King of Naboo
Aurelian studied her every word the way a duelist eyes a blade: measuring its edge, amused by its bite, learning what it revealed as he pressed closer. Blaire played well, better than most. Her feigned sorrows, her jabs turned back on him, her coy glances, each was a calculated move. He found himself delighted, not stung.
Her hand on his wrist, her lilting laugh, were meant to disarm or perhaps dismiss him. Yet in them, he sensed the spark of someone who knew words were sharper than steel. He allowed her to sway to his other side, his eyes following. His lips curved into a smile of pure satisfaction, though it could have been mistaken for indulgence.
Then she leaned closer, her voice low and purring, her challenge unmistakable. For a brief moment, he pictured the scene she implied: her lips on a chalice, his hand steadying hers. He almost responded in kind, a wicked thought on his tongue.
But then she broke. He saw it before she even moved: her eyes snagged on something behind him, her breath hitched. She excused herself, cheeks flushed, words spilling out too quickly, too unevenly. Blaire Sal-Soren, undone in a single heartbeat.
Fascinating. Aurelian didn't move to stop her; he never chased. Instead, he subtly turned, letting his gaze sweep the crowd until he found the source of her sudden change. A man. Ragged, unshaven, radiating smoke and violence. He was clearly an intruder, a man far removed from the courtly guests, yet Blaire marched to him as if pulled by an invisible string.
What happened next was a blur: her steps like fire, his arms like iron, a kiss both reckless and searing in its public display. Gasps rippled through the gathered nobles, whispers blooming like rot. Blaire answered the show with fury, striking his cheek with such force that the crack silenced the garden for a moment. Then she was gone, storming out, the ragged man stumbling after her.
Aurelian's dangerous smile returned, wider than before, his eyes glittering with the thrill of scandal and intrigue, secrets clawing their way to the surface. The Sal-Sorens, he thought, never failed to entertain.
He clasped his hands lightly behind his back, posture relaxed, as if he'd merely watched a diverting play. Around him, nobles buzzed with frantic chatter, desperate for answers. He offered none. Instead, he tilted his head, watching the doors where Blaire had vanished, his mind already piecing together the puzzle she'd just presented.
Who was he? Why here, why now? And what did it mean that Blaire, so composed and cunning, had shattered the moment she saw him?
Aurelian laughed softly to himself, a low, dangerous sound meant only for his own ears. While the chalices might be lost, he had gained something far more valuable: a mystery worth pursuing.
With that wolfish smile still on his lips, he slipped through the crowd with effortless grace, no longer caring for the swirling gossip. He had seen enough for tonight. The statues were his, and the chalices could wait. Blaire Sal-Soren, and her ragged ghost of a lover, now that was truly captivating. He wouldn't allow himself to grow bored of that.
He found the nearest exit to the garden. As the night air swept over him, Aurelian Veruna chuckled once more, already savoring his next move.
