➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶

𝘪'𝘷𝘦 𝘬𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪'𝘭𝘭 𝘬𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯
𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘰𝘧𝘧, 𝘸𝘳𝘢𝘱 𝘪𝘵 𝘵𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘺 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥
𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘴𝘢𝘺 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘢𝘵𝘩 𝘯𝘰 𝘧𝘶𝘳𝘺 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘢 𝘸𝘰𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘴𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘥
𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘺, 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘮𝘦,
 𝘪'𝘷𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦.

( ➵ family tree, ethel cain )

CHAPTER ONE
THE NIGHT IS MEANT FOR HAUNTING ( i. )

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author's note!!

some events from canon are going to be altered to better fit this story.
the main themes/plot/major events will remain the same,
however this will not be as faithful as book one in order
to incorporate calliope's story in a better manner. 

if anyone has any questions/concerns about this 
feel free to message me privately :)

THERE ARE handprints on her soul. Those of the dead clawing for salvation. 

They whisper in moments between stillness and life—an early dawn blanketed by bluish hue that sets over the valley, or the shiver that sparks through her at the first touch of winter. The cold has always been a familiar place for Calliope, but now she finds herself seeking warmth. 

The fires on the mountain burn with an incandescent fury. Lit braziers bracketing soul-chilling winds that bite straight through her leathers are Calliope's only defense from this altitude. She clutches the handle of Deathbane as it rests in her belt underneath a black cloak, her eyes narrowed as she surveys the passing patrol on the roads beneath her. Light flecks of snow kiss her head, whipping through her vision in flashes of white. She blinks as several snowflakes land on her eyelashes, adjusting the scarf that's pulled up to her nose to obstruct her features. Once again, hiding her face from the world around her; wanted, hunted—a bounty on her head that could make a lowly peasant an honored Lord. Calliope waits in her hunched position as the riders stop, dismounting their horses.

Armored riders with a crimson-stitched flag search the dirt in a meticulous pattern as they look for tracks, or anything that would point them in the right direction. Just above, their target watches from the shadows, dagger ready to be unsheathed. But Calliope's hand doesn't move.

"Same as last week," A voice speaks lowly from behind her.

She ignores her companion, searching every face of the Camelot riders mounting their horses  so they can move on to another trail. They must be new recruits because she can barely recognize any of them. She shakes her head—she needs to stop doing that; stop searching each and every face in the hopes that one of them might be...Calliope inhales sharply, and she stands up.

Deathbane slides into its sheath at her side, and she rubes her gloved hands together to generate some heat. For the past year, Uther Pendragon has been desperately searching for the Red Dragon to finally bring her to justice, and even after so many months of failure, he refuses to give up. Perhaps it's the added sting of her Lucindrian blood that motivates him into such insanity. Whatever the case, Calliope keeps a close eye on anyone from Camelot that even comes within thirty miles of her city. So many have entered their protection—so many seeking shelter and aid from the King's unrelenting war on magic. They find serenity in the vine-hidden and spell-cloaked entrance of the city she now calls home.

Her fingers graze her necklace. Even though she's gotten the hang of quieting the dark magic within herself, she can never truly keep her mind from wandering to the night she took this off; the night everything had fallen apart. Calliope inhales a sharp breathe, closes her eyes, and Kazimir's voice echoes in her thoughts, 'Imagine you're flowing with a calm stream. Let the water still you. Let the light guide you to the other end of the shore.' When her crystal blue gaze snaps back open, her gaze is focused—sharp.

Calliope turns around, looking at her companion. He stands in identical black leathers, the sign of a Lucindrian warrior, a silver sun dangling from his necklace. His hair is a mop of copper brown curls, his eyes a shining green. Light stubble lines his chin and his defined jawline. Lucien Thorne is the most sought after man in the entire city—fitting since his mother named him after it, worried it would never reach its full glory, but could always live on in her son—and the one tasked with making sure Calliope stays in line. She kind of despises him. He's like a leech she can't shake off her skin.

He crosses his arms over his broad chest, quirking an eyebrow, "Still looking out for someone in particular, I see."

"Shut the fuck up, Lucien," Calliope snaps as she turns to the path that leads to their horses. He chuckles as he follows her, snow sticking to their cloaks. "You need to learn how to keep your opinions to yourself."

When they reach the horses, Calliope unties the reins from around a thick, barren tree. Lucien mounts his horse, staring down at her, "I thought we were supposed to be learning to get along, sis."

Biting the inside of her cheek, Calliope holds in a hurricane of curses. Over the past year, she has learned a few things about anger management. In the presence of Lucien, however, she's tempted to throw all her teachings out the window. Her rage takes her to a dark, lonely place that usually ends with someone injured or worse. Old habits die hard. Especially those of a former assassin. 

Calliope clicks her heels against her horse's sides, hoping for a quiet ride back to Lucindria. 

"I'm not your sister."

"Well, technically—"

"Technically, my father married your mother, and now we're forced to patrol together because Kazimir doesn't trust that I'll stay away from Camelot," Calliope says quickly. 

Yes, another surprise waiting for Calliope in Lucindria. Kazimir married a pretty sorceress whose family had been advising the city and fueling it with magic for decades. An even bigger surprise was that she looked the exact same age as her son because her favorite use of her magic was to stay young as long as possible. It was quite a sight.

Nicolette Thorne lost her husband in the attack. Lucien had only been four-years-old. Ten years later, she was married to another warrior. Unfortunately for Calliope, it was Kazimir. 

Now she has a step brother, and a sorceress who tries to mother her. When she found out Calliope's life story, she'd said she was always around to talk. When Calliope had politely declined, the sorceress only pressed harder like Calliope was some difficult spell she was desperate to learn. Even though she knows Nicolette only has good intentions, it's still annoying and a huge pain in the ass. One thing Calliope will always hate is when people pry; when they can't take no for answer and think it's their job to fix her or figure out what's wrong with her. 

What's wrong with Calliope cannot be fit into any single explanation or letter or mind healing session. She's been in a state of survive or die since she was nine. She's been a trained, expert killer since thirteen, taking lives before she had really even lived her own. No, there truly isn't a perfect way to make others understand. The only way for someone to understand would be if they lived it too.

But Calliope will never wish that fate on anyone.

Instead, she fills up journal after journal after journal of every unwanted thought and memory. She runs every morning, pushing her body to almost unhealthy limits. Calliope spends hours in the training arena, and she throws herself into perfecting Lucindria's defenses, aiding with their strategies and patrols. Then, she has her sessions with Nicolette as the sorceress lights aromatic candles and soothes her mind with some kind of spell that's supposed to push the dark magic down even further. At the end of the day, she's so exhausted that she falls right to sleep. And then, she does it all again. And again. And again. 

And again. 

It gives her little time to dwell on the past. That's what is best for her, best for everyone in this city and outside it.

As they round on the western stretch of mountains, Calliope spots the vine-covered entrance to the city. When they pass through the veil, she feels the buzzing of cloaking magic spurring through her, allowing her and Lucien entrance. 

Lucindria is built over a shimmering lake that reflects the sunset in purplish hues. Willow trees flank each side of a serene path towards the myriad of stone houses and markets and crisscrossing, slate gray streets. Some areas still hold the scars of the attack, scorch marks and torn apart structures, but most of those parts are towards the outskirts of the city. In the very middle is the Citadel—a towering, steel enclosure of various protruding towers and balconies with a training arena at the base. Calliope's room is one towards the very top with her own personal balcony and bathing chamber. Lucien's is directly across from hers. He takes time out of his day to inconvenience hers, which appears to be his favorite hobby.

When they reach the stables, Calliope stops. She silently counts the horses, and there are far more being groomed than when her and Lucien left. The stable boys are handling the new horses with extra diligence, and there's more buzz and chatter escalating through the streets than any normal, ordinary morning. 

"Is this something going on tonight that I don't know about?"

Lucien hands his horse's reins to a stable boy, "What do you mean?" Sighing, she gives him a pointed look, and Lucien throws up his hands in surrender. "I forget how much you pick up on. It's fucking annoying."

"Just answer the question, idiot."

"Fine, fine, yes. All I know is that King Cenred is...here."

"Cenred?" Calliope practically screams. "What the actual f—"

Lucien's hands are on her shoulders, and she tries to block out that white, overcoming rage attempting to take hold of her. Calm waters. Move with the stream. 

"He and Draven are friends I guess you could say. Draven did some mercenary work for him before he finally accepted a tether. Cenred has been trying to get Lucindra to ally with him against Camelot for the past few years. It's just another attempt, nothing to worry about."

Calliope is having trouble processing the words coming out of Lucien's mouth. Is Kazimir out of his mind? Bringing Cenred here? Calliope doesn't care who that man is friends with, he's always followed by trouble. 

"And let me guess, their meeting lined up with our patrol so I wouldn't be in the city?"

"Kazimir was worried about you having another outburst."

"That'll be the least of his concerns now," Calliope replies as she begins walking towards the Citadel entrance.

"Cal!" Lucien is a fool if he thinks he can stop her. "Calliope, wait!" 

The guards nod and step out of the way. At least a few people still have decent heads on their shoulders around here.

"I know plenty of Cenred," Calliope calls over her shoulder as she storms through the drafty hall, the midnight chandelier sparkling as it extends in several places with its deadly claws. Her boots click on the dark, mosaic tile like a horse's thundering hooves as it rides into battle. Before her is the wide staircase that begins one's journey through the many stories of the repaired Citadel. The council chamber is at the very top overlooking the entire city and roving hills. "His kingdom is where I got away with most of my...devious activities because he was too busy doing things much more devious to notice."

The stairwell winds up and up with halls that go from the kitchens to the grand library to guest chambers and even an astronomy hall with a perfect place to view the stars. There are restricted sections that are being worked on, blood that might stain the floor forever or singe marks that will remain even after years of healing. Including the room where Calliope's brother and mother were murdered by Uther's men.

"Kazimir will never work with Cenred. It's just his yearly doomed proposal to get Lucindria as an ally against Camelot. There's nothing to worry about." Calliope's stomach twists as she stops at the top of the stairs, gripping the railing, "The entrance to the city is enchanted so that those who don't live here can never speak its location to another. I promise, everything will be fine."

"It's not the city I'm worried about," Calliope turns her head, meeting his emerald eyes.

Her feet start moving towards the entrance of the council chambers, "At least give me your dagger—"

"Not happening."

"Cal—"

"Fuck off, and shut up."

"You're so unbelievably rude," Calliope is only a few feet away from the door. "This won't be good."

Calliope doesn't bother with being subtle. The double doors bang open on their hinges and every head turns towards the noise. The first pair of eyes is the amber gaze of Kazimir as he clenches his jaw and crosses his arms across his chest. An identical look comes her way from her uncle, but his is full of far more amusement than that of his older brother. The head sorceress pinches the bridge of her nose and mumbles curses before shaking her head at her son. Did she really think Lucien would be able to stop this?

And alas, there stands King Cenred, looking the most amused of all with his smug smile underneath dark stubble and wavy black hair that falls to his shoulders. His weapons are absent from his sheath, likely being watched closely by a guard downstairs.

Seeing him ignites a fire of anger in Calliope's chest. The slave trade is abhorrent in his lands, and he knows it—doesn't care even. He profits more than anyone from it.

Calliope's fingers tick close to her dagger. It'd be so easy to kill him right here, right now. He's a stain on this earth. It'd be a much better place without this vile, awful man. Calliope takes a long, deep breath, and she laces her hands behind her back. Lucien visibly relaxes from behind her.

"Well, well, well," Cenred extends his hands towards her, "there she is. The most wanted fugitive in the world. You are quite famous these days."

"Cal, maybe you should wait outside," Kazimir steps around the table.

The raging thoughts spiraling through her brain go quiet as she rolls her eyes, "I've been famous for a while now. It gets boring after a time."

"Ah, yes, the great Red Dragon," Cenred claps his hands together. "Oh, how the mighty have fallen. I think Uther would even give me the shitload of gold he's offering for turning you in."

"I think you know you'd be cold in the grave before that could happen, Cenred," Draven pats him on the back, shooting his brother a glance to back off. "Welcome, Calliope, shall we fill you in?"

The tension in the room is still stifling, but everyone returns to their seats. Lucien leans against the wall by the balcony, observing with his arms crossed and eyebrows raised in surprise that Calliope hasn't pulled a weapon yet.

Draven pulls out a chair for Calliope beside him and directly across from Cenred. Sitting, she crosses her legs and sets her elbows on the table, eager to hear this grand pitch that Cenred thinks will finally win over the council of Lucindria. His smug smile remains plastered on his face as he leans back and chuckles quietly to himself.

"Now, where were we?" Nicolette clears her throat. "I believe Cenred would once again like to discuss a possible allegiance between our lands."

"Correct, my Lady, but this time is different."

"That's what you say every time," Kazimir says, "you and Draven are far too eager for Camelot's demise. We do not have the resources or the power to take on such a foe, and I for one have enjoyed keeping our people away from war."

"So, what are we to do then? Hole up in this fucking Citadel until Uther Pendragon decides to massacre us again?" Draven laces his hands together on the table. "No, we must strike first, brother. We tried peace once, and look where it has gotten us."

"Do not speak of the past," Kazimir glares at his brother. "I don't need to be reminded. I was there."

"Well, maybe you need to be reminded that you're not the only one who lost someone that day. We all lost people we loved!" Draven shakes his head and runs his hands through his icy locks. Calliope looks down, as does everyone as the many tragedies still linger in this place. "And some of us...some of us need justice."

"You're talking about revenge," Kazimir looks away towards the balcony. "More death, more destruction. Is that what you really need?"

"Maybe it is," Draven says, and his eyes venture to Calliope. "Maybe I need to see them bleed."

Understanding passes between them, and she doesn't speak against him. The only factor in the room she disagrees with is Cenred's presence. 

"I'm building an army, but not just any army," Cenred glances at all of them, smirking. "Morgause!" Calliope's chair flies back, and her dagger is out the instance the blonde sorceress walks into the room. "Calm down, calm down, we are here in peace, assassin."

The sorceress is clad in a beautiful sapphire dress hugging her features in a way that makes Cenred's eyes linger a second too long. Her eyes are sparkling in manipulation, the kind that women like her can master so well. Suddenly, Calliope realizes that this plan, whatever it is, was not crafted by Cenred at all. And this isn't about conquering Camelot for revenge. 

This is about Morgause's power.

Draven's hand lands on Calliope's dagger, "Just hear them out, Cal."

"I knew we'd meet again," Morgause smiles as she looks at Calliope. "I see you finally chose a side."

"I'm not on your side," Calliope sneers.

"And what holds you back now that you no longer have your Prince?" Luckily, Kazimir grabs Calliope before she can launch herself onto the sorceress. "Oh, I'm sorry. Is that still a sore subject? I just thought with him leading the hunt for your demise that you no longer cared about what happens to him."

"Let's move on," Kazimir lets go of Calliope, but she still has murder behind her eyes.

It's one of Calliope's forbidden subjects—him. Arthur. She shuts out thoughts of him before they can even begin because they always lead to the same end; the same scene of her leaving him right outside Camelot. The betrayal, the hurt, the heartbreak. It's too much all at once.

As everyone settles down from Morgause's entrance and Calliope's vanquished attempt at stabbing her, Cenred takes the floor again. 

"Morgause has the power to summon an army of the undead to invade Camelot."

"What?" Nicolette stiffens in her seat. "That is far beyond dark magic."

"It is what's necessary to defeat our common enemy," Morgause says. "If Uther Pendragon and Camelot fall, your greatest threat to peace will be no more, and in exchange for your help, we are willing to offer you something truly invaluable."

"Such as?" Kazimir asks.

Morgause grins, and then sets her eyes on Calliope, "Camelot."

Now that makes Calliope laugh out loud, "Do you think we're stupid? Everyone in this room knows you and Cenred both want the kingdom for yourselves."

"Yes, King Cenred will sit on the Throne, but your people will be free to expand from this one city and live freely. You will get numerous seats on the Council and help govern the kingdom, as well as have access to Camelot's endless resources and funds."

"I don't trust you—either of you," Calliope says.

"One way or another, Camelot will fall within the week. It is up to your Council to decide if you want to be there to see Uther Pendragon finally face justice and share in the wealth that could drastically help your people," Morgause and Cenred both stand. "We will give you until tomorrow to decide."

The silence left behind is deafening. 

And it's because when Calliope looks across the table at her father, for the first time since she's known him, she sees him weighing the price of revenge. 

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ARTHUR PENDRAGON has always wondered what will define him as a ruler. His father is known for his iron fist, quick justice, and vanquishing the evils of magic. When the day finally comes for him to wear the crown, what will his followers think of first when hearing his name? The unknowns haunt him much more than he would like to admit. All the rights and wrongs mingle in this troubling gray place of what he thought he once knew; how the world is supposed to work versus the reality of it all. 

When the truth comes to light, it isn't always what he wants to see. His father is blind to everything except his own perspective, and Arthur fears befalling the same fate. He's in his head more these days, and he isn't sure how to come out of it until he's jolted back by some outside force. Like this tavern in front of him just outside a snow-kissed valley on the outskirts of where Camelot's territory meets Mercia's. These border towns are known for more deviance. They're too obvious, and yet, he must look to appease the King.

They'd been riding for hours with no luck. Really, it had been weeks, then months, and now a whole year of no luck, but with Morgana missing and the Red Dragon at large, his father's paranoia infects every inch of Camelot. 

Flecks of snow stick to his blond hair as he dismounts his horse. All of this feels eerily familiar. Standing outside a tavern in search of her, but this time death doesn't wait for him behind the door.

He's stuck in a trance until Merlin bumps into him, grimacing as he rubs his tailbone.

"Watch it! Is there something wrong with you?"

"Yeah, I've been on a horse all day."

The Prince rolls his eyes, "Is your little bottom sore?"

"Yes," Merlin replies, "it's not as fat as yours."

"You've got a lot of nerve for a wimp," Arthur will stall walking into this tavern as long as he can, especially when it involves insulting Merlin.

When he questions these witnesses and townspeople, he has to ask them about the Red Dragon and it just brings back memories he'd rather not be subjected to. Even after an entire year it still stings the same.

"I may be a wimp, but at least I'm not a dollop head."

A what? "There's no such word."

Trying to find her, as he attempted to explain to his father a year ago, is a useless and completely ignorant waste of time. When she doesn't want to be found, not a soul on this entire earth can pick up her trail. She's equivalent to a distant shadow; to the vestige of melodies carried by the winter winds. Her true name has become a forbidden word. The Red Dragon is the only way people refer to her. Whether it's because of her betrayal to the kingdom or for his own sake, Arthur can't be sure. 

It's harder to trust himself; to trust the people around him. He's not sure how long it will take for that part to fade, or if he'll ever feel like his normal self again. All he knows for sure is that for the past year, there's been a hole blown open in his chest, and it can't seem to mend. No matter what he does.

"It's idiomatic."

"It's what?" Yes, Merlin's stupid jokes are a great distraction from the task at hand.

"You need to be more in touch with the people."

Behind them, the other knights have dismounted their horses. Sir Leon glances around the small village, his jaw clenched tightly. 

"Describe dollop head."

"In two words?"

"Yeah."

"...Prince Arthur."

"Arthur!" the Prince turns away from his servant as Sir Leon joins them at the entrance to the tavern. Even though dusk is only just now settling, there's already drunken laughter and yelling echoing from inside. "The knights are prepared to speak with the townspeople."

"Wonderful," Arthur says through a sigh. "Merlin and I will check out the tavern."

As Leon walks away, Arthur can feel Merlin looking at him in that way he does every time they're about to embark on another useless interrogation relating to the Red Dragon. It's difficult for him too; they were as close as siblings—best friends. 

Before Merlin can speak any words of pity or remorse for what happened, Arthur inhales sharply and pushes the door open. 

They don't take much notice at first. After all, this is still mostly Camelot lands. The tavern dwellers standing in the path to the bar part for them as Prince Arthur walks through the torch-lit room that smells of ale and fresh bread. A few lingering stares set him on edge, but they'll be out of here in a few minutes. These encounters never lead to anything of importance. 

The bartender is a tall man with brownish unkempt hair and a light beard. He's a few years or so older than the Prince, and his eyes are full of jest as he watches a drunk man stumble and fall into the bar. 

"Someone pick Fred up, will you? That bastard can never handle his ale." Arthur sets his elbows in the bar with Merlin beside him, surveying the man, and for a moment, he doesn't realize expectant eyes are on him, but when he turns around, his smile fades. "Bloody hell. I didn't realize I was due a royal visit."

"Don't worry. We aren't sticking around."

The bartender grabs a glass and begins polishing it, "Fancy a drink, then?"

"We're here on official business."

"Sounds serious," the glass clinks against the table and is pushed towards the Prince. He looks down and sees it full of ale. "On the house. You look like you need it."

The bartender had no idea.

Arthur takes a big gulp, and he likes the way it slowly begins to set his mind at ease, "We're here because an informant told the King you've seen the Red Dragon around these parts."

Arthur has never seen someone go pale so fast. The man's entire demeanor changes, and he tugs at his collar, shifting his weight as he shakes his head.

"The Red Dragon?"

"She's a woman. Light blonde hair, blue eyes, fair skin, tattoos. Her name...." Arthur feels his guts twisting, his chest tightening. 

"Calliope," Merlin finishes for him, nodding.

The bartender grabs Arthur's cups and drinks the rest of the ale, "I've never seen her, but I was the one who discovered one of her first kills."

Arthur straightens up, "When?"

"Shit, it must have been six years ago now, maybe seven. I was closing up the bar, and it had come a big rainstorm. It was all muddy out back, and I nearly missed it, but there was a man laying there dead with a hole in his neck, and..." the bartender shivers. "I'd seen dead bodies before, but never someone murdered like that."

"How do you know the kill was hers?" Arthur asks.

"Because she carved the letters 'RD' on his chest, and there were rumors in the Underground about this new up and coming assassin they named the Red Dragon, said he—well she was on a war path for revenge. After that, bodies kept dropping until one day the assassin just vanished, and no one's heard of a kill from her in almost two years now. I just assumed she'd finally met her end until we all heard she tried to kill the King."

She could've, but she didn't. Killing Uther would've been so easy for her. The scene flashes before his eyes, but Arthur shakes it away.

"Is there anything else about her you can remember? Maybe a woman who matches her description coming into the tavern?"

"Now that you mention it..." the bartender looks to the ceiling as he thinks. "Yes, about six months ago a taller man came in with a blonde girl, her hair was almost white and she was wearing a black cloak. They drank some ale and went on their way. Haven't seen them since."

"Was the man's hair the same color as hers?"

"No, no his hair was brown and curly."

So, not Kazimir. Arthur sighs and throws a few gold pieces onto the bar, "Thanks for your time."

He turns his back on the bartender; the first actual lead in an entire year. She was here, six months ago...

"Is it true then?" 

Arthur stops and so does Merlin beside him. Both men turn around, and the Prince raises his eyebrows, "Is what true?"

"That you and this assassin had a... close relationship?" 

It all threatens to come rushing back—all the thoughts and memories he's reduced to dreams, banished from waking hours. The things he pushes himself so hard to forget through intense training and far too busy days and long nights in the tavern. But she's everywhere. In everything he sees. 

This torment should be gone by now. After all, it shouldn't be hard to move on from someone everyone thinks he should hate; someone whom his father wants him to kill.

The bartender awaits an honest answer, so the Prince clenches his jaw tightly.

"No," he says, finding that hollow void he must venture to in order to lie to others, but mostly himself. "We had nothing."

When he exits the tavern, the moon has risen above them. Half-full and bright and haunting. He tilts his head towards it. 

"Sire?" Sir Leon catches up with them, but the Prince's eyes remain on the celestial body. "Have you found anything?"

He parts his lips and feels the cold strike through him. He shakes his head and speaks quietly, "Nothing."

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CALLIOPE RESTS her elbows on the railing of her balcony. A light puff of smoke leaves her lips feeling warm against the bitter night. These rolled pieces of small parchment containing herbs that calm her mind were a gift from Lucien. It's a quicker fix than stumbling to the tavern night after night, and one that helps her sleep more soundly. Kazimir detests the hobby. He says it slows the reflexes, but Calliope hasn't done much of any sort of fighting in almost a year. 

So, she smokes these herbs stolen from Nicolette's ingredient closet.

Calliope lets her eyes drift to the half moon ruling over the winter sky. Her free hand fiddles with her necklace as she inhales once more. 

"Care if I have a smoke?" Looking over her shoulder, she sees Draven standing in the doorway, his arms crossed, 

Calliope shakes her head with a chuckle, and he joins her on the balcony, taking the rolled parchment from her as soon as she holds it out. 

"Don't let Kazimir catch you with this," she says in a taunting voice. "'It weakens the warrior's mind and—'"

"—'and causes them to be a stupid fighter'," Draven laughs as he lets out a breath of smoke. "You forget, I have known my brother far longer than you."

Draven passes the herbs back to her, "You're right, which means you also know whether or not he's seriously considering this deluded offer from Cenred."

"It doesn't matter," Calliope furrows her eyebrows. "Kaz's decision will not affect my participation in Camelot's downfall. I will join his army next week, and it would be an honor to fight beside you."

"Now you're the deluded one."

"Is it so far fetched for me to assume you want to see Uther suffer?"

She straightens her back, pushing away from the railing, "Of course I want him to suffer, but there are other people in Camelot who don't deserve that fate!"

Draven rolls his eyes, "You can't seriously be talking of his son? The very man leading the hunt for your head as we speak."

Calliope inhales a breath, looking away from her uncle, "I'm talking about Merlin and Gaius and countless others who had nothing to do with what happened twenty-one years ago."

Draven takes a step forward, "If Camelot falls...if Uther dies, his line will die with him. You do realize our people will never be safe as long as a Pendragon lives, don't you?"

"I know that," Calliope wraps her arms around herself, her chest tightening. "I want what's best for our people, Draven, I really do, but I know more than anyone that the path of revenge is a very dark one to walk down."

"And that is why we've always had an understanding, Cal," Draven looks out into the dark valley, gripping the railing. "My wife, Mina, was pregnant with our son when Lucindria fell. Uther's men—they defiled her and then they butchered her," he lets out a shaky breath. "I lost everything that night. Everything."

Calliope stands in the silence that falls over them. A silence for those they have lost. 

"I'm sorry," she finally says, joining him once again at the railing. "Uther and the men who participated in that night deserve to pay severely, but you can't damn an entire city for the sins of the past."

"I need justice," he nods to himself. 

"And we shall have it," she reassures him, "but not like this. It's not right."

Draven turns to her in the moonlight that trickles down amongst the balcony. He glances over her, as if judging her resolve. There's a bloodthirsty hunger in his eyes that Calliope knows all too well. 

"You're still hanging onto things you shouldn't," she averts his gaze, shaking her head in denial. "You can't have one foot there and one foot here all for the sake of—"

"Don't say it," Calliope feels her eyes burning, but she shoves it all down. "Whatever occurred during my time in Camelot has been put behind me for good. My loyalty is to Lucindria alone."

"Is it?" 

Draven raises his eyebrows. He issues the challenge to her she knows many have been awaiting—the challenge she's been dreading to hear because she's not sure where it will lead her. 

The warrior walks to the balcony doors and stops to look over his shoulder, just long enough to utter his final words for this wintry night.

"Well, then perhaps it's time you finally proved it."

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶

OH MY GOD HELLO!
first, i apologize for how long it took for me to publish this first chapter.
but it is a labor of love because everything went exactly as i envisioned!

book one was all about establishing things
and book two is all about exploring the story i've always wanted to get to.
the red dragon is mainly centered around the episode structure of merlin,
which can cause pacing issues and all sorts of hard things to work out in
a story with an original character. i was afraid to fully make the story my own
in the way i truly wanted, but with most things established it will be much easier

to take this in the direction i have always planned. of course, this will stay true
to the original plot of the show, but it will not always be 1:1.

this book is going to be so fun to write!
there is so much action, angst, conflict, yearning, and more ahead!
two ex lovers caught on separate sides of a war forced to work together
to save their people! oh my! what could go wrong :)

INSPO SONGS FOR THIS CHAPTER:

family tree: ethel cain
i miss you, i'm sorry: gracie abrams
monsters: ruelle (acoustic version)