RP Pirates of the Hard Nox 2

Matching tears fell down his cheeks, but the duke’s had something hers lacked; guilt. He held her hand tight and did what he’d wanted to do the moment he got the confirmation she was who he thought she was, wrapping his warm arms around her shoulders.

“I thought you’d be safe! I knew your mother would take care of you, but if I had known…” He didn’t know if it would have been any different, but he wanted to think it would have. “There’s nothing I regret more, Alysandra.”

***

Caleb didn’t want to face Alys, which was the reason why he hadn’t before leaving. He knew it had been a mistake, another one to add to his pile, and another one he couldn’t undo. And about his plan… He didn’t really have one.

“... I was gonna wing it.” He said, frustrated that every single word Ciaran had said was correct. “What about Juniper?” He asked. At this point, it was likely the changeling was already far away, wearing another face. He wondered if they’d said goodbye to Alys, or if they’d been a coward like him.

The master gunner didn’t have to repeat himself. Caleb walked down the halway, expecting the two men to follow as they searched for the rest of the group. The second floor looked empty, but on their way towards the stairs, he’d be cautious in case there was someone in any of the rooms - friend or foe.

***

“I can’t believe it is you!” Sam said, half shouting, half whispering. “You must return with me to Costa Duba this summer, Mrs. Mae Rinn will be so happy! Mother said she’s been under the weather since Mr. Till passed.” Sam didn’t know why. She didn’t know about the letters, and that Mr. Till was the only person on the street that knew how to read. “You haven’t aged a day! How is that possible?”
 
Alys began to suffocate, his arms pulling her close, the scent of soap and some type of heavy cologne invading her senses.

He'd thought. He'd watched her mother work like a dog to afford the bare minimum, watched as they'd slept above the run-down tavern by the coast, in a part of town that was anything but safe. Watched when he could've provided. Perhaps in another life she might've lived in a small cottage and gone to school, away from the risk of piracy. But he'd been too afraid to lose his power and fortune. Too afraid of what his people would think - fae or not. Hell - she couldn't imagine how he treated those beneath him, people like Juniper or Nessa or Ciaran. And to think, his blood flowed through her veins.

She wanted to tell him all of this, to scream and watch the guilt take root, but her mind was a mess, her sobs quiet and uncontrollable. For a moment that's all she could do; think and feel her body lurch as the emotion was let out. Then, as the heaves subsided, her body began to shake slightly, the heartbreak turning to anger. She inhaled deeply, hand sliding up her leg.

"You're a fucking coward," she whispered. "But I'm not." Then she plunged the knife into the soft flesh of his abdomen and jerked it upward roughly, pushing her weight into him, into the knife, and away from the edge of the couch. She wanted to see his face as he realized that everything he'd fought for would slip between his fingers. At her hand.
 
For a second, as her tears dripped onto his jacket, he thought it would all be fine. He could die in peace, knowing his daughter had forgiven him from his sin, but soon after he realizes that wasn’t the case.

His eyes widened and before he knew it, a knife had cut through his stomach. With a final cough, blood spilled from the duke’s mouth and he reached to touch Alysandra’s cheek before his body fell down, lifeless.

***

“To the bride and groom!” Someone cheered, and with the sweetest of smiles, Maeve raised her cup. The entire family was there in the dining hall, with the notable exception of the Lady and the Lord Realta, as well as her father in law. His son, on his third glass of elven wine, didn’t seem to have noticed their absence.

“I’ll be right back, my love.” The redhead said, squeezing her husband’s shoulder before standing up from her seat and walking towards the door, being followed by her two most trusted maids.

“Is everything alright, princess?” The blonde asked.

“My make up needs some retouching, does it not?” She asked. It wasn’t necessarily true, but a good enough excuse to leave the extravagant party, for at least a moment. There were maids outside the hall, as well as a guard she didn’t quite recognize; but that was most guards. She didn’t spare them more than a glance on her way up the stairs, with the two fairies behind her carrying her veil and the hem of her dress.
 
Her mother was under the weather? She had mentioned old man Till in the last letter but she hadn’t mentioned her health from what Nessa remembered. Was she keeping it secret? Why would she?

“This summer? Yeah. That would be good.” Nessa said, a touch distracted as she ran her tongue along a fang. Was there time to go back? How far would these idiots make it without her around anyway? After a moment Nessa’s amber eyes returned to the girl for a moment before flicking up and down the hallway. Lucien was nearby, but it wasn’t like she was really concerned with him overhearing.

“That’s easy, I’m a monster.” She said, as if it were the punchline to a joke.
 
Out of instinct, Alys wrenched the knife back. After all, in a duel, losing a weapon was disastrous. Blood began to flow - both a blessing and a curse. It wouldn't be long now.

He slumped back, body slinking down between the sofa and armchair. She watched, chest rising and falling, vision blurred from the angry, hot tears. An eternity passed, and another would pass before she realized that a small, deep red stain was left imprinted on her torso, a mirror to the wound she'd left. There, and on the side of her collar, where the remnants of his cough had made its mark.

Trembling, she rose to her feet, finding the ground unsteady, as though she were rocking over choppy waves. The knife stayed behind, occupying the edge of the couch as she grabbed his wrists and began to attempt to drag his body. Not far - just to align him with the couch. So that if someone entered, they wouldn't immediately find him.
 
With Caleb’s attention turned to his Master Gunner Argent tucked the offered pistol back into his belt and began wandering the room while the two argued. It was clear he had no intention of leaving himself as he searched through drawers for anything of value, weighing items of note and tucking anything pocketable away. He lingered a moment with an eye on the unexplored portions of the room as O’Cain started down the hallway, but closed the drawer he had been rifling through softly to follow behind.



”Afraid you’re stuck with those he mentioned,” Argent answered Caleb’s question before the Fir Bolg had a chance. ”Considering you had disappeared I’m still deciding whether your crew is just that loyal to you, or if they simply enjoyed the idea of murder.“ His tone made it difficult to tell which he would have preferred.
 
Ciaran followed in step, he didn't have to tell Caleb what he already knew, just a nod no - his face looked like somehow it was his fault. He doubted that any of their crew, aside from Caleb, had made their way upstairs - otherwise, they would have found him before Ciaran did. Nevertheless, he wasn't about to leave any area unchecked - they still had a job to complete.

Ciaran would pay Argent's comment little mind, he wasn't the place nor in the right mood to argue the nature of the crew - they were pirates after all. "Someone could ask the same of you, Argent." He'd leave it at that. "With any luck, the others won't be wrapped too deeply in the festivities. If anyone asks Caleb, you should say you're a - caulker or something."
 
The vampire's comment caught Lucien's ear, and his gaze flicked over in her direction. Of course he'd kept one ear on her conversation, and the names of places and people were slotted away for later. Presumably these were names that the fledgeling understood and meant something to her. Lucien would not pry into her past, as long as it did not interfere with the future, lest she delve into his.

Obnoxious cheers and salutation drew his attention, the popping of champagne corks and the clinking of a multitude of glasses. An entourage of three women exited, moving past Lucien. He faintly caught one of them refer to the most well-dressed one as "princess", cementing her identity. She began to move up the stairs, and Lucien was desperate to stretch his claws.

He appeared by Nessa, almost in the blink of an eye, so swift and soft his movement. A slight bow to the serving girl, acknowledging her presence. "Pardon the intrusion, madam." He turned to Nessa, making deliberate eye contact with her. "I believe that I am supposed to rotate upstairs for my next watch. I hope you have a pleasant rest of your night." He reached out to clasp Nessa's arm, letting her fingers rest upon his bone-encrusted wrist.

"Princess." He muttered, so low that nobody could even be sure anyone said anything in the space, save for one with incredibly precise hearing. Then, after a moment more for her to understand his meaning, he stepped away, and began to move to a new post.
 
Sam didn’t understand her answer. The way she had said it sounded like it was meant as a joke so she laughed, despite not finding it funny. Perhaps it was her way of saying she didn’t like talking about it.

“It’s so good to see a familiar face.” The elf girl said, with the tips of her ears tilting down. There were things she wanted to talk about, but of course, a handmaiden like her would be busy. And Sam had to return to the kitchens.

***

Caleb didn’t have time to consider what’d been said, for while Ciaran finished his sentence, he saw a ginger head emerge up the stairs, at the opposing end of the interior balcony. Despite the fact that they were all in uniform, having two unknown guards and a footmanstrolling the upper floors when all the guests were downstairs was at least suspicious.

“Hide!” Caleb whispered, pulling the two of them through the nearest door.

“The princess is coming up.” He said, before turning around and realizing they weren’t alone.

***

The three fairies fluttered their wings, hovering over the steps of the grand staircase. As soon as Maeve’s heels touched the floor, she sighed and threw her head back, staring at the golden ceiling of her new home and noticing the dark hair with strands of silver following behind her. The princess stopped walking, a smirk growing on her red lips as she looked over her shoulder, watching the man approaching.

“Alana, would you please prepare my bath?” The princess asked one of her maids, who raised an eyebrow at the odd request. The party was far from over and she'd take a bath?

“Of course, princess.” She said with a bow, knowing it was never a good idea to question Princess Maeve's orders.
 
Numerous pairs of footsteps came too quickly, as though they'd been right outside, and as the doorknob rattled half a second later, Alys didn't have enough time to react. She dropped the Duke's wrists, her right hand bloody, and stared wide-eyed as three figures entered the room.

The relief was impossible to miss; her shoulders sagged, and upon realizing who'd entered first, a whimper left her lips as she exhaled.

He was alive. And then - how could he?

Ashamed that she'd been found in such a state, Alys turned her head and hastily wiped at her face with the sleeves of her dress, attempting to dry the wetness beneath her eyes and nose.

"Shouldn't you be moving towards the princess?" She muttered forcefully, stumbling a bit upon her words.
 
Seeing Alys was a relief, until his eye caught the color of her hand. Caleb’s feet began moving before he could think and as he approached the fairy, the body was revealed at her feet. It explained the blood, but it didn’t explain the reddness of her eyes, and the trail of tears on her cheeks.

“Ciaran, Argent, capture the princess.” Caleb said, without looking away from Alys. “Take her to her room, we’ll meet you there.”
 
Dropping her gaze to the body at her feet, Alys began to shake her head. She wasn't being left alone with him. "N-no, we need to keep going," she said, looking at the empty base of one of the fingers, where a lighter band of skin was evident. The ring she'd plucked earlier rolled between her own fingers. With one last glance, she reached for her knife and moved forward, towards the others.
 
“It’s good to see you too, Sam. Nessa smiled at the younger elf, genuine, warm, and for the moment her lips parted, sharp. A shame they met here, it would have been better back in town when she would have had more time to chat and ask about home or even about how Sam was, or why she was even here. Still, Lucien appeared, and any conversation she might have wanted to have was forgotten.

She caught his eye as he approached, her fingers sliding along the bone of the bracelet at Lucien’s wrist. He was after the princess, and it was hard really to feel much remorse for the girl. She caught a nail under the clasp, and popped it free with a movement of her finger. The bracelet was off his hand, and crumpled into her own fist by the time he turned away. Nessa looked back to Sam.

“A shame we don’t have more time.” Nessa said, tucking the bracelet into the belt of her outfit. “Oh, I have a strange question for you, have you seen a servant with an eyepatch around today?”
 
Lucien rubbed his wrist as he ascended, the shackles that bound him now released. O’Cain would almost certainly never get a chance to restrain him like that again, and he looked forward to the moment he could inform him that after all O’Cain’s hard work to get the bracelet on, it was removed due to his own failures. He caught the princess’s eye as he gazed upward, stalking the steps. A smirk slipped across his face that mirrored her own, the implication clear as he overheard her request to a chambermaid.

As soon as her back was turned the smirk dropped. Disgust wormed its way up the back of his throat, acrid and caustic. She wanted him. He had no desire for her. It was a dance he had taken part in many times, and every single time he caught that glint in a target’s eyes he wanted to rip their throat out. He supposed that this time he would get the opportunity, no time to properly drain her.

And so Lucien climbed the steps further, reaching the top and bowing his head respectfully.

“Congratulations on your marriage, princess.” he said, straightening. “Seeking a break from the festivities? All that attention can be draining, I’m sure.”
 
Perhaps under different circumstances he would have let her walk past him, but this time, Caleb didn’t. Despite what had happened the last time Alys moved towards him with a knife in her hand, he still spread his arm to touch her shoulder and pull her into a hug, wrapping his arms around the back of her neck.

***

Thinking she was bothering Nessa, her smile came as a surprise. Sam couldn’t quite explain the sudden fear she felt upon seeing her pointy canines. Had her teeth always looked like that? She tried to push the feeling away, convincing herself she was being completely irrational.

“N-no, I haven’t…” Sam said, before remembering the moment she’d spilled flour all over the floor. “There was a man without an eye. Short hair, dark skin.” She said.

***

His smile fed her ego, the same smile she'd see on the faces of all the men she encountered. Maeve enjoyed the attention, and most of all, she enjoyed provoking testing it's limits. As he approached, the princess turned her head forward and began walking to her room, accompanied by her remaining maid.

“Did my husband send you to escort me? Or was it my brother?” She asked. “The celebration is over. They’ve admired me enough.” The princess added with a sigh, stopping in front of her door while her maid pushed it open.
 
As the three burst into the room, Ciaran picked up the metallic smell of fresh blood first before he noticed Alys. It was all over her hands, and the floor, and the man she'd killed - the duke, no doubt.

He heard Caleb's words, but his eyes stayed on his friend - Alys. She looked a mess. She wasn't one to shirk at killing, especially not some codpiece like a noble, which made it all the stranger that she appeared to have been crying recently. It wasn't long before Caleb brought her into his arms for a gentle embrace, Ciaran averted his eyes then. He only wished Caleb could bring her some comfort that he could not.

Ciaran gave Argent a subtle bump with his elbow and motioned to move for the left side of the room where a door stood shut. Best to give them some space and find a way out. They were on a timeframe, one that would become far shorter once the Duke's body would be found. Not to mention the princess they were also now responsible for catching, thanks Caleb.

He crossed the floor, eyeing the cold body as he did. "Going to take a peek, cover me - aye?" Ciaran gently twisted the knob of the door, waited to listen for movement, then cracked it just enough to peek through the frame.
 
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Alys saw him step forward, an arm outstretched towards her, felt his hand touch her shoulder. She should've stepped back, dodged his attempt, but as his arms wrapped around her, she froze. It felt good and as he pulled her close - it felt like what she needed. Tears sprang back into her eyes and she buried her face in the crook of his neck, hastily manipulating the ring in her grasp so that it hooked onto a finger, freeing her hand so that she could grab ahold of the back of his shirt. The other hand rest against her tense knuckles, the bloodied knife tangling behind him harmlessly.

There was anger and hurt but she needed this. Just for a little while. She began to count to ten, trying to forget the fact that he'd left. That he hadn't told her. That he'd broken his promise. Though somewhere within those numbers, she felt herself whispering, "Why?"

And before he could answer, around the time she reached ten, Alys heard the sound of footsteps. She lifted her head, remembering that they weren't alone. That time was up. Embarrassment coated her cheeks and she released her grip, forcing a step back. "Forget it." Her voice wavered and she averted her gaze, lifting her sleeves to wipe her face a second time.
 
Argent scurried with the Captain and Master Gunner, taking the bloody scene they entered in stride and silence though he pinched the bridge of his nose for a moment as O’Cain swept his second into his arms. The first blood had been drawn, as the elf had suspected it was going to be soon. It was only a matter of time before the guards started circling; they had to move decisively from that moment forward.



Ciaran nudged Argent and motioned for a servant’s entrance, his request for coverage answered with a curt nod. From behind the Fir Bolg Argent couldn’t see through the gapped door, but his hand rested on his sword in preparation for the worst. He wasn’t keen on the idea of taking the princess captive; the mission was murder and a hostage would only complicate things. Considering her presence upstairs it was safe to assume the marriage had been all but consummated, and so she was family to the dead Duke.



”Better to kill her and move onto the next,” Argent muttered in a voice so low that even Ciarain would have a hard time catching his words as close as they were.
 
Caleb closed his eye, breathing in the scent of Alys’ hair. He felt her hurried breath against his chest, the clenched hand on the back of his shirt and despite knowing they weren’t alone, it didn’t matter. He needed this.

Why?


Because I know you would've killed me without thought if I were a problem to you.

Everything seems to be about you, about what's best for Caleb, instead of the Nox.​

Doing what's best for Caleb is what got us here.


You’re just like the rest of them.​

“Forget it.”

Alys was right, that wasn’t the time nor the place Caleb discreetly wiped the corner of his left eye and walked over to the corpse.

“I’ll hide him to buy us more time.” He said, examining the duke more closely, and the expression of surprise on his wide open eyes. Getting down to one knee, Caleb closed the eyelid, and began to pull the edge of the carpet to wrap it around the body.

“Turn right, there’s a hallway for the servants that I’m sure it’s connected to the Princess’ suite.” He told Ciaran and Argent, without looking up from his task. “If we’re lucky it’ll be empty, if not, you’ll at least not be as exposed.”
 
The princess was next door. Perhaps she was freshening up, preparing for the rest of her evening. And the rest? Were they alive and well, or were they like the Duke, bleeding out among the celebrations?

Alys dared to watch as Caleb touched her father. There were only seconds left before his face would be gone. And when it was, hidden from view by the carpet, she looked away. Sliding her blade against the fabric of his armchair, wiping away the blood, she spoke, voice coarse. "Were you able to get any of the others?" With the added time he'd had, and his genius plan - because he must've had one to think he could assassinate a whole family by himself - surely he'd already killed one of the others.

She knew it was highly unlikely - she'd seen them all leave the hall moments earlier. But she couldn't stop herself from asking.
 
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