Watching and listening from just outside the threshold of the ballroom, making himself just a
shade fashionably late as Kalantha gave her address,
Pal'da Astor Daaray couldn't help but wonder how his sister, the
Ta'a Chume
Kha'la Daaray
, would have handled such a mantle if it had been thrust upon her at such a young age. How different his life might have been, and how different he might have become, if for example, he had never walked the path of a
Chume'doro, if he had always been the prince. Astor glanced sidelong at one such woman assigned to his protection; perhaps he would only command their deference by requirement, rather than by way of having earned their respect.
A conclusion he had come to on one occasion, talking to
Careina Djo
; it was a fruitless though without a doubt engaging mental exercise. He enjoyed when she would indulge him, and tonight would be a touch better having her here, so far from home - even if she might say nothing - but she was his
sister's shadow, not his. Nonetheless, Astor was grateful for Careina’s continued friendship, such as it was under the strain and distance created by their different societal stations, ever since he and his sister had been elevated by the death of their cousin.
How bereft he felt of true closeness to others, at times, brought into focus the few he had shared such dear intimacy with: those that had slipped through his fingers, either by their own choice, or by effect of his ascension, but it was
never his decision. That was the one thing his station could not give him as man, complete control of his life, but he also understood that ‘free will’ was not free. He understood what he would have to give up to be so selfish, and that was a price he was unwilling to pay.
He returned his field of view to the royal girl who conducted herself admirably, no doubt schooled in a manner befitting the role from an early age, and it bore out: others attending this gala approached her with a measure of deference, many no doubt here to curry favour, others present to woo Kalantha in any one direction, to be sure… but this procession was different in his eyes, a little unusual to witness. Her reign was, by virtue of centuries,
millenia of culture, meant to be short-lived. It was an uncommon way to do things, to say the least. The veneration that his own people gave their monarchs, however, seeing their queen akin to a goddess, and her family in a much similar way, was a significant tell as to
just how different things were.
Ereneda, she is called:
she who has no equal.
Him? He often chafed under the names his people stuck to him in either blind or calculated adoration, but tolerated their invitations and requests for an audience. Accepting more often than not, for having no valid reason to decline could be brought into question. Dissatisfaction was no good reason, but he had been ‘poisoned’ to want more than to be a stepping stone for the ascension of the family line of one conniving woman or another. This was what Briana Sal-Soren had
done to him, treating him as
her equal. Valuing his opinion, leaving just as many decisions up to him as the ones she made, and more besides. Time had only solidified what those months together had planted in him, a thing that, though held privately, further demarcated the separation between him and his people.
No fully Hapan woman he knew of would treat him the same way.
Astor turned his head when the herald urged his attention once the Nabooian Queen's address had concluded, and the clamour afterward had died down enough, interrupting his scan of those gathered here for the evening. He held up a hand, asking a little more time… but coming up empty in seeking out any familiar persons with his eyes, the Hapan prince returned his attention to the herald after some further minutes, and gave the man the go ahead to announce his presence. He was scarcely known here, after all.
“Entering Naboo’s Courts, Prince Astor Daaray, brother to the Queen Mother Kha’la Daaray, and envoy of the Hapes Consortium!"
Giving a smile that hardly reached his eyes for those that looked in his direction, Astor Daaray entered the room, bedecked in white: his high-necked tunic, stitched and buttoned in yellow gold, and trimmed tastefully in royal blue, with trousers to match; a callback to the colours of the Consortium. Dismissing the two
Chume’doro that flanked him in the eons-old signal that he entrusted himself to his host’s protection - not that he was at all incapable of his own defense - he paced forward in an unrushed manner, shoulders back, head held high as he approached the dias, striking an image that inspired those awed epithets from many a young Hapan... not
just the women.
At the appropriate distance, he came to a stop.
“Queen Kalantha, she of such resonant youth, power, and beauty,” he started, addressing the teen monarch, with every word meant,
“it is my pleasure to extend the hand of friendship of the Hapes Consortium to the Kingdom of Naboo, on behalf of the Ta’a Chume herself.” He bowed with an elegant flourish, the golden-reddish tone of his hair catching a soft sheen in the ballroom lighting; his slate blue eyes sought hers out again as he rose.
“We are honoured to have been welcomed here; the Ta’a Chume expresses her regret at being unable to attend, and hopes that she may receive you in kind, in time.”
With the moves of the Sith on a seeming approach from the galactic east, it stood to reason that his sister’s attentions would be elsewhere. Giving Kalantha one last, cordial smile, he stepped aside and went to weave himself into the gathered. To avail himself of a finger of the finest local liquor, and perhaps… some tolerable conversation.
