In addition to the bow he had already provided, the princess of Athenia would offer her hand to be graced, and without trepidation, he would respect her wish. He grasped Persephone’s hand gently, and like a soft touch of warmth from a nearby hearth, his lips would meet the flesh on the back of her hand. He did not linger there long or make the gesture more romantic than it was meant to be. He released himself from her, and like any good husband, his eyes flicked over at his wife as he reassumed his posture.

It was then that Rafail would go about complimenting Vasia’s ravishing features. A petty, jealous man would have found the comment a bit overbearing, especially coming from one such as Rafail of Marikas. Cyrus was not one of those men, however. He knew of his wife’s beauty, and it did no harm when others acknowledged it. He relished the fact that she was bound to him and not them. It made him fill with joy at night when he laid down to sleep. It was a measure of manhood and victory, especially over a royal lord who tried to introduce the companion at his side—who had remained silent, and invisible, until that very moment—as something to compare to Vasia of Antonis. His mention of another Lady of Corinth, the current one’s twin, made Cyrus nearly laugh aloud, but like any seasoned nobleman, he held his countenance in a state of solidarity.

Rafail’s youth shone through like the sun on a cloudy day: glaring and blinding. It would take time, but not too much time, before the royal lord realized that the number of women did not matter. Two pigs did not outshine a swan. Perhaps that was why he traded clever remarks with Persephone of Xanthos. Was the son of Panos seeking an upgrade from his hogs? Good for him. Cyrus always applauded ambition, even if it was aimed at a fruitless endeavor.

Despite his inner feelings, Cyrus did not reflect them on his exterior in the slightest. Rafail would introduce his date for the evening, and once again, the baron would bow to the lovely Althaia. He would not be taking her hand to plant a kiss upon it, though. Only princesses demanded that honor.

“It is a wonder to meet you, Lady Althaia,” Cyrus lied with a convincing tone. “If we ever find time for a chat, you will have to tell me of the affairs of the Corinths. It has been a long time since I have spoken with one of your family.” Eyes moving to take in Rafail as their focus, Cyrus forced his cheekbones to pull off an amused smile. “Ah, yes, perhaps another time. Though I must say, it is hard to imagine that there is another as equally stunning as she. It will be a thrill to meet the both of them in the future.”

Within himself, Cyrus sighed. Such pleasantries and tip-toeing on glass bored him to death so much that he desired Hades to burst forth from the shadows and condemn him to the underworld. At least there he could undergo an interesting journey and experience sights no living man was ever meant to see. He was genuinely happy to be torn away from Rafail’s antics by the voice of Persephone, who had conjured a response to his request.

“That sounds quite suitable,” Cyrus said. “I look forward to our meeting, Your Majesty, and I thank you both for being so kind as to have us intrude upon your conversation without wringing our necks.” He smirked at the princess and then glanced at Rafail. “I will leave you two to it. Enjoy the rest of the evening, and I will, perhaps, see you both tomorrow.” Another bow would come, but a brief one this time.

Without another moment of hesitation, Cyrus locked elbows with Vasia again and began pulling her away, back into the aristocratic crowd. “I apologize for moving us so quickly into such high company. I wanted to get that out of the way so that we could at least enjoy the wine,” Cyrus whispered into Vasia’s ear.

Persephone bowed her head gracefully as Lord Cyrus excused himself from the discussions after making arrangements to speak at a later date. This was the way the Court worked. It was a manner in which people could speak, rumour and preen to the masses of the nobility while making plans and proposals to speak seriously with particular individuals at other times. It was the way of the nobles.

When Cyrus and his lovely wife excused themselves from the little group, Persephone was respectful and polite of their exit. To Rafail she was less so.

"Lord Rafail, you'll have to excuse me also, for I have seen Lady Iris and wish to speak with her greatly upon a subject of great import." She then smiled sweetly at the lady attached to the man's arm. "To you Lady Althaia, I beg your pardon."

And with a sidelong glance at the Lord she had begged no such thing from, Persephone moved gracefully away from the Marikas man, assured that she had handled the situation with the right level of chastisement that could never be considered rude in technicality.

It was, indeed, to Lady Iris that Persephone moved to speak, maintaining her reason for excusing herself while also masking her lie of immediate and important discussions. She had no message of great meaning or significance to give to the lady beyond a curiosity to speak, in person, to the noblewoman with whom she had exchanged several letters.

The lady of Argyris had made so many apologies to Persephone regarding her father's failure to return her letters personally - seeing to the business correspondence herself - that it had been several months since Persephone had made the appropriate changes and simply sent her letter to Lady Iris directly (being sure to address them care of her father, so that Lord Takis was informed of their arrival and their contents). But this, at least, then allowed Lady Iris to save her hand on the opening lines of contrition in each of her missives and focus on the subject at hand.

The shift in her addressing of the letters had not been alluded to in either of their written words, for it was not appropriate to thank someone for acknowledging a weakness or illness on the part of a nobleman, but in person things were different and Persephone would be able to speak more openly with the lady - a fact she was encouraged to take advantage of. Especially when she noted that her sister was also in close proximity to the woman and enjoying her company.

"Lady Iris..." Persephone began as she approached the group during a natural lull in the conversation. "I am so pleased to see you at Court. I realise that Aetaea is some distance to travel, so am gladdened that you were able to attend today." She smiled warmly. "Your letters have shown you to be a capable woman but not one of such fine taste. Your gown is exquisite."

While most members of the nobility were buzzing with anticipation over the events of the evening, Danae was less than thrilled, to say the very least. After all, it was no secret in the Stravosi household that the youngest daughter never found joy in pretending to like the court. She never did and she doubted that would change. The girl hated the fakery behind all of it. She disliked needing to remember to play nice and smile when she would much rather prefer to claw out her own eyes. She hated being social like this. She couldn’t stand the thought of needing to act like a lady who was perfectly sweet and innocent and just oh so over-fecking-joyed to be there.

“Quit it Dani. You look so miserable.” A voice hissed her ear as the young noble woman walked into the event, trailing behind her mother and sister, who both actually wanted to be a part of the festivities. The girl looked up to see the annoyed expression of Chara who seemingly couldn’t grasp why her little sister didn’t want to be there.

“I am miserable.” She angrily retorted as a knee-jerk reaction. She was careful to hold her tongue when it came to the reasons why she hated the court. It made her feel insecure. She hated acting. The people were intolerable. Danae could go on and on as to the numerous “unfathomable” reasons why she just wanted to go home.

However, neither Chara or Circenia were interested in hearing it as the older one rolled her eyes and their mother glanced over at her with daggers shooting at the both of them. That was enough to force Chara to back off of her sister, but it did very little to quell Danae’s frustrations, even going as far as to decide for her to shoot a glare at her mother.

That wasn’t a smart thing to do as Circenia didn’t respond to her daughter’s reactions, but instead merely turned away before leading the two of them to the main event and immediately whispered in Chara’s ear and pulled her away from Danae to let her youngest daughter flounder on her own as punishment for her disrespect.

A bubble of panic, momentarily quelling her anger, rose up in Danae as the two of them walked off and Danae lost track of them in the crowd. “Mother?” She instinctively called out after them, but it was too late. As different as they were, Circenia knew Danae well enough to know the real reason behind her seemingly unrelenting rage. It was a coping mechanism for her anxiety.

Danae was so insecure and hated herself so much during these events as she was forced to compare her plainness to the near divine looks of the rest of her family, that she became a bubble of rage so she could shield herself from her other emotions. She became angry and bitchy to push the world away. Danae did it to protect herself from the comparisons, to the unwanted attention, and from the people who would make her feel utterly worthless.

It was what kept her safe. It’s what kept her sane.

Her mother knew this and she knew that if her daughter was left alone for just a little bit so that these insecurities would fester and take hold, her anger would subside for the nervousness and make her more tolerable for the rest of the night. It was tough love at it’s finest, but Danae knew it worked.

Feeling as if every eye was upon her, Danae scurried towards the edges of the room, her scarlett red chiton with golden accents flowing with each step. Once she made it there, she positioned herself in a way that she could see the whole of the room and keep an eye out for anyone who would be approaching her… like this one girl just did.

“Thanks,” She said dryly in response to Iris’s compliment about her dress.It was clear that the other noblewoman was just as nervous as Danae was, though it was probably for different reasons. Danae was about to give the other girl a compliment about her chiton when Danae noticed that another guest had to decided to join them.

And of course, it just had to be no other than her dearest cousin.

Danae internally groaned as the princess walked over and made a snide comment about the Stravosi being on her own. Are you really that thick in the head? The girl silently thought to herself as her anger bubbled within her, but she managed to hold her composure long enough to give a basic, curt response.

“My mother and Chara are here, Emilia.” Danae deadpanned with one of her signature blank expressions that managed to convey all her thoughts about how ridiculously stupid the princess was being right now. Of course, she wasn’t here alone. Why on earth would Danae willingly come here on her own? She hated events like this and she knew that neither girl could tolerate each other after their skirmish in the library. “They wouldn’t this for the world”

Seemingly this was enough to satisfy both women as they disappeared back into the crowd and left to Danae’s nervous relief. Thank god. Hopefully, with a little luck she wouldn’t have to deal with cousin dearest for the rest of the evening.

As her eyes flickered around the room, they landed on one familiar face that Danae was quite surprised to see there. Her insatiable curiosity mixed with her previous relief overrode all of her other emotions and led Danae to cross over to the husband and wife duo. “Lord Cyrus,” she said with a light laugh once she reached the pair, “You really defy all of our expectations, don’t you?” This of course was both in reference to the Lord’s appearance at the court and the Stravos manor though she doubted anyone besides the two of them would understand the last bit as no one else had been around to hear what the two of them discussed.

“And I take this is the Lady of Karsalis?” Danae said, running almost mechanically as she went through the greetings that had been drilled into her from when she was little, “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Glancing between the two of them, she dropped her voice a bit so only the three of them would hear what she said next, “Our previous conversation was rather, enlightening Lord Cyrus. Confusing, but enlightening nevertheless. I have yet to decipher your final riddle though.

“Care to lead me in the right direction?”

For Iris to become the sudden interest of Princess Persephone and Princess Emilia...

The noble was humbled, immediately falling into a respectful bow before bringing herself back up to stand straight. Attentive. Were she not knowledgeable of how to school her features, her cheeks may even have flushed. It was bad enough that some of the rumors running around were about her, but it was even worse that the Princesses had likely heard the whispers on their own.

Iris resisted the urge to fix her gaze back on Rafiel, silently willing Hades to strike him down out of nowhere. That might have made Iris the most happy she had ever been. Instead, she remained fixated on the two who called her attention. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the armor of a man she had met just once before. A sense of dread filled her and she quelled her thoughts of actually killing Rafail, listening to Persephone speak.

The compliment on her gown was not lost on her, her heart racing slightly. This chiton had been her mother's. She had found it in her mother's things when she was a child and simply taken it. The first time she had worn it, she had seen the look on her father's face, as if he was seeing a ghost. Then Takis has simply smiled and nodded approvingly, never saying a word about her using her mother's clothes. In fact, much of her own attire had been her mothers and not her own before Iris had chosen to take the pieces.

Any time Takis saw her wear one, he seemed to smile just a little more.

"Thank you, your majesty. My father and I arrived in the city a few days ago. We are to take up residence in our manor for an unspecific amount of time," Iris admitted, alluding to the idea that she would begin to attend court more often. "My father sends his apologies for his absence, my lady," Iris had turned her attention to Emilia. "He has much to prepare prior to the feast and the next senate meeting. He assures me he will try to attend the next court session should time permit," she continued quietly, giving a small smile.

Turning her attention back to Persephone, "I might deign to request a private audience with her ladyship after the feast," Iris offered softly, "Writing letters would appear to be redundant at this point."

Vilmar kept his neck pivoting about the room as Lady Persephone and Lady Iris shared conversation with one another. Sapphire eyes glanced at the various patrons around, the usual fanfare of nobles. A few whispers as the circles gathered to discuss the various political events and life of the city. Vilmar let go his frustration at rumors, as he had no way of dispersing them. He was pleased to see that the Queen was assisting Lady Iris. He always kept one hand on the hilt of his sword, just in case.

In time past Princess Persephone had chosen him among other warriors for his position. She did not select him for him for his strength or speed, but for his warrior spirit. The furnace of fury that raged silently behind the oceans of his eyes. Vilmar had tapped into it multiple times in his military experience. A spark he embraced when the situation called for it. He left behind his emotion, his doubts, and the concerns that whispered in his mind. Each time he dipped into the pool of his fury the more natural it became. He focused only on the mission before him and embraced the violence to come. There was no point retreating from it. A warriors death was one forged in battle.

Vilmar knew most of the retainers and servants the Princess hired. In an event such as this additional staff were not atypical, but he had made a note of all other servants. Vilmar had never been good with names but faces Vilmar could recall with more ease. He nodded as he scanned the crowded and marked the ones that were familiar. Vilmar paused as he noticed a new face, his fingers tapped the side of his sword handle. Something had changed, something was happening.

The world around him faded away. The voices of the crowd grew distant in his mind. They became only murmurs as his vision and focus sharpened. The fog that clouded his mind broke apart to allow him to surge forth into the present. His eyes narrowed on the man that had appeared before him.

A flash of steel was all Vilmar required to act. He recognized the weapon as Vilmar's hand pulled his sword free from its sheath. The rage surged forth from behind his eyes. His height allowed him to stride beyond the reach of most men. In an instant, he was in front of the Princess. One foot forward to allow him to pivot into his swing. His hips twisted as his sword thrust forward. His armored breastplate glimmered against the light around them. Vilmar's right arm flexed as the blade came forward aiming for his opponent's chest.

The neck would have provided a killing blow, but the chest contained a broader target. Vilmar's goal was to protect the Princess, and that meant keeping her away from the assailant. If the wound did not kill the man, it would slow him. That would allow Vilmar the advantage, or time for the Princesses to escape. There was no hesitation as Vilmar moved forward, he intended to kill the man.

The confirmation from the princess of being able to meet with her seemed to please Iris. She had never requested the company of the princess, but their correspondences had created a need for a meeting. It wasn't something that Iris could continue to push off until another time. The conversation she needed to have with the princess wasn't one that she could simply sit back and let fester.

Unfortunately, Iris didn't even have a moment to respond to the affirmation of an invitation. Everything moved so fast. One moment they were having a discussion, and then Vilmar... he was pulling his sword. It was then that Iris went on high alert. Silently, she cursed the fact that this was court. Carrying her small blade wasn't allowed, as her father had found need to tell her at every avenue.

Old habits of running through forests like a wild dog still clung to her. Even years after she had taken to court instead of underfoot of the Foxlights.

Acutely aware of the movements the princess took, she found herself grabbed by Persephone, who quickly put herself in front of both Iris and Princess Emilia. Instinctively, Iris remained behind Persephone, knowing better than to protest the movement. Were Iris not better behaved, she would have hissed venom at the assailant. Instead, she took Princess Emilia's arm, moving the younger woman to remain behind her.

And she kept her there, using herself to shield the Princess. The mask of calm that the courtier had usually worn twisted into one of fire and rage, as if she'd rather have been in Vilmar's position. As if she wished she were the one holding the blade that had wounded the assailant. Taking a slight step back, she glanced back toward Emilia.

"I'm sorry, your highness," she whispered softly, "But please stay close."

Then the woman's gaze flicked to Vilmar, breathing in slowly. His demeanor was entirely different from the morning before. Where they had settled down at the temple and played that game on the marble floors. Gone was the man who had spoken of serving his family. The man who spoke of each one as if they were the only true lights in his life. The man who had shown genuine interest in Iris and her own family.

The man who had sounded irritable at the very thought that Iris might be in the city for the means of courting.

Lifting her chin, Iris remained still, trying to keep Emilia as close as possible, not pulling her gaze from Vilmar's form. Or the form of the assailant, for that matter.

Emilia’s tendency to freeze up when there was a problem, even before the events in Taengea. Luckily the young princess was small enough that all of the men who protected her had no trouble picking her up and moving her out of harm’s way when need be. But given his immense size, it was easier still for Nic, as he had that day in the arena when he’d needed to get her to safety

It was then that Nicholai returned from his quick trip out to relieve himself to find chaos had erupted during his brief absence. As he neared the main room he could hear the Panic from within and hastened his steps, rushing through the door Nic stopped just inside and scanned the room.

He spotted his charge’s small form behind that of the lady Iris and the princess Persephone standing over where Vilmar was, a naked blade in his hand. Cursing under his breath, Nic rushed forward putting his body between Emilia, her sister, Dawn and the Lady Iris. He drew his sword planting himself so that no one could hurt Emilia or his wife, even as the other guards finally managed to force their way through the crowds and his side.

Then he turned to the princess and his wife, sharp eyes raking quickly over them both, before looking at the third lady who’d been sheltered behind him after his return to the room. “Are you alright?” He demanded, facing Emilia, though his gaze flickered to Dawn, heart in his eyes.