Private They Told Us To Take Teeth

[Madelief]

Madelief waited in the tea room of her family's estate, for her invited guest was not someone she would go out of her way to go meet. It would not look favourable on her part, would not be safe. She was an heiress, she was someone of importance here in Veya. Whenever she had to leave her residence, three weavers would flank her as added security. If she and her retinue had to venture to her guest, it would bring too much attention. Too many eyes, ones she did not want.

"He's late, my lady." Voiced Isa. The weaver was the only one that stayed in the room, the others kept to the hall outside. Her ability to manipulate the shroud came in the form of inflicting pain. It only worked in close quarters, but it was enough to instill faith in Madelief that she would do what she was employed to do.

"He is always late, Isabel." She drawled, pouring herself a cup of steaming tea. There was no need to wait on @Ledan when she knew from past experience that he never kept to a set time. Perhaps she ought to give him a threat, but they were too many years down the road of working together. She would hate to build anew, to make bargains and deals with any other of those bastards that festered in the slums. "And yet, he always appears before the witching hour."

This time, she needed Ledan's assistance on something. A target, one he could take the stealings for himself and his people, in exchange for a feyling's price. It was something beyond the reach of her capabilities, for she was not afraid to admit she was soft hearted, but it was advantageous to make the acquaintances of those that could do the work for her.

But she could not have any of this come back to her.

 

[Ledan]

"She’s been waiting for you for some time, Syr…"

Ledan paused mid-motion, the glass tilting just shy of his lips. The deep red swirled, clinging to the sides like blood reluctant to leave a wound. His armored hand held it steady as his gaze slid, unhurried, toward the servant. Madelief’s family possessed cellars worth envying—vaults of vintages aged in quiet dark. Ledan had decided to indulge himself, and with the right pressure, this stammering attendant had been so kind as to oblige.

And now the bald little worm thought to prod him. To remind him of his appointments, as though Ledan did not know them down to the minute.

The smile that spread across his face might have seemed warm on another man. On him, it was a predator’s curl.

There was no warmth in Ledan. Only ice—burning cold, biting close. Under the Paladin’s gaze the butler seemed to fold in on himself, shrinking to half his height.

Ledan let the moment hang before tipping the glass at last. The wine struck his tongue, rich and dark, a brief fire cutting through his veins before he set the empty goblet back on the table with deliberate care. He hummed at the taste, savoring the silence.

“You seem intent,” he said, voice low and silken, “on telling me what I already know.” The softness was false, the promise of iron beneath velvet. “But the bottle is empty… and so is my use for you. Off, now. Before I make it known to your Lady who saw fit to part with such a vintage.”

The servant recoiled and scurried, too spineless to risk his place—or Ledan’s temper—any longer.

Alone again, Ledan allowed himself a quiet chuckle. The sniveling rat had been right, after all: he’d left the little flower waiting long enough. Soft, sheltered, perfect for plucking. It amused him to picture her squirm.

Rising to his feet, Ledan left the soiled goblet where it sat, the stain of wine spreading like old blood across the polished wood. His stride toward Madelief’s chamber was unhurried, yet silent—unnaturally so for a man draped in steel. He moved like a serpent in gilded scales, gliding down the corridor until the tea room opened before him.

He entered without flourish, only the barest tilt of his head in acknowledgment of her presence. A smirk played across his lips, more insult than courtesy. He took the seat opposite her as though it were a throne, lounging with calculated insolence, one armored boot finding its place against the carved edge of the table.

Madelief was one of the very few who knew the truth of him. That alone spared her the hollow theater of his pleasantries. He had no wish to waste effort on disguises here.

“Speak, then,” he drawled, as though she were an errant servant summoned for scolding. His tone carried the sting of command, his eyes half-lidded with disinterest. “Let’s hear it.”

The impatience in his voice dripped like venom, as though it were she—not he—who had kept her waiting.

@Madelief

 

[Madelief]

She knew this actor played his character well, that he knew the role so well he could speak without looking to the scripted lines. Ledan the Righteous was well loved and well respected, but Madelief knew that was all lies. She knew the man beneath the mask, the young boy that wanted to make a name for himself all those years ago. They should not have become the partners they were today, but Madelief had a skill at playing others to do her bidding without them realising it.

After all, Leddy the Bastard had came to her, vented to her about his brother Duscan. Madelief was not in the business of granting wishes. She had put things in place for Duscan's downfall, and other steps for Ledan to climb and rise up the hero he was now.

Madelief Toussaint was an actor herself. She played a role all believed and knew... only she was wise enough to not tell a soul the real person underneath her own mask.

Only her bastard sister had figured it out, and the only way to ensure a secret kept between two was safe, was to kill the one that knew.

"Ledan." She poured relief slowly into her cadence, turning towards him as he made his presence known. Her eyes followed him until he took a seat. In all their secret business meetings, she had been kindly and softly instructing him with suggestions of how to behave in the presence of those in high society. Her eyes dropped to the boot resting on the low table between them. "Please, remove your dirty boot from my clean table lest Isa decides to find the points in your leg to give pain and remove it for you."

Her smile was pretty, patient, but she spoke about indentured Weavers like any other societal member. They were objects, their own people and power to play with.

"Now," she folded her hands neatly upon her lap, a conscious way of showing she was getting right to the business that called for this meeting, "an associate of mine has a grievance with House Hadlenn. The old lord and the bastard he legitimised after his only son died?" Died from Ledan's band of rats. A mugging gone wrong. Madelief did not mourn the man, not when he was equally atrocious as his lord and father. At least his passing had taken his name off the list of potential suitors on her father's list.

The bastard son, now heir, was also a name put forth for marriage potential, but Lord Toussaint knew well enough it would not sit well with Madelief. He had grown up with the family, had such a life of privilege, but never was allowed to set foot into society until he was given the family name.

"Lord Hadlenn has taken something that does not belong to him." She continued on. "What I ask of you, I need your most discreet people on this. Not a word to be spoken. No need for taking credit and being vocal. I will pay handsomely, as I always do, and an extra sum for you to take care of any of your rats that make noise."

 

[Ledan]

Initially, Ledan ignored Madelief’s little threat. She ought to know better than to rattle her weavers at him—least of all when she couldn’t afford, nor truly stomach, spoiling the tidy arrangement they’d built. Instead, he let a smile stretch across his face as she settled in, as though they were here for nothing more than pleasant conversation.

Instead, he smiled. Or rather, he tried to.

Even an insincere grin looked wrong on his face, as if a child had taken a paintbrush and clumsily smeared a smile across a portrait of perpetual misery. It didn’t belong there, and they both knew it. But needling Toussaint was something of a sport for him, and the fact she still bristled under it only made the game sweeter. If he was being honest, he’d even grown a kind of fondness for her, the sort born of shared bloodstains and mutual leverage.

But when the name Hadlenn passed her lips, the smirk collapsed, and his boot slid off her table with a thud.

"Hadlenn..." “Hadlenn…” His voice ground the syllables to dust. A rare admission, if not of guilt, then of miscalculation. That particular affair had been a disaster: The old relic’s son was handled far too roughly by the men he’d sent to shake him down. Overzealous. Sloppy. And if not for Madelief’s quick intervention, the whole affair might have blown his carefully maintained cover to pieces. “That name’s more trouble than it’s worth. I swear, you enjoy bringing me news that pisses me off, you spiteful wench.”

The insult landed with all the weight of a feather. They’d called each other far worse over the years, and both knew that “wench” in his mouth was practically affectionate.

Still, there was a glimmer of silver here.

“Splendid, really. An opportunity to repay you for that mess.” he drawled, leaning forward and resting his chin atop his gauntleted hands. Toussaint was a schemer, through and through. Like him, she never let a tool go unused, and clearing his name of Hadlenn’s murder had been a particularly sharp blade to hold over his head.

“I’ve already dealt with the idiots who killed the boy,” he continued, voice dropping into something colder, more businesslike. “And if I take this job, I’ll handle it myself. No rats to clean up after this time.”

It was unusual for Ledan to dirty his hands without a body to command, but he knew when a partner was more liability than help. Subtlety might not have been his art, but it was a tool he’d learned to wield all the same.

His eyes opened again, cold and sharp.

“So tell me…” He let the silence stretch. “What exactly has our old friend gotten his dusty claws on?”

@Madelief

 

[Madelief]

"I swear, you enjoy bringing me news that pisses me off, you spiteful wench.”

She made no effort to hid her smile, sweet but lined with another coat. Vulpine.

"How can I help myself when watching you has showed me you know how to handle it?" Ledan was not the type any fair woman should fall for, nor did he have anything for anyone to love. Madelief liked to toy with him, to make him do things she would not trouble herself over. Ledan always came through, an effort she always acknowledged in gold. She knew when to ask her favours, how to read the grown man after all these years.

Madelief looked to Isa, a silent dismissal.

The Weaver took her leave, to stand just outside the door closed behind her.

Madelief stood, slow and languid, the type of poise that came effortlessly. She crossed the space, pouring herself a stiff drink.

"Hadlenn has been struggling with his health. His teeth began to fall out so he paid a little visit to the mortuary. Bought himself new teeth..." Her eyes flashed to Ledan. "My... associate has a price and job she would like me to carry out on her behalf. Her presence would be noticeable and well, I do not need to tell you how popular the fey are here."

The fey were seen to be bad omens. Tales you tell children to scare them into obedience, and as they grow older, you ridicule them for making mistakes that the fey would prey on.

Madelief had believed it all too before she saw potential in allying with the sidhe.

"Hadlenn bought teeth forced from a fey's mouth. In their culture, taking from the dead comes with it's own price, but... if it were anyone other than him, I would brush this off. Hadlenn is in possession of something I want, too. While you are taking teeth back, I want enough time to get to his coffers. You are going to ensure the way there would be clear for me."

 

[Ledan]

That sick little sense of humor of Madelief's was probably why Ledan found her to be such tolerable company. Most people wilted when he aimed his contempt at them; she volleyed it back with interest. He liked that, as much as Ledan was capable of liking anything. It didn't mean he wasn't incensed that Hadlenn had found his way back into his business again, and it certainly didn't mean he'd forget the woman's joy in his discomfort...

But he'd forgive it, which was a courtesy he did not pay to many.

“Still gallivanting about with those bedtime fables?” he drawled, the words soft as silk and edged like a blade. “You’ll be in the woods dancing naked ’round a wood-fire one of these nights, be the thing mothers warn their children about. Far scarier than a Fey, I’d wager.” He propped an elbow on the table, chin cradled in the crook of his wrist, the picture of bored nobility. Cruelty and levity in one motion.

Madelief's affinity for Fey was lost on him-- you couldn't trust a creature that chained themselves to tradition and oath, it just wasn't natural. Still, he couldn't argue with her results. As she poured herself a drink, he resisted the urge to ask for his own glass just to waste her time.

But he'd drank enough of her wine, and the full gist of the job she was offering him was too captivating to dull himself further.

“So let me be sure I have it straight,” he said, leaning forward until the table creaked under the shift. The annoyance that had touched his voice dissolved into something sharper, an eager predation. "You're paying me to knock Hadlenn's teeth out, and make enough noise so you can rob him blind?"

A strange sound came from him. It was meant to be a laugh, but it was hollow. An imitation of joy that sounded as lifeless as he'd left Hadlenn's son.

“Not kill him, I take it?” He pushed to his feet with a fluid, deliberate motion, the armor on his knees whispering. “A shame. I might have enjoyed that.” His bow was mock-pious, hands pressed to his breast as if pledging loyalty. The display would have fooled an idiot. Madelief was not an idiot.

He stepped in closer. Too close for courtesy, but just the right distance for leverage. The heat from his armor brushed against her. There was a twisted intimacy to his posture, a menace as personal as a kiss. “Still,” he murmured, voice low enough for only her to hear, “you do have good taste when picking who gets to entertain you.”

He straightened, stepping away as the smirk settled back into its practiced geometry. Contract or cruelty, both appealed to him.

"And I do so enjoy our good times together. So, when do we begin?"

@Madelief

 

[Madelief]

Where Ledan had imposed his presence so closely, her lifted glass of drink was pushed back into her with the collision of a small clink. He stood so close, it was a silent command to get her to lift her head in order to meet his gaze. That was the unfair between them, not at all allies or friends, and yet they knew so much about one another with the very few secrets they knew to keep. He was right, that she enjoyed plucking from the field who was next to torment.

Veya had a need for balance, and Madelief knew how to do so.

Ledan had taken his steps back, leaving her enough room to lift her glass to her soft lips and down the drink slowly in order to savour the burn it left. She used the rim of the glass to catch the bead of drink that clung to her bottom lip, and set it down on the drinks cart.

Where Ledan retreated, Madelief advanced. It was not her turn to talk.

"Down, boy." Her laugh was small as her voice turned wicked and sly, and that glint in her eyes gave way that she was making jest of him. That she enjoyed coming to life in order to speak down at him. "You rarely beg for a bone to be tossed your way..." Regarding him was a hiss between teeth, but she did not relent. "And so you will be a good boy and wait for when I have my use of you. Have I ever delivered you disappointment?"

Still, Madelief raised a hand to rest on the cover of his chest plate, her hand dainty and small upon the greatness in which he had grown into. No longer that lean and spindly boy, but now a man that looked every bit the hero Veya pretended to need.

"In two nights, there is a private party of invited guests to take place in his home. All the right names will be in attendance, such as I, and perhaps a few lucky indentured invited to play guardian." She liked the feel of the steel beneath her hand, the way it was unyielding as she pushed him back a step before dropping her arm back to her side. "My acquaintance asks that you take the teeth that are not natural for a human. Fey teeth are thinner and sharper, and even if his healing weaver made such work at attaching the stolen teeth... be sure to make him sing."

 

[Ledan]

Ledan had often wondered if Madelief wouldn’t have made a finer Bastard than the founders themselves, had she traded her silks and schemes for steel and blood. She had the instincts for it; the dangerous cunning, the hunger for control, all hidden beneath civility and perfume. Once again, she met his advance without flinching, refusing him the pleasure of seeing her yield.

“I never have to wait long, do I?” His grin slithered across his face, venomous and self-satisfied. “No matter what mess I leave behind, you always come calling. Admit it. I’m your favorite.”

The word favorite came out like a curse, slick with arrogance and something almost obscene.

When her hand rose, small, pale, daring, to press against his gleaming chestplate, he didn’t move to stop her. Perhaps it was good she wasn’t one of the Bastards; he’d take no joy in cutting her down. No, he much preferred this game, the slow tightening of fingers around one another’s throats, both waiting to see who would beg for air first.

He only pretended not to know who would win.

“You really shouldn’t dangle a carrot in front of me...” he said, reaching lazily for the bottle that had poured the wine between them. Lifting it by the neck, he tilted it back and drained what bitter dregs remained, his throat working in deliberate gulps. A coarse remnant: cheap, sour, and entirely fitting for the bastard who drank it. He set the bottle down with a dull thud. “…and expect me not to bite.”

The provocation was deliberate. She’d baited him with promises of a lucrative job, and he’d stepped right into her snare — because he enjoyed it. The illusion that she could steer him amused him more than he’d ever admit. Cute, in the same way a kitten baring its teeth is cute: something to be tolerated, not feared.

His eyes trailed the fall of her hand from his armor, following the curve of her wrist as she withdrew. Her words carried on, all details and logistics... things he barely bothered to register.

“The Hero of Veya,” he said, voice thick with mocking grandeur, “may attend any party he desires. None dare question him.”

He spoke of himself in the third person, because they both understood the truth: that the Hero was a fabrication, a saint built on a sinner’s bones. A shining lie that Madelief had helped polish, for her own ends.

She tilted mirrors to help his illusion. He shattered them as he passed.

“You’ll have your teeth,” Ledan murmured, his smirk returning as he leaned closer across the table. “And your coffers, if that’s all you’re after. But understand this...” His voice dropped to a low, conspiratorial growl, almost intimate. “when this is done, my debt to you is over. Next time you want me at your beck and call…”

He paused, eyes flicking briefly to the wine still staining her lips before meeting her gaze again, hard and glinting.

“…you’ll have to offer something more valuable than gold. I have plenty of that.”

@Madelief

 

[Madelief]

Her eyes flashed.

It was a slip of control, one she perfectly and intentionally built to stand behind. The tawny hues bore into him, as if he dared to think he could leave with an announcement like that... but as her composure returned, she realised he was not indentured. He was unremarkable, unable to weave from the shroud like many others she surrounded herself with.

And it was that secret of hers that would keep her above him forevermore.

Ledan was free to come and go as he wished, but after all she had done for him, and even still she pulled the strings, Madelief was not going to let him leave so easily.

"No, I do not suppose riches excite you no more." Madelief dropped her gaze, watching where she placed her glass upon the table beside her. "What else could you possibly want, bastard?" Her laugh was pretty, designed to be soft, but wielded to be cruel. "If not riches..." The thought trailed, her eyes staring up at him. "Not love. No, you never learned about love. You do not care for it after what you did to your brothers."

She knew so much about him. It was a delight to peruse her selection of knives made of words and knowledge, and another to choose her champion from the rest.

"Power." He already had it, but there was still so much he lacked. She knew he would crave more of it, just as she did too. "You now have an honorable name..." With her much needed help, he spun a new life and story for himself.

Madelief had pushed him away moments before, but the constant push and pull between them was merciless. She liked being close to him, close enough to lay a hand on him or stare up into his eyes. Both were important if she wished to use some of her secret weaving to get him to do as she wished. She slowly approached him, her hand trailing against the table in her wake.

"Rank, perhaps?" Her voice lowered. "You wish to be part of this society so badly... you would not stop until you secure a place amongst the elite." Madelief reached a hand up to caress the side of his jaw. "How fortunate that you have a connection with a lady of one of the most powerful families in Veya."

 

[Ledan]

The curve of her palm so gently sliding across his jaw was slow, dripping in a mockery of affection, but it might as well have been a smack across his cheek when coupled with the words she spoke. How she listed his whims and desires, prattled on about what he did and didn't want, as though she knew him inside and out.

True, Ledan was a window only she knew how to look through, but that glass was fogged and cloudy even to her eyes. The girl risked wading too far into a tide that would wash her away, and he was not about to stop her. She would learn, the same way Duscan did, what it meant to underestimate him.

"Rank..." As he echoed the word, her thumb brushed the edge of his scar, that faint pale line that cut from the corner of his mouth toward his ear. He caught her wrist before she could finish the motion, not roughly, but firmly enough that the pulse beneath her skin stuttered once against his fingers. ""You misunderstand me, Madelief."

He leaned in, close enough that she could feel the heat of his breath on her neck; that coarse, smoky timbre that belonged to the back alley, not a ballroom. “I don’t need rank. Every dance, every toast, every polished smile... they’re just steps in the same little play. Love, power, coin, all of it’s given to me freely, without the bother of a title. Without your help, even.”

His gloved hand slid to the small of her back, the weight of it both threatening and deliberate, drawing her closer until their breath mingled. Ledan's voice lowered to a whisper, as haunting as the spirits that stained his wretched armor.

"Simply put, you're running out of treats to feed me."

How would she handle that? Losing control of her favorite little monster? Would she search so desperately for a new toy to tempt him with? Was she so easily beaten? Maybe she would reveal his secret? Ah, but that would also reveal her compliance. Or perhaps, she'd employ her indentured weavers to cast a spell on his mind, enslaving him to her whims? Not a chance. That would be tantamount to admitting defeat.

“But don’t fret, Toussaint…” His smirk curled, audible in the dark timbre of his voice. The fingers at her back slid higher, tracing the fine fabric of her clothes with lazy irreverence. “I’ll think of something.”

Then, as easily as he’d pulled her in, he released her, breaking the spell of closeness with the same casual cruelty he brought to everything else. He stepped back, letting the distance cool the air between them, armor whispering with each movement.

He turned toward the door, that same easy swagger in his stride, pausing just long enough to look back. The light caught on his features, throwing his grin into something wicked: too sharp, too sure of itself.

“After all,” he said, resting his shoulder against the frame, “you’re my favorite, too.”

@Madelief

 

[Madelief]

Madelief was not surprised when he drew her in. This soft act was not what it was portrayed to be; they were both incapable of thinking solely of other people when it came to their gestures. No, in order to seem charitable, they had to insert themselves into the equation. How could one benefit from this? How will they be perceived now? It was frustrating for Madelief to work with someone like Ledan, to be cautious in how she shaped him.

He was something malignant. She had tried to compel him once to change his mind on something, but even with the surety of her claws weaving their way into the back of his resolve, Ledan found a way past her influence.

She needed to tread carefully.

And so... she allowed him to walk away.

Ledan left her to stand there, the threat of his breath so close, it carried his cavernous need for more.

Madelief stared after him. Her silence was a choice, a weapon of letting Ledan believe he won this round and that he could leave unscathed.

"I will send you further instructions in the morning." Madelief abandoned the used glasses on the table. She turned away from him, a dismissal, as she moved to disappear behind her divider in the corner of her room. "Leave the way you came out." And her Weavers would escort him that way, to ensure his departure was without delay or distraction.

---

Preparations for this function did not deserve the two days of primping she had gone through to ensure she looked lovely and presentable for all to witness.

The party was unremarkable in the ways of it being more understated than what was promised. The cocktail hour before dinner had been served was lacking music to inspire conversation. There had been no gushing over the song, no mention of gliding melodies and the sweep of harmonies from the vocalists... only disdain and ire, and it directed to the dreadful low tones to every song played.

Madelief had made the comment that she had been unaware they were invited to a funeral, sending those that flocked around her to laugh to gain her favour and attention.

Her eyes simply could not stay away from peering at Ledan.

The Hero of Veya indeed secured an invitation, but it was not until they were all sat in the dining hall that she saw how high of an influence he was deemed to have. He sat on the other side of the table from her, two places down to her left. It meant every time she would entertain the charm of the person sat beside her, that her gaze would travel to Ledan. Ever since he declared he would let her know what it was he wished to be owed, to name what he believed he deserved, Madelief had grown impatient. Waiting for his answer, his veiled request, only agitated her further.

She would not wish to stand in his way of his plans for how tonight will go down. Her inquiries can wait.

While Ledan had the task of taking teeth, she had her own task of getting to the Hadlenn coffers and taking the dagger rose. It was an item forged with the shroud interwoven in every step of it's creation. It helped bolster one's shroud given talents, and... Madelief needed that surety.

Perhaps with it, she could compel Ledan to step down from the idea that he had any power over her. She would remind him what if felt like to have her heel pressing down on his throat the next time he thought he had autonomy around her.

Should Madelief catch his gaze, she would raise a brow in question: Are you prepared for this?

 

[Ledan]

Meeting Ledan's eyes would be a very difficult thing to do.

He was shining beacon of piety and righteousness, every redeemable quality of humanity baptized in justice and clad in glimmering silver armor to befit his bravery. The arrival of Veya's Champion was met not with whispers, but with cheers. Trembling hands reached for the maroon silk of his cape, eager to claim they'd laid hands on a Hero.

Needless to say, the man who entered the Hadlenn Estate was indistinguishable from the one who'd coiled his arm around her waist like a venomous serpent only two days prior. And indeed, not once since his attendance had Ledan even acknowledged Madelief with a sidelong glance. He was all too content to bathe in his adulation, rewarding his admirers with smiles and niceties, like carrots to hogs.

Applause and laughter followed him through the marble halls, their echoes clinging to the edges of his armor like perfume. Every gesture he made was carefully rehearsed: a gallant smile here, a gracious bow there, the soft murmur of service and sacrifice passing his lips as if he believed a word of it.

Finally he caught her reflection in the curve of a gilded chalice, her expression immaculate, her posture perfect. The woman was an artwork, painted in ambition and deceit. Her lips parted just slightly as she laughed at some meaningless jest, but her eyes... her eyes were searching. Questioning.

That single raised brow when their gazes brushed across the table, a wordless question in its arch: Are you prepared for this?

He didn’t return it, not visibly. But the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth betrayed him, not a smile, exactly, but the idea of one. She would know it for what it was. A silent answer. Always.

The nobles surrounding him droned on about trade routes, tariffs, whatever dull minutiae filled their days. He nodded where appropriate, his attention elsewhere. A predator among sheep, feigning civility until the first drop of blood hit the floor.

As he raised his glass in some performative toast, the candlelight fractured across the wine’s surface, painting crimson shadows across his armor. For the briefest instant, his reflection in the glass didn’t wear the face of a hero.

It grinned back at him. Cruel, unrepentant, and real.

Then, lowering the glass, his gaze flicked once more to Madelief. Just enough that she’d see it, that unspoken promise carried in the glint of his eye.

Soon.

The Hero would play his part for now, but when the night ended and the masks came off, she’d find herself standing once again before the Bastard to which she'd owe a debt she couldn't put a name to.

And when that happened, he thought, maybe he’d finally let her see just how deep the rot beneath all that silver ran.

@Madelief

 

[Madelief]

Dinner had gone on too long, for conversation continued on well after dessert had been served and cleared. Madelief had barely touched her chocolate tart, perhaps a bite or two, but the port wine she was sure to have a second helping of. No one paid any mind to this unusual behaviour, for no one truly dared to question a Toussaint.

What seemed like almost an hour later, Lord Hadlenn rose from the table. Laughing and rejoicing, he encouraged his guests to move to the reception hall where music, drink, and space to converse could be had. None of this night was the right way she was used to experiencing in society, but Madelief always knew and believed House Hadlenn thought themselves above expectations.

It was clear how loud they wished to be with their wealth. Every room boasted something odd and unique, and a story of how it was acquired and how much it costed to accompany each piece.

Madelief voiced to her Lady mother and Lord father she needed some quiet and respite.

It seemed she did not like bearing witness to something that was now not left in her control. All night she watched Ledan, waiting to see if and when he would slink off to do what was asked of him, but he was never alone. To her annoyance, Madelief watched as every man and woman seemed to greet Veya's Hero. She wondered if she should intervene, to give him the chance to slip away and do as she had asked.

Waiting for him began to sour her mood, even more so than the evening's own natural progression.

She stole a moment away in a quiet room, a library that had not yet been stuffed with curiosities and valuables. There were not many books lining the shelves either, and Madelief ignored the thoughts of whether she should be here or not. The door had been left ajar, and the quiet within drew her in. Someone had been in here, and the scent of fresh citrus oils used to clean and freshen the room gave it away. A servant, no doubt.

"This used to be my late son's study, but I had his things removed..."

Madi turned and frowned. She was not before every one else and did not have to show her meticulously perfect mask of being a Toussaint. Free to show her feelings, to let it all down, and perhaps catch the Lord Hadlenn off guard... had he not looked about the room with a mournful smile. He ignored whatever state he found Madelief in.

"I should return to the party." Short and curt, she began to make for the exit but the Lord Hadlenn halted her by standing in her path. A sheepish smile, as if he felt sorry for doing so, but that glint in his eyes told Madi he had meant to follow her.

He had an agenda.

"Lady Madelief." His smile grew in it's confidence. She did not like the way he thought he could corner her, from stopping her from leaving. Lord Hadlenn was holding perfect eye contact, and all she needed to do was speak and let her siren song ensnare him.

"A favour, if I may? You hold such an esteemed court in this society, that I cannot help but think perhaps if you would not marry my second son, then brefriending him will help him be seen and accepted amongst his peers."

She stared at him, confused and unsure if he had been so bold as to ask her a favour. Madelief scoffed softly, needing that moment to recollect herself. "I beg your pardon? You think I would do so out of the kindness of my own heart?" To ask, no, to expect a Toussaint to be so gracious with their power and esteem...

There was only one that could get away with such a thing, and he was lazy. Here, Ledan's target was alone and away from the crowd. If she had the risk without being found out of her own weaving, she would compel Hadlenn to keep still, or perhaps deliver his stolen fae teeth to her associate... but being in the same room as him did not sit well with her.

Madelief made to move out of the blocked path, but the Lord only stepped in her path once again. He sighed, staring at her with disappointment. "Here I thought your father was stubborn, but now I see how the poisoned tree affects the fruit it bears..."

 

[Ledan]

Madelief's nerves betrayed her, but Ledan supposed he shouldn't be surprised she had difficulties maintaining her composure. After all, the two-faced mask he wore was fitted for him alone, and such forward facing treachery was not in her nature. No, the Toussaints waited until the curtain fell before they showed the ice on their shoulders.

While she seemed intent on blowing their cover with her constant fretting glances, Ledan worked doubly to feed their illusion: He ignored her outright, paying mind to seemingly every soul within Hadlenn's walls save for her. All that she need do was that which all the men and women around her already had done: Place her faith in the Hero of Veya.

Eventually, there came a lull in the festivities; as everybody finished their second round of drinks and splintered off to mingle with their peers, and the excitement of Veya's finest waned in the wake of more ordinary aristocratic discourse. As Ledan at last shook off the remaining clingers that hung from his ankles, he now used this moment of peace to search for Madelief, to deliver the signal she so sought.

The Toussaint was nowhere to be found. Of course, the troublesome wench would trottle off the moment she would actually hold some use. He could have been convinced she'd done it on purpose, solely to make him chase her down for the laugh of it.

That is, until he saw his most gracious host slinking away himself, wearing an expression that the Bastard himself knew all too well.

Another smile crept its way across his lips, slow and serpentlike. This time, the expression was very real, and dripping with venom. His dear 'friend' may not have known it yet, but she'd quite likely just offered him the very opportunity he'd been waiting for. Both to claim the stolen teeth and take hold of another prize he'd had his eye on.

---

"Here I thought your father was stubborn, but now I see how the poisoned tree affects the fruit it bears..."

Ledan was quiet on his feet as he lurked behind Hadlenn, the advances he made on Madelief on his son's behalf both amusing and revolting. He loathed this man, and had no love for his son, yet to see the ever-composed Lady Toussaint so taken aback, so openly offended, was a treat worth attending for in itself.

Alas, it was time to go to work. The entertainment for the evening had to come to its inevitable end. Or, at least, he doubted poor Hadlenn would find what came next to be amusing. Ledan emerged from the corner of the room, loudly clearing his throat as donned the guise of Hero once more.

"I must say, I am dissapointed in you, Ser Hadlenn. It is quite rude insult a guest, especially a Lady so fair as she." Ledan walked a circle around the man like a shark, wearing the smile of a saint. In the dim light of the study, an expression that would have been comforting seemed... tilted, unnerving even. Stopping at Madelief's side, he placed a hand firmly on her shoulder, fingers squeezing down on her flesh in silent anger. At her, or at Hadlenn, it was hard to tell.

"Though I do understand your desire that she wed your son. In truth..." Ledan turned his head to look down at the woman, eyes shining with faux fondness, a gentleness as thick as wet parchment. "I've had eyes on her myself. No finer a woman could a warrior ask for, and obviously you agree."

The mask slips, edged words seep through the filter, and Ledan's smile turns into something more foul than friendly.

"Ah, but you were speaking of poisoned fruit? Do continue, My Lord. There is no finer a judge of Fatherhood than yourself, after all. A tree bearing two, one mishappen and one squashed."

@Madelief

 

[Madelief]

Her fury had to be sheathed, along with the rest of her trueness to avoid being seen as something other than demure and sweet. After all, that was the mask she wore for the role of noble daughter, heiress, and perhaps one of the most prized possessions of Veyan high society.

Her birthright allowed her to be able to pick and choose her life, growing up and watching how stifling it became for her elder sisters who no longer remained in the Toussaint estate.

The matter of marriage and who she would choose had always been her own right, but to have Ledan lay such a claim to her so openly...

His hand rested at her shoulder, pressing the beaded embroidery of her sleeve press into her flesh beneath it. His knuckles did not whiten from force, but his grip on her was weighed with an emotion she had seen from him before. Her eyes lifted from his daring hand to his smile aimed at Lord Hadlenn.

"I've had eyes on her myself. No finer a woman could a warrior ask for, and obviously you agree."

Deep down within her true self, Madelief scoffed at this. The idea of it was ludicrous, and Ledan speaking a fantasy so out of reach was near amusing, but his hand was upon her before another witness.

"The Hero of Veya and the Fair Maiden..." Hadlenn laughed, glancing between the two before settling on the steeled gaze Madelief was giving Ledan. "You both... are acquainted then?" She did not need to look at him to see the confusion on his face. Hadlenn would now try to recall if Madelief and Ledan ever interacted, but at these events, they both kept to their own people.

Madelief still did not give Hadlenn time of day. She looked to Ledan, a silvertongued command close to leaving her mouth for him to do as she bids.

This was his chance.

"Ledan and I met years ago, but we have never been... close." Her shoulder shrugged his hand off, but not without difficulty. "Yet he brings up a fascinating thought..." Madelief turned to look at Hadlenn, her eyes taking in the parts of himself he passed onto his sons. The eyes... the brows... even the way he stood half composed and half ready to flit to the next circle of conversation. He was hesitating. Ready to bow out from this room now that he no longer had her trapped alone with him.

"You have caused quite the stain on this city." Her voice offered no kindness. "We all have watched as you grasp to remain in our society and maintain power... but you only legitimised your son after your heir was killed. He had been the subject of many jests and gossip, now we must all suddenly speak highly of him and accept him as one of our own?"

Madelief laughed. "We may call him friend and accept him, but he would not earn trust or love from this city. All due to you picking your fruit too early before harvest."

"And your family is exempt?" He snarled.