Zephrun’s Imperium

Maverick chuckled. "I do believe, sir, that she was here first." Then his expression hardened. "But in all seriousness; aggression is for the battlefield. Not for petty squabbles that could be easily avoided."

Maverick was unfazed. "It's not a matter of rank, sir, but a matter of propriety."

An odd scuttle caught Maverick's eye. An older man, swiping at a young woman. The gentleman in him bristled and he walked up to the disgruntled man, holding his book at his side. "Excuse me, sir," he said calmly, "it'a rather unseemly for a man of your rank to be harassing this young woman. Why don't you move elsewhere and leave the girl alone?" @The Ward's Guard @Random Bystander

Riva raised an eyebrow at the multi-colored Jester - even though he couldn't see it beneath her feathered mask - a spear of ice embracing her heart at the hard truth. It was difficult. Having to hide in the hallways, then live behind a mask in the ballroom. The only people who got to see her being her were her victims and though that was good fun, it wasn't quite... real. She smiled, blood-red lips spreading kindly. The otherwise kind expression, however, looked ominous with her beaked mask. "Yes," she said, voice musing. "It must be lonely indeed..." But then, the reason she liked being feared was because only people who were bold would approach her. And bold, daring people were the only ones worth interacting with.

In truth, Riva would have been rather sad if Jassir was turned over to her for... safe keeping. That did not mean, however, that - in the unlikely case that it did happen - she wouldn't do her job with the expected gusto of someone in her position. Such musings of "what-ifs" though, seemed useless to the Raveness, so she only spent a moment considering it. Her facial expression betrayed none of her thought process, particularly behind her flamboyant raven mask. "Well, you never know," said Riva. "Perhaps I'm partial to a lemon yellow or obnoxious pink. All my dresses come from the king, so I have little say in the matter. For as stunning as I may look in a colorful gown, I'm afraid Ivian has more on his agenda than to make me look stunning."

Maverick nodded a goodbye, a sigh of relief escaping his lips. Hopefully Ivian hadn't seen the fact that the princess talked to him before she'd even met her betrothed. He wiped his brow and made his way to an empty table, pulling out a book he'd brought with him.

"I do. That and geography." Maverick felt himself start to sweat. By the Stars, how had he managed to engage in conversation with one of the most influential people in the kingdom? He was slightly frightened that King Ivian would see him talking to his betrothed and perceive it as flirting. Who knew how he'd punish such an offense? Still, he stood rooted to the spot.

"I am a historian, my Lady. My work has earned me a lowly place in court, but to be honest, I don't care too much for politicking."

Maverick took the princess hand and kissed it, blushing. He was uncertain what he was expected to do next.

"Maverick Oakenwey, my Lady. No one of consequence, I'm afraid."

"No, no, you're perfectly fine." Maverick smiled, then his face fell as he realized who he was talking to: The King's betrothed, recently arrived from Jolie. "Oh, My Lady." He bowed briefly. "You are princess Aliénor, are you not?"

Riva chuckled. "My job is to intimidate, not to threaten, Jassir. And - to anyone but you, of course - walking up to someone and starting a conversation is a massive threat in and of itself. Besides, my work is for unprecedented breaches of conduct, not ambitious noblemen. If that were the case, why then, everyone here would fall under my knife!"

@Bearer of all agonies @Condensation

Rose went straight to the door, pulling her cloak on. She was impatient to get out into the open air. As she descended the stairs, she wondered to herself if there was anything she needed. There wasn't. Not that she could think of at least. Well, she should probably have had some breakfast, but she'd gone without for long enough. She'd get food later. With a sigh, she folded her arms. Hopefully today would go better than yesterday.

Yes, by the Almighty, please let's leave. "We're going to the house you mentioned?" Rose asked, eager for an excuse to turn the conversation topic. She felt a measure of spite towards Jahora. Embarrassing her like that... She couldn't keep a scowl off her face.

With all due respect, Nicolae thought to himself, there are always assassins in the corner of your eyes, Highness. Still, Nicolae couldn't exactly blame him for his paranoia. And, since it was in his interest to see Ivian remain on the throne (usually, new kings would execute all those who served closely under the previous ruler), Nicolae was glad to indulge his master in his fear. "Oh, right-o, Highness, Sir." With that, the beanstalk of a manservant dug into the food awaiting him. Despite his habit of stealing from the kitchens, he was fed very well and ate as much as possible. For some reason, he never seemed to gain any weight from any of it. Probably because of how busy his king kept him. As he took a massive bite out of a chicken leg, he began folding a napkin idly.

Rose furrowed her brow. An odd question to ask. And a hard one to answer. She considered. Riva and Darrin weren't hateable. It was her own fault they'd sent her to the asylum. And with the trauma of losing two of their children, she couldn't blame them for being a bit cold at times. They really had been decent guardians all things considered. No, the only one she hated was... "My mother," Rose said, voice sharp and low. She offered no explanation besides the look of wrath on her face. She was the cause of Maverick's death, she and all her secrets. Not sharing her powers and her identity with her family. Taking advantage of Rose's father. Then choosing to forget her own children so that she could be free of her own pain? She gripped the blanket, her knuckles white. "I hate my mother."

“Hiya, hiya, yer Majesty Highness. Sorry I was late. It was the cook, see. Was tryna take a shortcut through the kitchens, but she thought I was lookin’ to steal stuff.” It was a half truth. “Not my fault, Sir, nota my fault at all!” @Condensation

Riva rolled her eyes, but smiled. Just because Jassir acted like a buffoon didn't mean he was one. He was one of the only ones brave enough to talk to her and she appreciated that. Exchanging witty banter with him was one of her favorite parts of these balls. Every other lady had someone to dance with and she got to flirt with the jester. It wasn't for everyone, but it was a fun time. "Well, Jassir, you'd make fun of me no matter what I wear. The fact that you noticed my shoes means that they were a good choice. So-" She curtsied, fluttering her fan. "-thank you for the unintended compliment. You have an eye for fashion, despite your uniform." @I think I am here. ---- Nicolae Kimby was running late; he'd gotten a little caught up with a servant girl on the way to the ballroom. Hopefully he'd washed her lipstick off his face well enough to be presentable. He ran his slender hands through his messy hair for lack of a comb, hoping his king wouldn't be too upset at him for arriving at his side. Dashing past the annoyed announcer on his abnormally long legs, Nicolae descended the stairs a few at a time, almost skidding past his master. "I'm here, I'm a-here, sir!" His words appeared to have interrupted the king's discussion, but Nicolae didn't particularly care. @Channelknight Fadran ---- Maverick was a wallflower. He'd always been that way: Shy and hard to distract, not the type of man any lady here would want to dance with. He wore simple attire - in-line with his low noble status - people-watching as he picked at a small plate of food. Ballroom was a peaceful place to be. Pretty architecture, tasty food, comfy furniture, and lively music. Watching other people dance was probably more entertaining than joining in anyway.

Riva Thadel - the Raveness as she was called in court or the Nightterror as her patients had so aptly named her - painted her lips as red as blood. She donned a magnificent dress of midnight blue, with a plunging neckline (not that she had much to show off) and a skirt lined with silver. The dress would be good for a night spent dancing, but it would be even better for a night of intimidation and those were what the balls were really for, after all: Reminding the people who was in charge. As she strapped on her feathered mask, she chuckled to herself. Every king she'd served under had used her as a tool to keep the nobles in line. Her appearance at balls was a reminder of the power king held. She was a threat - "One toe out of line and you'll be at the mercy at the most feared being in the kingdom" - wrapped inside the symbol of a woman gaunt and pale as the corpses she was so well known for. And yet, every king she'd served under (save the one throwing this ball tonight) was dead. They were dead, and Riva was alive. They were dead... and Riva's power, the power of her reputation, only grew with each passing day. Sure, the king may keep his Lady Assassins, but Riva was his real weapon. The potions master threw her weight against a bookshelf at the back of the room, and it turned, revealing a secret passageway. She couldn't go out the normal door of this room; these quarters belonged to the serving girl Riva, an easily dismissable young woman, invisible in court. If someone saw her exiting as the Raveness, they would have to be executed. Not that she wouldn't enjoy doing that, of course, but it was hard enough to get staff these days. And so, to avoid any accidents, through the passages she had to go. She lit a torch to light her way and closed the bookshelf behind her. It wasn't too long a walk to the exit of the tunnel. She climbed up a short ladder - extinguishing her torch and leaving it at the bottom of the ladder - and exited by opening the top of what any onlooker would see as a wide tree stump. From there - footsteps crunching the leaves on the autumnal forest floor - she made her way to the castle entrance, joining the ranks of other attendees, hiding her iconic masked face behind a black feathered fan. She was ignored by everyone else in line until a guard asked her for her invitation and she put the fan down. "I don't need one," she announced, reveling in the way the guard paled upon recognizing her. He bowed nervously and allowed her to pass. She did so smugly. Once past the entrance, she walked with her head held high, listening for the slight gasps that escaped all who she passed by. When she was inside the castle on a normal day, she had to hang her head and be the small servant dressed in rags. But in the dungeons and on days when a ball was thrown... she could hold herself with the utmost pride and confidence. She had no card to hand to the announcer; he - like everyone else - knew who she was. "The Raveness, master of the dungeons, and the King's torturess!" With a graceful curtsy, Riva made her way down the steps. If she weren't so well known, she might have been the envy of every girl in the room. Her dark makeup was expertly done to accentuate her pale skin and cheekbones, her silky black locks arranged in an intricate style, kept off her shoulders to show off her sharply visible collarbone, her rich dress shimmering as its train dragged on the ground, and her heels - shown off every time her leg breached the slit in her dark dress - an eye-catching silver. She still attracted the gaze of everyone who saw her, but it was because they feared her, not because of her beauty. That was how she liked it.