though, Alexia found it increasingly difficult to keep her eyes or mind from straying to Lord Clarendon. Indeed, he did cut quite a dashing figure through this crowd. Not overly dashing to her mind, but well built and handsome to be sure. She noted the expensive decorations of his status and station and noted with some surprise medals he had won while at war. Rumor had it that he’d gone on the Crusades though only he knew why; it really didn’t concern the Empire of the Night whether the insurgents occupied the Holy Lands.

Royce : Royce’s mercurial mind alternately turned to other matters, such as the stone walls around his manor that needed repairing and the backyard water wells that needed purging. The banality of the court was lost on the lord, save for when the trumpets blew, heralding the arrival of Valdemar con Rethoras, Emperor of the Night. The ancient vampire appeared behind his throne, aloft by his own inestimable power. The blazing light stung the eyes of all in the room, reminding them just who still ruled this empire. The hierarch released his power and settled gently to the velvet covered dais, taking his respected seat upon his opulent throne. One by one, the assembled nobles moved to pay homage and fealty to their sovereign lord and master. Most merely mouthed the traditional words and formalities accorded for the occasion, but Lord Clarendon tossed protocol aside and actually ascended the stair and took a knee before his emperor, bowing his head in homage. “Majesty,” he intoned solemnly, rough voice audible to only those atop the dais. He ignored the assembled Council altogether, only giving eye and voice to the frail vampire in the massive chair, a fact that stirred a few feathers amid the counts and countesses. A line appeared between Royce’s brows to see the old man so fragile. Noting it, the Emperor chuckled as Royce knelt before his sovereign lord. “Worry not for my health, Lord Clarendon. Thou are concerned for naught. There is still a bit of fire in this blood, m’boy.” Royce remained on bended knee, grey eyes never wavering as they gazed upon the Emperor. Valdemar’s gaze in turn warmed slightly as he looked upon the only son and heir of his most loyal General, long since slain by treachery and betrayal. Valdemar fancied he could see a bit of Trenmont blazing in his son’s hard gaze, but he banished such notions and motioned the lord to rise. Having paid homage and been granted favor, Royce rose and turned, striding purposefully through the assembled. He’d done what he came to do, the rest would just be a waste of time, yet one he’d be forced to indulge. But Valdemar’s senior servitor waited to show the lord to his rooms and Royce followed him, arrogantly confident that the Emperor’s favor upon him had been duly noted. By them all.

Alexia’s game with Riana was interrupted yet again at the blazing show of power the Emperor put on to remind his guests who ruled this decaying nation. She was sure the girl’s eyes would fall to the floor if she stared any harder so she gently took hold of her hand and felt the fear in the tight grip. She spoke softly, her eyes alight with respect and admiration as she watched the Emperor. “Have no fear, little one, the Emperor is a good and fair man. He is one who remembers the Old Ways of chivalry. You have nothing to fear from him.” As she spoke, Derek pompously took her elbow to guide them forward. “Let us get this over with cousin, wouldn’t want to draw unnecessary attention by neglecting the high and mighty one.” He didn’t bother to hide his scorn at the tradition of paying homage. But before they were even half way across the great room, Royce mounted the stairs amidst the shocked and falsely outraged crowd. Indeed there were those who were outraged at such a display of pomp, merely because they wished for the station and intimacy with the Emperor he displayed. Then just like that, Royce left. He’d apparently finished what he came to do and wouldn’t stick around for the social/political games. She almost admired the man’s freedom and gall to shun such games. They approached and paid homage to their Emperor. While Derek merely mouthed the words of tribute, Alex’s eyes were filled with the respect and honor she held for this man. He’d made sure the council had found her a home when her parents had died. Riana’s eyes were wide still as she made her adorable curtsey before the Emperor. She stuck close to Alex, nearly hiding behind her skirts in such awesome presence. Having finished the necessary words Derek tugged Alex’s elbow sharply and led them away to their previous station among his friends. When Alex next checked the little brooch time piece, she warned Riana of her fast approaching bedtime. The little girl fought a frown and looked resentfully at Derek. “But I’ve not danced yet! You said I could dance.” The 12 year old wisely bit off her whine to ask politely “Will you get Derek to dance with me? He’s the only one here that will… please?” Alexia smiled and nodded. “Very well, one dance and then it is time for you to retire, understood?” The girl nodded and so, with a few quiet, well-chosen words, Derek and the girl danced quietly near the musicians. As the dance ended, Derek gave the closest thing he possessed to a genuine smile and escorted Riana to Alex. In turn, she was escorted to Etta, waiting just beyond the doors to take her upstairs. “Good night, little love.” Alex smiled down at the girl and bent to accept the kiss on her cheek. Steeling herself to face the onslaught of eligible young men who lurked about, waiting for just such an opportunity, she pasted on her demure smile and turned to rejoin her cousin.

Royce : Lord Clarendon followed the valet down the gilded halls until the human paused and bowed before the assigned rooms. Nodding his thanks, Royce entered the suite, giving a soft sigh of relief at the dark quiet within. He unfastened his cloak and draped it over a chair, striding to the huge bay doors and opening both, letting the breeze stir softly around the room. The long drapes billowed around him as he stared out over the Imperial Gardens below the balcony ledge. He leaned a shoulder against the doorframe, idly contemplating the roses below. Hn, just like his people. Lovely to behold, but a nest of seething thorns beneath. Typical. With a snort, he pushed off the frame and returned inside to divest himself of the scant road dust and become more “presentable” for the pampered lilies below. He knew Valdemar would want a conference with him before dawn, thus he preened quickly, consisting of retying his hair and straightening his bracers. The servant waited just outside, to escort him back downstairs; no one wandered about in the Imperial Residence. But he wasn’t surprised when the man led him to an antechamber of the throne room. Seems the Emperor was starting early. Royce ducked inside the small room, the servant closing the door behind him. A few moments later, the other door opened and Valdemar himself slowly walked in, waving off his escort. The elder vampire closed the door on the noise and bustle of the dance hall and greeted Royce warmly. “Quite daring thou art, Lord Clarendon,” Valdemar grinned, easing himself into a padded chair, motioning Royce to take the other. Seating himself across from his liege, Royce snorted. “Hardly. I have no patience for court politics, Sire, thou knowest such.” The Emperor nodded sagely. “Aye. I do. Neither did thy father, as I recall.” Royce fell silent, as he did whenever one of his parents was mentioned. Seeing Royce’s discomfort over the subject, Valdemar turned the conversation to lighter topics. “I see thou art busy restoring Langthorne to its former glory.” Grateful for the switch, Royce nodded and launched into a full detail plan for his estate and territories. Valdemar, knowing he’d never get the full story of Royce’s years away from the Empire this night, merely sighed quietly and nodded appropriately; how the years had changed the hotheaded youth he’d once known. The youth that had left the Emperor’s court in such an upheaval with his refusal to marry the Lady Mariana, despite a direct command from his Imperial master. Instead of doing his lordly duty, Royce had abandoned the Empire of the Night and turned to the wars among the humans, far to the east in their Holy Lands of Arabia. It was reputed he’d swallowed his aristocratic pride and actually served a human king, and willingly! Only to return this hard, stern noble, far too reminiscent of the great General Trenmont Langthorne himself. Nearly an hour later, the door opened once again, the music flooding brightly, and the Emperor returned to his throne, his frail arm resting heavily upon the mailed vestment of Lord Clarendon. Royce gently handed the old man into his chair and bowed once more, striding down the steps and melting into the crowd below.

Derek and his cohorts complained bitterly and rather loudly about Lord Clarendon’s display. Each took a turn trying to top one another’s insults. Alex merely rolled her eyes at this and swayed gently to the music. Each time she visited the Imperial Residence, she was struck with the beauty of the place. Each room was lavishly decorated and always beautifully prepared to receive his Majesty’s guests. Not long after Riana left for bed, Alex’s dance card was nearly full. The men of the court were always chasing her thus. After her parents died, she was left quite the inheritance upon the occasion of her marriage. A trust had been established with her aunt and uncle that would be gifted as her dowry. This irked both Derek, who couldn’t touch it and Alex, who chafed under what she considered a burden. She wanted to fall in love or at the very least be married to someone she could tolerate, though she was quite above the age many of her peers had been married. But no, she would never be sure of the reasons behind her popularity. She gave a strained smile to the younger gentleman requesting one particular dance and a silent sigh as she agreed to the dance. As she noted it on her card, the musicians struck up a rather popular dance of the time and another rather pompous courtier stepped up to claim his prize. She stiffly and politely allowed him to lead her to the floor and into the dance. The man was a bore; he spoke only of his own lands and wealth, hinting at the rich life he could offer the woman he took to his home. She nodded rather disinterestedly and wished the dance a hasty end. Finally her wish was granted and she was returned to her cousin’s side where he was becoming more and more boisterous in his tirade against Lord Clarendon. The rich wine was helping him along in his pride and he was feeling secure in that man’s absence. Just as the music paused in honor of His Majesty’s return on said Lord’s arm Derek made a loud remark about Clarendon’s probable inability to protect such advantageous lands and just where he thought the Lord had gone “to hide like a scared bitch when faced with breeding and marriage”. Alex maintained her composure at this unfortunate and embarrassing relative and showed her distaste by stepping away from him and giving only the slightest of scowls, though her eyes flashed fire and brimstone at her escort.

Royce : Several titters and guarded glances flitted Royce’s way as he made his way through the crowd. A half-smile of indulgence creased his mouth as he merely shook his head and didn’t even bother to glance the lad’s way. Typical drunk lordling. Royce knew the breed well; he’d held acclaim to that same status not that long ago. Young and arrogant, filled with his own importance, when all that really resided beneath his cold skin was emptiness and a gnawing frustration that he’d never escalate above his own self-made squalor. Aye, Royce knew well what fueled the git’s loose tongue. Which was why he merely let the snide insults roll off his shoulders like water off smooth marble. Although the Emperor’s court was the pomp of the aristocracy, Royce would be damned to serve beneath Satan’s heel forever before he lower himself to bandy words with a besotted minor lordling. He approached a small trestle table and took a glass of dark blooded wine from a servitor, glancing up as an old familiar figure appeared at his elbow. “Greetings, Lord Clarendon, and I daresay welcome home?” Royce turned and grey eyes alit on Count Mikhal Vorhalis, Earl of Vervain. The tall thin vampire was dressed in his house colors, milky skin stretched across the sharp angular countenance, but Mikhal’s dark eyes were just as bright and intelligent as ever. Count Vorhalis was an Elder and had refused several flattering offers of a Council Seat, it was whispered. Which certainly wouldn’t surprise Royce in the least. If ever there was a loyal servant of Valdemar con Rethoras, that honor had first fallen upon Royce’s father, Trenmont Langthorne, then secondly to Mikhal Vorhalis. Mikhal made a small gesture and a young boy, no older than fifteen, materialized at his side from the crowd, nestling close to his master’s side. Royce noted it in passing as he replied greetings. “Indeed, well met to thee, Count Vorhalis. And thy welcome is most appreciated, for I have not been long returned to Clarendon. How I have missed it, during my travels.” Mikhal, stroking his pet’s soft dark hair, nodded cordially. “I know thy liege people were gladdened by thy return, Royce, but I fear me ill has been done thee in thy absence.” One of Royce’s brows twitched in wry amusement. “Shouldst thou refer to the leeching of funds, aye, of those I am well aware. Worry not, my lord, for all has been put to right in that regard. Clarendon will flourish again, do not doubt.” Mikhal’s grin was a bit lecherous. “Nay, lord, for thou art thy father’s son. I know thou will put all to rights, Royce.” He too took a glass and sipped dutifully. “I trust thy audience with the Emperor was well received?” Mikhal was burningly curious as to just who this noble was who looked so much like Trenmont’s only son. Although the form without was still the same of the hot headed and hot blooded aristocrat he’d known a few decades hence, Mikhal knew that Royce of Langthorne-Trent had returned a different being. “Aye, ‘twas.” A brief flicker of sympathy and sorrow passed through grey eyes. “It pains me to see the old man so frail. Although he’s lost none of his former power, I discern he’s holding the realm together by his fingernails and a prayer.” Mikhal nodded sagely. “Aye, ‘tis true, that. There is much unrest and turmoil in the lower lordlings, Royce.” He snorted and waved a thin hand in dismissal. “They are naught. Merely an infestation of the nobility. Lusts with fangs,” he growled, a dark look creeping over his face. “Bah,” he continued, dismissing it altogether. “Do not worry for such tonight, Royce. There will be time enough to restore order and grace to our people.” But his eyes held dark sorrow. “Although much blood will be shed again, I fear. For the Emperor will not gain peace without war.” Royce nodded. “Such is the way.” Mikhal clapped the other on a broad shoulder. “Enough of this talk. We will converse again, surely, before we depart,” he said warmly, steering the younger from the table. “Pull thy stern visage into a semblance of gaiety and enjoy a bit of fine company, Royce. Surely there is something here to tempt thine eye.” Royce couldn’t help but grin, the expression altering his entire countenance, a startling contrast. “Mikhal, thou art still insatiable, old lecher.” A wink was his reply as the elder bore his pet off. Royce chuckled, unable to help shaking his head in mirth. Perhaps he should unbend enough to have a dance or two before the sun rose. Royce was comfortable enough to know he was attractive; women, both human and noble, rarely rejected him, but he wasn’t overly prideful enough to be arrogant. He browsed the assembled nobles a moment, taking note of the females present. A few he recognized, which he approached first and, after a few exchanged pleasantries, led Lady Donia Basne for a spin around the dance floor. He enjoyed pleasant conversation while they danced, which secretly delighted him. Returning her to her father with warm thanks, he turned and found Count and Countess Etalon, with whom he conversed for several minutes, then mischievously solicited a dance from the lovely countess, much to her delight.

Derek had the decency to flush mightily as his remark rang out in the sudden quiet of the room. Amidst the nervous twitters and shocked gasps of the aristocracy, Alex silently wished the floor would open and swallow her. With her back to the offending relative she didn't see him puff his chest belligerently and look down his nose in Clarendon’s direction. What she did witness, however, was the cynical and haughty looks that were spreading rapidly through the room. Each look came from the more pious members of the court. They would shun Derek now, and her as well, for her relation to the man who dared to publicly insult the Emperor’s man. Her face remained the picture of distaste and delicate embarrassment as thoughts of murder flitted through her mind. Her cousin was slowly but surely cutting off all ties to good trade and honorable business with the nobles around them. As Lord Clarendon remained his stoic, contained self, Alex released a breath she hadn’t known she was holding. It would have been enough to drive her from the party had he responded to the ill timed remark. The next dance began and again Alex was claimed by a puffed up lordling who could speak of nothing but his own merits and the inheritance he would receive upon his Father’s passing. She hid well the disgust that rose in her at these words. This arrogant youth relished the idea of his parents’ death. She was glad when the dance ended, freeing her to enjoy the music, wine and surroundings. A dance passed where she went un-partnered and she was able to observe the dance floor. It was times like these she wish wished her mother and father hadn’t lived abroad. No one knew her or her family well enough to even make a pretense of friendship. She was certain Derek’s slip up hadn’t done anything to help her social connections at all though she cared little save to have conversation at parties. Her eyes searched the crowd and she found herself the scrutiny of an elder Baroness who studied her with curiosity. She gave a polite smile and nod before turning her eyes to study the intricate chandelier above the dance floor. She was startled from her candle counting by a mellow alto voice at her side. “Good evening my dear, forgive my curiosity, but was not thy mother Lady Corelle Atia before she married the traveling Lord Mirrose?” Alex’s eyes instantly reflect questions as she turns to the slightly plump Baroness that had studied her earlier. Her sweet soprano voice answered with its own curiosity, “Indeed I am. My mother had many friends in the Court before she took to traveling with my father. I am Alexia Renee, her only child. Please, whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?” The Baroness’ smile was genuine and warm. “I am the Baroness du Genta, Lady Alyssa Surle before I married. Thy mother was a dear friend and wrote of thee often in her letters.” Lady Mirrose returned the smile in kind, responding to the genuine warmth exuding from the Baroness. “Truly ‘tis a pleasure to make thy acquaintance!” she dropped a light curtsey then met the lady’s eyes. “My mother oft spoke of the adventures and scrapes thee and she got into as young women of the court. Indeed, she was happy for thee when the Baron proposed and heart broken that we could not travel for the ceremony.” At that moment, a portly Baron made his way to the woman’s side. Alexia noted the decorations of rank upon his lapel. Turning, the Baroness accepted the wine glass that her husband offered, “May I introduce said gentle man, Baron Andrew du Genta, Lady Alexia Mirrose. She is the daughter of my dear friend Corelle.” The Baron’s face lit with recognition and a kind smile as he bent over Alexia’s hand. “Indeed I remember my wife mentioning thy mother with great yearning. We both felt for thee upon hearing of their unfortunate deaths.” His eyes reflected his genuine sympathy. Alex’s momentary uncertainty faded away and she smiled. “Many thanks, my lord. It is a relief to my mind knowing there are those here that knew and esteemed my parents.” They conversed gaily about the escapades of the Baroness and her mother. Many a laugh was had over the next few dances as the Baron added his own thoughts on the mischievous women.

Royce : As titillating as the conversation was, the Baron du Genta knew it was one meant for women’s ears alone; a male had better things to do with his time than listen to females titter. But a mirth filled grin creased his lips as he moved away, pausing in his drinking as he spied the tall lord handing off his dance partner to her evening escort. Ah, indeed. Du Genta, like most nobles of the Emperor’s court, had been burning with curiosity since the return of Lord Clarendon. Upon further scrutiny, it seemed to the baron that for a fleeting moment Trenmont Langthorne-Trent’s silhouette superimposed over the image of his son and heir. He sighed softly. The Emperor’s great General was mourned by the loyal legions, the baron included. But he took another dose of wine and strolled over to greet Royce, offering the correct courtly gestures and murmurs of goodwill, which helped to keep down the tempers of all assembled. Kept down the bloodshed, that. Royce, a bit surprised by all this congeniality, returned the Baron’s greetings cordially and exchanged the necessary pleasantries. He grew a bit stiff at the mention of his father, but subliminally knew the Baron held no overt plot, no hidden motive. He was simply a retired noble passing time of day with his former general’s son. Royce unclenched his teeth a bit and allowed himself to be moved along in the conversation. But an eyebrow lifted as the baron insisted he meet the Baroness du Genta and renew acquaintances. Suffering it, Royce dutifully followed the shorter male through the crowd, his eye lighting on the specified group just before arriving. The baron introduced his wife; the lady gracefully lifted her hand, which Royce took and bowed over, as anything else was considered a profound breach of protocol against a married noble. Yet the same saturnine brow arched once more as the Baron introduced the other young aristocrat, who was looking up at him from beneath lowered brows, an expression of extreme tolerance and exasperation setting her pale face. “Lady Alexia Mirrose,” du Genta pronounced formally, but Royce stepped forward, large hand lifted in greeting. “Aye,” he replied quietly, smooth baritone lilting and rich, “I guessed as much. Well met, my lady,” he greeted her. “I duly apologize for any discomfort my intervention in the business affairs might have caused thee and thine. But I will not do so for the dishonesty and greed stemmed by my absence.”

Her fingertips barely rested in the palm of his hand then were withdrawn with an abruptness bordering on rude. The amendment to the apology caused one eyebrow to rise slightly. “And yet not all commerce through thy port was fueled by greed, my lord,” she uttered very softly before adding volume to her tone and making all the appropriate greetings. She noted the slight disapproval of the Baroness at her tone and hastened to repair those good graces. “Though what thou choose for thy own port is of no one else’s business. Indeed, we have already recovered the loss of profit.” She lied smoothly and with a smile that just barely touched her eyes. The Baroness smiled approvingly and gave a mischievous smile to Alex before turning to Royce. “My young friend and I were just discussing the dances many of the younger generation find so fascinating. I noticed that you, Lord Clarendon are an excellent dancer. Lady Alex dances quite stunningly and has informed me that her dance card has a few gaps. We cannot have such a beauty standing aside at a party, now can we?” The Baroness smiled innocently at Royce as she posed this last question. She had always been a bit of a matchmaker and had decided that her dear friend’s daughter would benefit from a little help, seeing as her cousin wasn’t helping toward a good match. Alex quickly masked her surprise with a sweet smile at the woman. Green eyes gave a gentle warning that was lost on the Baroness though Alex said nothing. In truth, she had the next several dances free and no excuse to turn him down should he choose to ask. The thought dawned on her that Derek would be sorely put out should he spy her in the company of Lord Clarendon. This caused a genuine sparkle in her green eyes, if not a bit wicked as she stepped half an inch closer to the man. Alex smiled sweetly as though encouraging an invitation. Coyly she shook her blonde head. “No indeed; I am sure Lord Clarendon has already asked the finer beauties of the room for their hand in the dances to come. I shall be fine with thee and the Baron for company.” The clever touch of remorse in her voice added to the look of pleading she tossed his way caused a triumphant look in the Baroness’ eye and her quick response. “Nonsense my dear, I have just spied my friend the Countess Algare who I have not spoken with in an age. I shall be well off while you enjoy a dance or two with Lord Clarendon.” The meddling lady looked expectantly to the Lord in question.

Royce : Not at all surprised at the frigidness of the female’s reply, Royce allowed no change of expression, merely nodded and lowered his hand. “Quite,” he responded. “I had thought to broker trade relations with thy cousin, lady, but it seems the lad hasn’t the head for numbers.” He gave a mockingly disappointing sigh. “Such a shame. Golredan should not be allowed to fall into disrepair, simply due to laxness.” But he nearly growled in consternation at the elder Baroness; such a meddlesome wench! He accepted politely the compliment to his maneuverable skill and inwardly sighed in profound exasperation. He’d known he was going to hate this, from the second he returned downstairs. Figuring to just get it over with and done, he formulated his invitation, more out of courtesy than any real desire. “Indeed, Lady Mirrose, wouldst thou do me the honor of a dance?”

The blonde lady’s eyes widened for a brief instant at the revelation of his trade idea, and she barely managed to suppress an ill timed outburst. She smiled sweetly as though surprised at the offer of a dance. “Indeed Lord Clarendon, the honor would be mine.” Alex made the appropriate excuses to the Baroness and allowed Royce to lead her on to the floor. Her face remained the picture of a sweet and honored lady while her eyes gave away the fight in her mind. Would it do any good to let this great Lord know that she, not her cousin, was the mind behind Golredan’s business success? She suppressed a soft sigh as she considered that he would most likely laugh in her face for proposing any one of the trade plans she had thought up over the last months as their carefully built nest egg was slowly prepared and consumed by her cousin. And yet as she smiled up at him and took her place for the steps of the simple dance only her eyes gave away the torrent of thoughts pounding in her brain. ‘Tis not the place of a Lady, she reminded herself sternly even as her heart refused to let go of this slim thread of hope. Golredan had been her home and her sanctuary; it cut her to the quick to think that her cousin’s ways would drive it into the ground within five years time. Still she bit all this back and tried to find a way to break the ice and feel him out, she scolded her treacherous heart for even thinking of being in this man’s good graces against her cousin (and guardian)’s wishes. All this transpired in but a few moments time as they stepped onto the dance floor and took their places for the dance. Her soft soprano was just loud enough for his ears seeing as the pair had drawn more than one curious glance. “I pray the Baroness’ good intentions have done nothing to embarrass thee, my Lord.” She said it simply, half apology half question, forest green eyes giving her words sincerity despite the repression therein.

Royce : Royce gallantly escorted the lady to the floor amid the rest of the colorful throng, but his carefully schooled mask gave away nothing. The grey eyes were guarded and shadowed, revealing no hint of emotion behind their swirling clouds. He merely wore the courtly countenance of bored nonchalance, as if all this were beneath him. ‘Twas a stern school in which he’d been raised, one in which rashness could mean a swift and disastrous death. Taking their place upon the dance floor, Royce, as was proper, led the Lady Mirrose in the simple uncomplicated steps of a traditional melody, dipping and sliding with perfect precision before the Emperor’s dais. He negated with a half-smile, “Nay, lady. I am beyond such embarrassment from courtly machinations.” Reversing their hands and proceeding the opposite way, he continued, “The game of politics is one I refuse to play, not because I cannot, but because I do not choose to. However, protocol still holds sway, thus my acquiescence.”

The tiny thread of hope that she had held began to fray a little at this statement. If he was such a stickler for protocol, there was no way he’d do business with a Lady. An idea struck her and she repressed a brilliant smile into a sweet nod, hoping it appeared only to acknowledge his words. She gracefully turned under their touching fingertips, not needing to duck as medium height easily allowed her to twirl beneath his arm. She took that opportunity to glance around the room to see if Derek had noticed. Fortunately he seemed to have stepped out for a moment and she was able to give a genuine smile as she faced Royce again. “It truly is a relief that thou chooses not to bend mine ear with the games of the Court. I have heard enough to last through an age dancing with thy contemporaries.” She gave him a sweet genuine smile before asking after his home. She knew it had fallen into disrepair before he had returned and questioned after his plans for improvement. Alas, just as her thread of hope had regained thrice its normal strength, it snapped completely at the sight of Derek storming onto the dance floor. Her feet abruptly stopped moving and her eyes filled with dread and shame as drunkenly he shoved at the nearest couples to shoulder his way through to where she stood. At the corners of his mouth were telltale stains of red that gave reason to this madness. Only Royce heard her whispered expression of dismay “Why now? Tonight of all nights?” She sighed and faced the oncoming drunk. That offender’s voice rang before he had covered half the distance across the floor. “Cousin! How is it that thou dare to dance with this… this coward?! Thou hast a fair idea of my opinions of him and his, and yet you openly rebel!” Derek was already slightly unsteady on his feet so when he reached for her elbow and she stepped back, he stumbled toward her. The titters around them gave fuel to his anger and before anyone could move his hand flew. The slap resounded through the room as the crowd fell silent. Spittle flew as his tirade gained strength “Ungrateful bitch! I allow thee residence in my home and in my lands. This is how thou wouldst repay me?! Dancing with the slime that foiled all your business schemes?! ‘Tis no wonder my land now suffers disrepair, thou hast failed in thy bookkeeping!!” He paused here to catch his breath not caring that Alex stood near tears, pleading his silence. All had been revealed in his drunkenness. Her own position as bookkeeper of the house, his own inability to care for his responsibilities, and her own station as guest in his home were all now laid bare for the Court to swoop in on. Her cheek and pride sting mightily and her eyes reflected fear as Derek took a menacing step forward to take her in hand.

Royce : It had been many years since Royce found himself caught off guard. But as he opened his mouth to answer the lady’s questioning, a bellow resounded through the hall, silencing all conversation. Heads turned to stare at Lord Derek Godren staggering through the throng, it parting to allow his lurching steps. Royce’s brows lifted in startled surprise as the vampire staggered towards him and the Lady Mirrose, eyes narrowed in flat hatred and sharp fangs bared in a sibilant hiss. But his face hardened at Derek’s harsh words, a low rumble echoing deep in his chest. He paused for a moment, contemplating whether or not to come between the errant lordling and his pale, now-frightened cousin. In his indecision, Royce turned and glanced at his Emperor for entreaty, only to find the old man’s inexorable gaze firmly upon Lord Derek. A chilling ghost of a smile played about the Emperor’s mouth as he remained still upon his throne. One of Royce’s brows lifted. So, Valdemar was letting the boy hang himself, hm? Very well. He knew there would be no end of embarrassment for Derek bawling off his mouth, but just as Royce turned back to the scene, Derek’s hand shot out and caught Lady Alexia’s cheek, the blow loud in the starkly quiet room. An eerie silence fell over the Rose Hall, a silence deathly as the very grave. Derek’s hot words rang out like steel anvils, snarled and bitten akin to meat by a rabid dog. Their meaning was lost upon Royce’s ears, but his eyes hardened as the other’s hand drew back for a second strike, advancing on the female. This Royce would not tolerate. As the limb flew, it was caught in an iron hard grip, strong fingers locked around Derek’s wrist as Royce stepped between him and his cowering cousin. Holding Derek immobile with merely his hand, Royce stared down at the lordling, ice floes swirling in the grey eyes, hard beneath lowered brows. “Carry thyself from this place, Lord Godren,” he commanded coldly, “for thou are not worthy to grace these halls in thy present state.” His tone brooked no refusal and his hand tightened on Derek’s wrist painfully before releasing the other.

Bloodshot eyes snapped to the owner of the offending restraint with a look that would have stopped a lesser man in his tracks. Upon meeting the steel gaze of Lord Clarendon however, Derek had brains enough to cease his advance. Instead, his pride took hold and he belligerently puffed his chest. “What hast thou to say where I go and with whom? The wench is my cousin and ward, thus she is mine by right to command. I obey only the owner of this Hall, though he be too far in his dotage to know what transpires beneath his royal nose.” He sneered into Royce’s face even as he took a few steps backward to make his stand. The blood of the serving girl and his anger at Lord Clarendon’s untimely reappearance stirred the red haze in his mind and brought forth such conduct as this. Once again Alex found she wished the floor would open beneath her feet. Forest orbs stared in fascinated horror as the scene unfolded before her. The Court’s deathly silence gave each of the harsh words a ring and echo that resounded in her skull as the circle around the three of them widened even further. Not even the Baroness du Genta would step forward to take Alex under her wing. Sluggishly Alex’s mind wandered to the question of whether or not she would be able to make it home without an escort. Her mind snapped back to present as Derek continued to insult both the Emperor and Lord Clarendon, growing louder and crasser by the moment. It was one thing to insult their powerful neighbor, but the Emperor? That was far beyond the pale. She was deadly certain that Lord Clarendon and his policy of protocol would not stand for such treatment, regardless of personal connections to their powerful sovereign.

Royce : Outwardly Royce betrayed no emotion, yet his anger roiled and crested at the pup’s arrogant mouth. He kept from fisting hands at his sides; he wouldn’t give the miscreant the satisfaction of seeing him reining in his temper. For Royce of Langthorne, as his father before him, possessed a ferociously violent temper, giving truth to the myths surround those sporting red locks. But the stern mistresses of Time and Life had taught Royce to leash it well. Thusly he did, allowing no change in his stare. Answering Derek coldly, he stated, “I am Royce of Langthorne-Trent, Liegeman to Emperor Valdemar con Rethoras, Emperor of the Night, and trueborn noble, thou swine.” Royce’s chin lifted only the slightest fraction. “By my blooded right as my Emperor’s loyal vassal I abjure thee, flee from this gilded palace afore thy swaggering and loose tongue ends thy miserable life, for a cur thou art, and as a cur wilt thou meet thy demise, under a greater’s bootheel.” As Derek opened his mouth to again profane the air with his vile speech, Royce growled and took a menacing step forward, backhanding Derek smartly, the blow snapping the other’s head back with a loud crack! Royce did not back down, merely glowered harder. “Do as commanded, insolent wretch!” he stormed, once more hitting Derek across the mouth. This one sent him sprawling backwards, blood flowing from his rent lips. Royce held his stance as Derek resumed his feet, hatred and loathing emanating from the lord’s very pores. Royce narrowed his eyes. “What wilt thou do?” he asked mockingly. “Offer challenge, or merely stand there and bleed?”

Rather than quelling or snapping Derek out of his anger, the blows that sent him sprawling added fuel to the fire. Scarlet was the color of the younger lord's face and his hands were tight balls of flesh and bone at his side. He was torn between his burning hatred for the interfering Lord Clarendon and his love of his own neck. Alex, too, was torn, forest eyes betrayed her fear and helplessness while inwardly she couldn’t decide who she wanted to win. Stoically she stood by and watched the altercation as though from a vantage point somewhere outside of herself. Half of her rejoiced in his pending death when but part loathed giving control of Golredan and her business schemes to Clarendon. An eternity seemed to pass as Derek pondered. In reality it was mere moments that he hesitated then flung himself, with a knife brought from concealment in his sleeve at Lord Clarendon. Only two people in the cleared circle witnessed the look of suicide in his eyes. He knew that to challenge meant death, but he knew also that to back down would cost him all he held dear among his friends. Alex bit back her startled cry and stepped even further from the fighters. The Baroness du Genta came to her now, though Alex would only let the concerned woman squeeze her hand in sympathy. To lose all family would surely break the younger girl’s heart. So they watched, stunned amazement flickering through the crowd as Derek lunged at Royce, wicked blade extended and aiming to kill.

Royce : Finally. Royce caught the madness that flooded the other’s eyes as Derek lunged forward, brandishing the knife, the candlelight gleaming along the blade’s edge. His years spent in the burning deserts of the Holy Land hadn’t left Royce of Langthorne a fool; thusly he neatly stepped aside and shifted backwards, allowing Derek to glide smoothly past. He knew there was no way it would be called off now. The Emperor couldn’t. Which suited Royce just fine. This irritant had been cankering his hide all the night long; time to merely kill the wretch and have done with it. The consequences didn’t enter his mind just then, for Derek whirled and made ready for another pass, canines extended in snarling hate and eyes bled to stark crimson. With a shudder of release, Royce allowed his own beast to roar and lunge; wicked canines erupted from his gums and he suddenly saw the world in a bloody haze as red enveloped his vision. Time seemed to slow as Derek lunged a second time, but Royce had the height and weight, as well as the power, to meet such a foolhardy display. And he did, catching Derek’s upraised arm at the wrist and halting its advance, while he snatched Derek by the throat and kept the snapping jaws away from his own carotid. The knife trembled but Derek didn’t release his hold. They struggled for a long moment, Derek given strength through the force of his hate and madness. Royce’s upper lip rippled in a snarl, exposing bone-white fangs as a sibilant growl hissed from his throat. With a mighty heave, he flung Derek backwards several yards and the lord fell heavily to the floor, only to jolt to his feet and howl, the demon in full control of the body. Bloodlust hung thick in the air, it fairly dripped with it. With another fell cry, Derek rushed back at Royce, claws extended, but it was Royce who now held the blade, concealed under his right arm, held in a fighter’s grip. As Derek rushed him, Royce met him across the tile, the two males clashing together with a massive blow. Derek’s talons raked wicked slashes in Royce’s exposed throat but he suddenly blanched and shuddered. Royce, teeth extended and crimson eyes blazing, jerked his arm back and plunged the blooded blade back into Derek’s stomach, then savagely ripped the stunned Derek up the middle, cutting through flesh, muscle and bone. Blood splashed as the body slumped to the floor, but life pulsed within Derek still. Reining in the beast which wanted to feast and feed, Royce palmed the blood drenched knife and stepped forward to Derek’s head, the fading eyes wide and surprised. Even now, his body was trying to heal the massive damage done it. Royce glared down at the fallen lord and snarled, “I told thee thou wouldst meet thy death beneath a greater’s bootheel, cur.” With that, he lifted a boot and, angling it just so, placed the tip of his riding spur against Derek’s tender throat. A quick slash and the artery opened, effectively spilling out Derek’s remaining life onto the polished marble. Now that his enemy lay dead, Royce simply dropped the blade with distaste and took a deep breath, willing himself to calm the rampant bloodlust singing unholy hell in his veins. The hall remained ever so quiet.

Several times Alex had to bite back the cries that wanted to erupt. Not until the end had she realized who she had wanted to win. He had, and his enemy lay dead on the floor, life blood spilt for his foolish pride. No one moved in the great hall for several moments. Gold silk rustling against green velvet made the first sound as Alex realized her duty and numbly moved around the mess on the floor to stand before Royce. As she first dropped to, then held, the perfect deep curtsey she bowed her blonde head and spoke softly. “My Lord Clarendon, as chatelaine and stewardess of Golredan I speak for the entirety of said household when I swear fealty and loyalty to thee. May the wicked and the betrayer be punished, may disloyalty and treason be met with blood. May thy word become law and thy will be done.” The sweet soprano of her voice was steady though emotionless as she intoned her loyalty to her new lord and master. Her emotions ran the gambit from sad and confused at the loss of her one remaining family member, to the slender hope that now Golredan would be restored to its former beauty. Oh how she would love to see those halls cared for and refreshed! The thought struck her that the forest green banner with its encircled gold hawk would never wave over the stately Hall again, for never again would there be a Godren to return home and lie in residence. She awaited his word to rise and did not even look up to see if he understood what had just happened.