#ofsamos

( send me △ for my muse to get trapped in a small closet with yours. )

          &&.   Her heart had just about come to a halt. WHITEFIRE PALACE WAS UNDER ATTACK, and no one had GOD DAMN bothered to give Celeste a heads up.

           It’ll be fine, Celeste, the Red soldier imitated her Commander inwardly as she bolted through a deserted hallway and  A W A Y  from the sound of gunfire. Just waltz into the Silver equivalent of a bee’s nest and expect not to get stung, Celeste. I’m the Commander and I’m equal parts pretty and bad ass so you can trust me when I say you’re TOTALLY not going to die out there, Celeste. Also, I control your food rations so you don’t really have a choice ——— but have fun!! P.S. I’m going to blow the fucking palace up.

          “Fucking irrational ass, wild as shit, mother - f u c k i n g,” she spat, pausing to catch her breath. After the explosion ripped through the ballroom, chaos ensued. Silver blood stained the marble tiles and screams pierced through her thoughts, dimmed by the numb buzzing left from the loud BANG.  From what she could gather by the sounds echoing and carrying throughout the palace, SOMEONE was holding SOMEONE hostage. Which side was winning, she had no clue. Either way, she sure as shit wasn’t planning on being around to find out.

          Celeste tried the FIFTH apartment door she’d came across, all four before it locked, and was surprised to find herself stumbling into a room. She might’ve taken a second to marvel over all the steal-worthy shiny things if it weren’t for the man sprawled out atop a desk to the left, holding his side. Vibrant silver leaked through his fingers, and his eyes immediately narrowed at her. Her eyes, in turn, WIDENED at him.

          Clad in an extravagant dress and a thick layer of cool tinged makeup, she reminded herself she looked the Silver part. If she played it right, she could shackle up there until one of the Reds found her. GOOD PLAN, she commended herself, STICK TO IT. And then a barrage of approaching footsteps sounded behind her, and just like that: all her composure dissipated. “C’MON, fancy pants,” Celeste thrust forward, collecting the Silver’s hand as she dived for the decorated closet that sat against the apartment’s back wall. “TIME TO HIDE.”

         She tugged the closet door shut behind them and clamped her lips together, listening intently to the shuffling and stepping noises floating into the room. Celeste almost forgot all together about her Silver companion, until his blood dropped onto her dress. Her line of sight snapped up to his face, steely despite the pain he was likely in. Skeptical. SCRUTINISING HER. She considered, for a moment, how to angle this. ( It wasn’t like she could just knock out a Silver twice her size, unfortunately. )

          “You’re hurt? Well, you’re OBVIOUSLY hurt. Soooo… brave,” she ambled awkwardly, trying to bat her lashes like she’d seen some of the Silver ladies doing. DAMSEL IN DISTRESS, she could do this. “Jeeze Louise, am I… awfully… terrified,” Celeste allowed her flimsy frame to go weak against his, swallowing her distaste down for the forced act. “Hold me,” the Red whispered, touching a hand to her forehead, “I may pass out. I mean…. faint. I may FAINT.” Where the FUCK were the Reds already?

Break Me: I will write an angsty drabble about our characters.

Standing two steps behind the King of Norta, Claudius looked at Augustus Samos with hatred and betrayal in his eyes, a look that he rarely–if ever–gave to anyone, much less someone that he considered as close as a brother. Once upon a time, Augustus had been Claud’s protector at the Choke, but now here he was, in his prison cell surrounded by silent stone, standing before the new King. Instead of being filled with regret, Augustus almost looked…peaceful.

There was so much Claudius wanted to say to him. He wanted to scream and curse him, but it would be pointless, not to mention inappropriate in this particular moment. He was one of Dom’s guards, and he had to be stoic and unflinching right now. He couldn’t show his emotion, or let on how absolutely crushed he was that a person he trusted had turned out to be a traitor. 

“Before I announce your punishment, you should tell me who else aided you in your…agenda.” Dom said, his voice lacking any emotion, and Claud wondered just how hard it was for the new King to keep it together. 

“No one.” Augustus said. “I worked alone.”

A few long moments of silence filled the air before the King repeated his question.

“I will ask you again,” Dom’s eyes resembled blue hot fires, which was the only sign he wasn’t completely detached from all of this. “And this time I would very much appreciate it if you told me the truth. Who helped you?”

“Dom–”

“Your Royal Highness.” Claud corrected Augustus through gritted teeth, his voice a low growl. 

“Your Royal Highness,” Augustus smirked, glancing at the crown sitting atop Dom’s head, a crown that he had almost stolen for himself. “As I already said, I worked alone, there was no one who helped me. To think otherwise is almost insulting.” 

“By the Gods,” Claudius stepped forward, his face merely inches away from the cell’s bars. “Stop lying, just stop Augustus.” he masked his pain with anger, wishing he could grab his former friend by the neck. “We know someone helped you, who is it?”

“Claudius.” Dom warned, but Claudius wasn’t backing down.

“Your sister was in on this as well, wasn’t she?” he asked, but he didn’t really need an answer. Alessa had always wanted to be Queen, and last night, her biggest desire was almost fulfilled. “She is the only person you would protect. She’s always been your one and only weakness, am I right?”

“Why look at you, Claud.” Augustus tilted his head to the side, trying to make himself seem at ease. “Who knew the Prince’s–forgive me, the King’s–loyal dog has the capacity to come up with such rich stories. I am impressed.”

 Claud lunged forward, but Dom reached out and squeezed his shoulder. “Enough.” he said, his tone low but firm. Like a King’s.

“No.” Claudius said, turning around to face Dom. He was not used to defying his King. “It’s not enough, Dom. He betrayed us. We trusted him with our lives, with our secrets. I trusted him.” his voice shook with anger, and when he turned to face Augustus again, he wished he could use his ability on him and throw his body repeatedly against the wall. 

“Don’t be so dramatic, Claudius.” Augstus said, almost groaning in annoyance. “It’s nothing personal. I just wanted to be King, can you blame me?”

“Nothing personal?” Claud repeated, his bitter laugh echoing all around them. “Was it not personal when you lied to me every second of every day at the Choke, or when we returned home? When you pretended to be my mentor, my friend, my brother? How is any of that not personal?”

“Not everything was a lie.” Augustus shrugged. “Our friendship was mostly real.” 

“And what about our friendship?” Dom, who had been quiet until now, stepped forward to look at Augustus. “You’ve saved my life more than once at the Choke, and that puzzles me more than anything.” he said. “Why not let me die? Why not get rid of me without ever staining your hands silver?”

Augustus sighed. “Oh well, let me lay it out for you.” he said. “If you died at the Choke, there would never be Queenstrial, and my darling sister would never have competed. If she never won, there’d be no wedding, and if there was no wedding, well, I wouldn’t have the most perfect timing to send you off among the stars. The end.” 

“Except your flawless plan wasn’t so flawless after all.” Claudius said, glaring at him.

“Did you ever consider what would happen to Alessa if you were ever found out?” Dom asked him, crossing his arms before his chest. “Do you understand what will happen to her now?”

“My sister hasn’t committed any crimes, your Royal Highness.” Augustus replied, sounding like he was tired of repeating it over and over again. “In fact, she is one of the victims in all of this. I used her, like I used all of you.”

“I don’t believe you.” Claudius said, his eyes narrowed at him. “You love your sister more than anything on this world.”

“Clearly not more than that Crown.”

“Stop talking.” Claud growled, and for a moment, he saw shock pass through Augustus eyes. He realized he had never seen good-hearted, loyal Claudius Provos so angry. Anger looked good on him, Augustus thought. It made him look taller, more confident in himself. “I may not know you like I thought I did, but I know this: you and Alessa have always done everything to protect each other, even as children.” Claud said. “And as it is evident now, you will die protecting her.”

“Claudius,” Dom warned him again, but his friend was not listening.

“But know this, Augustus.” Claudius looked at him right in the eyes. “You have failed. At everything. You didn’t get the Crown, and you certainly failed at protecting your sister. She will pay for what she did, just like you. I will see to it myself.”

“Do you think you scare me with your empty threats? You think I don’t know how hard it is for you to hurt innocents? I’ve seen what taking a life does to you, Claudius, and we both know you don’t have what it takes.” 

“But I certainly do.” Dom smiled dryly at Augustus. “You see, I’m still deciding if I want Alessa to watch you die or if it should be the other way around, but you’ll be the first to know once I’ve made up my mind.” 

Beside him, Claudius shuddered. Augustus was right about one thing: he was incredibly affected by taking a life, but what he didn’t know was that Claudius would always do his duty. It’s what he was trained for.

“And if it wasn’t already clear: Augustus Samos, of House Samos, for betraying the Crown and attempted murder of the King, I sentence you and your accomplices to death.” 

The hairs on Claudius’ neck stood up at one simple thought in that moment: 

14: jawline kiss

The coronation had come after months—years—of planning, of hushed whispers and concealed intentions. Every moment they’d spent together, every little victory and defeat they’d shared between them, had led to this: they might’ve lost a few battles, but they’d won the goddamn war.

Their plan had been far from simple, but the basis of their partnership, especially in its beginnings, was; Helene Calore had shown Augustus Samos the hand her family had dealt her, and he’d shown her exactly how to play it. And it had worked—gods, it had worked. They’d taken the King and his successor down with relative ease, and Aurelian had even had the good grace to look afraid.

The King who cried mercy had fallen to the wisp of a girl he’d never felt compelled to call “daughter,” and as for her brother: the magnetron had done the honors—he’d demanded that privilege, and reluctantly, she’d ceded it. Norta as the Elite knew it had gone down in flames, but from the ashes a new King arose, forged from iron and fire.

Now all he needed was a crown.

A princess no more, Helene approached the man, taking one of his gloved hands in hers. She’d seen every part of him—or at least the parts he was willing to show her—and yet he’d never appealed to her quite as much as he did now, standing in the rubble of a kingdom they’d ruined together. 

She’d made good on her promise. She’d made him King: King of the remnants of a world they’d all but turned their backs on, but if the burner had anything to do with it, that was all he’d ever have dominion over—the past. Her blue eyes settled on his, and for the first time in gods only knew how long, the smile that graced her pale lips was genuine.

The burner’s other hand settled on his cheek just long enough to pull his face closer to her own (as tall as she might’ve been, he was still much taller), and returned to her side once his lips were near her own.

“You’ll make a great king,” she breathed, her lips ghosting along his jawline before settling briefly—warmly—on his skin. Her other hand crept up his chest, and although he didn’t pull away, the older man tensed beneath her touch. The blonde left a trail of kisses down his jaw, stopping only when his lips caught hers, trapping them in one place; he’d always preferred that she keep her distance, but on the rare occasions he allowed her to come closer, he tended to maintain some degree of control over her touches.

She swore she heard him mutter, “I know,” vainly into her mouth.

And so they stood: two Kings staking a claim to the same bloody crown, a man of STEEL and a woman with a ROARING FIRE where her heart should’ve been; they’d conquered the world together, yet the only thing standing in her way was him.

But the little King—the woman King—knew better than to make her move too soon. The man in front of her had been formidable enough to make it thus far; she’d be foolish to think she could steal the throne from beneath him so soon.

She’d waited her entire life for this moment, but as the magnetron pulled away, his signature sneer taking hold of his lips, the burner dropped his hand and took a step back, her blue eyes taking in the sight of him; perhaps she’d have to wait a bit longer.

“The enemy of my enemy is my friend.” Those words had echoed in her head like a mantra since the first time she’d whispered her murderous thoughts aloud, but now, the voices in her head had grown eerily quiet.

send me △ for my muse to get trapped in a small closet with yours

send me ♡ for your muse to drunkenly confess feelings to mine

After nearly tearing her chambers apart looking for it with no luck, the princess came to the conclusion that the book was missing, and that there could only be one culprit: Domitius. Fortunately for her (and unfortunately for him), the crown prince was rather preoccupied—with something he was obligated to attend for no other reason than the fact that he was the heir, probably (if there was one good thing about not being born with the crown dangling over her head, it had to be that). The blonde took full advantage of his vacant chambers and barged in, taking a sharp left just before his bedroom and stopping abruptly before a rather plain door.

The only purpose of the closet was to store things he didn’t want to be found; he’d gotten much more use out of it when they were young, and since he hadn’t hidden anything there in years, she could only assume he thought she’d forgotten about it. She could only hope that had been his train of thought. If it hadn’t been, she wasn’t sure where she’d look next.

But her older brother had taken it, that she knew for a fact. The book, given to her as a child by their recently deceased uncle, was among her favorites, and only the prince would be brave—or foolish—enough to steal it. 

The blonde unceremoniously opened the door and stepped inside, squinting up at the shelf she’d been too short to reach when this had been his favorite hiding spot.

Those days were long gone; she was only a few inches shorter than him now, and she could see the various objects scattered about the shelf with relative ease in the half-dark. 

The warm light that peeked in through the crack in the door suddenly vanished, and the blonde glanced back at it just in time to watch it click shut behind her. Alarmed, the princess stepped forward to retrieve her beloved book from the shelf and let out a surprised gasp when her foot made contact with a hand. The volume—small though it was—slipped from her grasp, and flames sparked to life at her fingertips.

He’d scared the sparks out of her, but she could just as easily play it off as needing light.

“What are you doing in my brother’s closet?” The burner hissed, her blue eyes settling on none other than Augustus Samos, his face lit up with an orange hue from her fire. 

“What are you doing in your brother’s closet?” The man returned evenly, his voice unnervingly calm for a man who’d just been discovered in his sovereign prince’s chambers—the closet, of all places.

“Taking back what’s mine,” she said pointedly, her gaze falling to the book, which the magnetron had taken upon himself to pick up.

“’The Art of War.’ What need do you have for this, little princess?” He read the title aloud, his eyebrows raised. A hot—but no longer flaming—hand tore the book from his hands, and, having had enough of whatever this was, she turned to leave, only to find the doorknob locked in place. 

“Not funny. Open the door.” The nineteen year old growled, trying it a few more times for good measure. Nothing. She situated the book between her side and elbow and, when she tried again, the knob moved freely but the door still wouldn’t open.

“Godsdamnit, Augustus, open the door!”

“It’s unlocked. Are you that hellbent on staying with me that you’re pretending it won’t open?”

The blonde rammed her shoulder into the door, gritting her teeth when it didn’t budge. “Don’t flatter yourself. There’s something stopping it.” Although Lord Samos was clearly far from a genius, it didn’t take much thought to pinpoint who’d done it.

“I’m going to kill him.” Ever persistent, the princess threw her weight against the door again, and when she was met with still more failure, she picked her way to the side of the closet that the man wasn’t occupying and crouched. 

“Domitius. They should’ve named him Dumitius for all the brains he’s got.” It was big talk coming from the sister he’d just trapped in a closet—unbeknownst to him—with the elder brother of one of the Queenstrial frontrunners, but Helene paid no mind to her own hypocrisy; any sin she committed, in her mind, was a byproduct of her father’s glorification of the twins—especially her brother.

It took intense concentration for the flames on her fingertips to stay there, and she fell silent, both focused on keeping the fire contained and considering letting it devour the man across from her. When he pulled out a flask, she rolled her eyes but held out a delicate hand nonetheless.

“You wouldn’t like this.” The man drank from it, eyeing her hand warily.

“I don’t like you, yet here we are.” Helene said bluntly, her fingers curling up slightly. When the magnetron surrendered the flask, she tipped it back and made sure not to make a face when the bitter liquid slid down her throat. 

They passed it between them for a while, and when the little princess spoke again, her head felt a great deal lighter and her stomach was much warmer. “Why are you here?”

She flipped open her book and scanned the page, one hand positioned a safe distance above it. When the man was slow to offer much of a response, she released a long sigh. All warfare is based on deception.

And Augustus Samos, try as he might, was a bit of a amateur when it came to subtlety. She swore she could smell the alcohol on his breath, but she was still sober enough to acknowledge that it very well could have been her own.

“If you know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles,” the willowy woman read, her accusatory gaze flickering back up to him when she paused.

“You don’t know me.” His words were a bit slurred.

“I’m also not the enemy, aren’t I?” A smirk had found its way onto her pale lips. Augustus Samos didn’t know her either, but he didn’t need to. Whose chambers had he been sneaking around in, after all?

           One of the more primary objectives of Sera’s night at the ball –– like one of her more primary objectives in life –– was to AVOID Cavan Welle. Something about the governor’s son gave her chills that ran down her spine like ice water. Maybe it was the way he looked at everything like it was already his; maybe it was the way he looked at her, and her sister, as though he saw right through them. As though they weren’t  R E A L  in his eyes. Maybe it was just something about the aura that he gave off. Whatever it was, Sera wanted no part in it. She was, quite genuinely, scared of him, and wanted no part in anything that he was pursuing at any given point in time. Unfortunately, at that moment, it seemed like she was on the agenda; she’d made the mistake of making eye contact with the Welle heir from halfway across the ballroom. The second he started to walk towards her, she could feel something akin to panic grip her system, and she blinked to the left and to the right before making up her mind in an instant. 

             Nothing about Augustus Samos was IDEAL, if she was being honest, but he was a better alternative than Cavan. For all that she disliked Alessa’s older brother, for all that his blunt mannerisms and harsh lines and sharp edges irritated her, he didn’t UNNERVE her the way Cavan did. ( After all, there might have been anger lurking behind his eyes more often than not, but at least it was SOMETHING there. ) In any other situation, she’d find any excuse to get herself out of a dance with Augustus, but desperate times called for desperate measures. Quickly, she crossed the ballroom to where he was situated, leaning against a wall with a cool regard for the rest of the room. 

             “ Lord Samos, ” she said, inclining her head. It was POLITE to curtsey when one was requesting a dance, regardless of rank, but Sera wasn’t requesting.