It was the day that Lord Thaddaeus was to be celebrating his twenty-fifth birthday and, as tradition now tended to dictate among the lesser lords of House Marikas, he had sent a kind note to Rafail requesting that he bless them with the honour of his attendance. It had been written in the overly courteous language that was typical of such invitations, and the blonde lord had been sufficiently flattered that he had chosen to respond with a curt missive denoting an affirmative reply. He could not resist a little sycophancy, and even in a party dedicated to another, he could sense the deference already.

He had intended to take either - if not both - of his mistresses to the event as his guests, for they were both stunning women who were prone to turning heads and inciting whispers wherever he took them. They had been given instructions to dress as finely as possible, else he could not be seen with them, and he had commandeered one of Sofia's ladies to fetch them from his home before he left for the party. Now, all that mattered was his own preparations, which were, as ever, easier said than done. Rafail was handsome in his own right, and more than a little aware of the fact, but it was often a struggle to choose the ideal outfit from his extensive wardrobe, and especially something which suitably blended with whatever his mistresses would arrive in (although he had no trouble with changing their looks if they were less than satisfactory).

That morning in the Marikas house had been a relaxing one, aided by the late hour of Rafail's waking and the lack of work which filled his days when he was not trapped in his Thesnian barony. He had enjoyed a peaceful bath scented with a blend of floral oils designed to calm the senses or rejuvenate the skin - he had not listened to the merchant's many claims past the lengthy assurance that women tended to like the scent - and then called Deucalion for a rub-down to soothe some persistent knot that had formed between his shoulder blades, a lasting reminder of some old riding injury. He had opted to spend the rest of his day conversing with and posing for a new sculptor that Papa had commissioned from Taengea, ensuring that he was, at least, partially aware of what was required of him, and then examined the new fabrics that he had sent some of the servants to choose for him from the market since he was so otherwise occupied - and with only two victims of his erratic nature, for once.

The sun had already drifted past its midpoint in the sky by the time he had decided to begin actual preparations for the long-awaited night, stalking back into his chambers and dropping onto the kline in the anteroom as if thoroughly exhausted. "I want something blue," he had demanded of Deucalion, thinking over his multitude of chitons as he spoke, already sure of which would be best. "One of the new ones; nothing used, else imagine what they'd think of me."

By the time the man had settled on something suitable, a selection of undesired outfits were littering the floor from their journey between the dressing room and the antechamber where Rafail had firmly deposited himself, and at least one overly decorative cushion had been thrown in frustration. The chosen chiton was the perfect shade of blue to match his eyes, embroidered with gold thread to match his handsome signet ring and the Marikas owl perched on his right shoulder to hold the expensive fabric in place, allowing it to slip beneath one arm to show off his more muscled form. He had selected a similarly aurulent himation in case the summer winds turned harsher than expected, though it lay momentarily forgotten on the arm of his kline.

He had stopped to admire his appearance in a polished silver mirror, letting Deucalion shave him for a second time that day in case any stubble had suddenly managed to build in the past few hours, and then watching him through the reflection as he ran a comb through the lord's blonde locks to slick them back the way he preferred. "When are Althaia and Elissa arriving?"

The manservant paused, as if concerned by his own response, then replied: "I forgot to say, my Lord. A missive came from the ladies' home while you were with the artist, and, regrettably, neither lady can attend the celebration with you this evening, as a bout of illness had spread through their home, and both have found themselves rather under the weather. They do send their greatest apologies."

Urgh, of course. When everything else was going well, it all couldn't be perfect - a shame, given that was what Rafail traditionally preferred. Luckily, he had relative faith in his ability to find another woman to attend with him at such short notice, for most in the city would have fallen head over heels at the opportunity. He shifted in his seat, waving over the other and slightly under-favoured of the two servants. "Fetch my sandals, and that new circlet. I want this all tidied when I return this evening, and wine prepared for myself and my guest, whoever she may. I want the vintages from Messaly, and tell Papa that I shan't be at dinner. I want a carriage a half-hour from now."

Making his way downstairs, his thoughts were already on the matter of who would attend by his side, for he had never appeared at any event without a stunningly beautiful woman hanging off his arm, and to begin now would have been nothing short of humiliating. There was no shortage of women in the Marikas home, of course, as his sister and nieces and sister-in-law all had ladies of their own, and, speaking from experience, the majority were delightful either to look at or take to bed. Still, Rafail preferred someone more distinguished, and it seemed the gods were smiling on him that day - somewhat. Apparently, Sofia was having that friend of hers over again and, although he was not usually a fan of the Antonis girl, she was better than nothing, and attractive enough.

"Marietta," he called out to her, the smile on his face not quite reaching his eyes, only plastered on out of vague politeness as he pointed at her, instinctively snapping his fingers for attention, trying to find the words which would ensure acceptance, though he was not taking 'no' for an answer. "I am in need of a date to a party this evening and, as luck would have it, I have chosen you. Sofia is otherwise occupied and, therefore, you might as well take my offer if you wish for an enjoyable night." Besides, it would surely be a positive boost to her reputation, in turn, to be seen with one of the most eligible bachelors in Athenia, especially on this evening when he was looking so delectably regal (the golden circlet of laurel leaves nestled in his hair had been a wise choice). "Now, come. I cannot have you dressed like this. I believe something from Agathe's closet shall fit you, and be infinitely more suitable."