Taengea was not entirely Rafail’s kind of place. Perhaps many enjoyed the partying nature of the place, but even the middle Marikas, who could spend any evening gladly cavorting with his friends and enjoying a drink, found it a little draining. Still, how could he resist such a thing when the women were so delightfully loose and willing to give themselves up to him with far less effort than was the case back in Athenia and the gambling was so open and free to all men who came with more wealth than sense? He could not resist an annual visit, and the festivals held during the summer were the perfect time.

This particular festival was held during the summer months, starting with the typical religious events during the morning and easily devolving into a night of degeneracy and madness. By the time Rafail had left the house Papa had bought them for when they made these infrequent visits to the place, the moon was already starting to settle in the sky and darkness was falling everywhere but in the temples lit with bright lanterns and filled with visitors.

His eyes had drifted naturally across the room, mentally cataloguing everybody present and discerning who would prove the most interesting conversational partner. One girl had stood out in particular: a slightly older looking blonde girl in a deep green chiton who was hovering awkwardly near the main seating area, as though she were desperate for conversation. Rafail thought it only a kindness to interrupt her solitude with a kiss to her hand and a proud introduction that drew her fascination to him in a moment.

“I don’t usually go for girls like you,” he informed her, the backhanded compliment something that came so naturally to him, though women seemed to adore it. A hand reached out to find a falling strand of her hair, delicately pushing it back behind her ear. “But I can make an exception tonight, I think.”

She smiled, awkward in response to the pseudo-compliment as all girls were, yet clearly inclined to remain in conversation with the handsome lord. It seemed obvious that she thought his attention an honor now that he had called it out as beyond the ordinary, easily ignoring the insult that went along with the words. ‘Can you? How special.’

“Yah, I’m a charioteer, you know, so the women I usually spend time with are…” He trailed off as though to leave the rest of the statement up to the imagination. One hand shifted up to rest casually on a pillar behind her, leaning over the woman so that she was perfectly surrounded by him, his other hand dangling a goblet of wine as though she were so fascinating he had forgotten it. If only. Then, to shift her attention to the more important matter of his body: “I’d love to show you some of my racing scars.”

Now, he raised his hand to gesture to his chest, where a sizeable scar was hidden beneath the fine fabric of his chiton. But her attention had fallen instead to the ostentatious signet ring on the little finger of his right hand, smile appearing on her features, where previously a small pout had rested. Oh, of course.

‘You’re a lord?’ she queried, as if Rafail had not proudly introduced himself as such. ‘Tell me more. It must be so exciting.’

He had attempted to lead the conversation back to his flirtations, but it was quickly becoming more apparent that this woman was far more interested in a discussion of the high life of lordship than any of the subjects the Marikas preferred, and he had never had any interest in women who didn’t know when to stop talking.

“I am getting more wine,” he informed her, noting that he had finished his goblet while she had gone on and on about her fascination with the noble court of Taengea, and he had pretended to care before realising that there was no chance he was taking her to bed that night. She looked appropriately perturbed for someone who had been interrupted mid-story, but he had noted that he didn’t care all that much when the conversation with her had bordered on as dull as was physically possible. He didn’t exactly care for women who immediately noted his status as lord and then did not find interest in anything else.

There were plenty of servers drifting from place to place with wine on bright platters, but he ignored them in favour of the large table laden with drinks and fine foods displayed for the guests to pick at throughout the evening. It was a quick move to replace his empty goblet for a new one, then his gaze drifted back to the crowd. Someone more fascinating had to be lingering about the place, and his eyes fell easily on a gorgeous blonde of which he had heard plenty. He swaggered toward her easily, the bright smirk back on his face.

“My dear Lady Leventi,” he smiled, offering a hand to take hers in his and offer it a gentle kiss. “I wouldn’t have expected to find somebody like you in a place like this.”