Populate Where the Light Gathers | THR Populate of Siskeen

[Lorn Reingard]

Tags: Aiden Porte​

Lorn didn't see Aiden so much as feel him. The Force shifted with that familiar steadiness, like a door opening in a room he hadn't realized he'd been holding his breath in. Aiden was on him a second later, arms wrapping him up in a quick, firm embrace. Lorn returned it without thinking. It hit him harder than it should have. Warmth, safety, the simple fact of being known. When they stepped back, Lorn blinked once and forced himself to breathe like this was normal.

He managed a smile. "Yavin IV, if you can believe it."

It was the truth, and it still sounded like a bad joke. He'd been there long enough for the jungle to crawl under his skin. Long enough to start expecting something to go wrong every time the air went quiet.

Aiden's hand drifted back toward the small girl at his side, protective without making a show of it. Lorn's gaze followed, and then Aiden said it. My daughter. Lorn's eyes widened so fast it almost hurt. His mind did the math on instinct and came up with impossible. He hadn't been gone that long. Then Aiden added, adopted.

Lorn let out a breath he didn't know he'd taken. Still, he stared at Aiden like he was seeing him for the first time. Aiden was young. Younger than Lorn had been when Isla was born, though he hadn't known.

He crouched down in front of the girl, careful with his size, with his presence. He softened his voice on purpose. "Nice to meet you, Miss Lira," he said, smiling like he meant it. Then, gently, "How did Aiden get so lucky to have you around?"

The words came out light, innocent. Inside, the worry stayed sharp. Where in the galaxy had Aiden found a child, and how had he managed to keep her safe?

 

[Romin Renoux]

H O U S E • R E N O U X​

Wearing: xxx
Tag: Mara Aurelai | Open

Maela approached the bar without hurry and stopped beside Romin as though the space had already been chosen. She did not interrupt him immediately. She waited until he had finished a sip of his wine before speaking, her posture relaxed and her attention angled outward toward the ballroom.

“Maela,” she said, offering her name plainly. “I was told you might appreciate art.”

Romin turned his head then, just enough to acknowledge her properly. His eyes moved over her with open curiosity rather than evaluation, and he inclined his head in return.

“Romin Renoux, and that depends on the art.”

A faint smile touched her mouth at that, the kind that suggested she had heard worse answers and survived them. They spoke briefly and quietly. It was not enough to claim one another’s attention, but it was enough to mark it. She gestured once toward the ballroom, referencing a piece she had exhibited elsewhere, and he listened without interrupting, his posture relaxed, his wine steady in his hand.

At some point between sentences, Maela’s fingers closed around the stem of his glass. She took it from him without ceremony and lifted it to her lips as she continued speaking, her gaze remaining on the room rather than on him. Romin let it go without comment and signaled the bartender for another, his attention remaining on her words rather than the small theft.

She remained beside him, listening now, her presence settled and intentional.

The change at the bar announced itself before the woman did.

Romin heard the breath first, a sharp exhale pulled too tightly to be discreet. It was followed by the sound of heels stopping short, then the scrape of a stool dragged back with more force than necessary. The woman dropped into the seat on his other side rather than easing into it, her movement abrupt enough to disturb the careful rhythm of the bar.

She did not look at either of them. Her attention fixed on the counter as though it had personally offended her.

“I’ll have what he’s having.”

Romin did not turn. He accepted the fresh glass placed before him and took another measured sip before speaking, his gaze remaining forward.

“Rough night already?”

Maela watched the exchange in silence.

Her attention moved with deliberate care, not lingering on the woman’s face so much as on the set of her shoulders, the way her hands rested against the counter, the tension that had nowhere to go yet. She studied the woman as one studied a subject before deciding whether it was worth committing to canvas, noting the strain rather than the surface.

She did not comment, she simply continued to observe, holding Romin’s wine as though it belonged there, her interest seemed sharpened by the arrival.

 

[Ra'a'mah]

Ra'a'mah adjusted her pace to match Vulpesen's as they entered the ballroom proper, the music and low murmur of voices washing over them like a practiced tide. The light caught in her hair and along the line of her cloak as she considered his question, her expression composed but not distant.

"For tonight," she answered quietly, "we listen more than we speak. This is not a victory to be celebrated, but a moment to be weighed. Who stands openly. Who offers help without being asked. And who is present only because they fear being absent." Her gaze moved calmly across the room, taking in the choreography of diplomacy and restraint. "The Republic is showing its spine without baring its teeth. That alone will tell us a great deal."

As they moved, Ra's attention shifted toward a familiar presence nearby, and her composure softened in a way reserved for very few. Jairdain stood not far off, Jax at her side, the two of them an anchor of quiet certainty amid the swirl of ceremony. Ra inclined her head to them, the gesture warm and unmistakably personal, her eyes lingering for a heartbeat longer than courtesy required. It was the look of someone greeting family rather than allies.

Only then did she turn her attention to the man accompanying them, clearly positioned near Jairdain and Jax but not yet known to her. Ra slowed just enough to acknowledge him properly, her tone courteous and open.

"I do not believe we've met," she said, offering a slight bow of her head. "Ra'a'mah Numare. It's a pleasure to finally put a face to the name, given the company you keep this evening."

She offered a small, polite smile before returning her focus to Vulpesen, resuming their easy stride. "As for what comes next," she continued, voice low again, "we let the night unfold. The exhibition will reassure those who need to see strength made tangible. The ballroom will test convictions. And the bar…" A faint note of dry amusement entered her tone. "That is where the most honest decisions are usually made."

Her gaze flicked briefly back to him. "If nothing else, it will be an instructive dance. One worth attending closely."

Vulpesen Malcolm Ironmaster Jax Thio

 

[Mara Aurelai]

Romin Renoux​

Mara picked up the wine glass as soon as it was placed in front of her and raised it to her lips. To a palate like hers, mainly subsisting on pink champagne and other sweet drinks, it tasted awful. She could barely stomach one sip of the stuff.

“Rough night already?”

She turned toward the man sitting next to her, noticing that he had ordered another glass of wine, but not that the woman on the other side of him had taken the first for herself. "Heh, yeah," she replied. Secciah was probably laughing at her. Maybe the whole galaxy was laughing at her.

"I, uh, lost a close friend recently," she found herself saying. "He disappeared. It was very sudden. He's probably dead, but I'll likely never know for sure." He had almost certainly been killed at the hands of the current Hapan regime, but she wasn't about to tell him that.

She hadn't intended to reveal any of this to a stranger, but once she got started, she figured she might as well keep going.

"Social events like this make me feel the loss more keenly. Ironically, I came here because I wanted to talk to people. Build connections. Maybe make a new friend or two." She shook her head wistfully. "We had such big plans for the future. Even though he's gone, I want to see them through to completion. But I'm not very good at beginnings. It's terrible, having to start back at the bottom and work my way up again." Much worse to do it alone.

 

[Malcolm Ironmaster]

Objective 2: The Grand Ballroom
Tags: Jairdain Ismet-Thio , Jax Thio , Ra'a'mah , Vulpesen , Open

"Master Ra'a'mah," Malcolm said with a smile. "Your reputation precedes you. I am Malcolm Aramis Ironmaster, originally from Chandrila. I was part of the Batuu mission about a year ago, and more recently had to face down a couple hundred Imperial stormtroopers on Corellia in defense of civilian protesters against Imperial occupation."

 

[Casaana]

Objective III
Tags: Davik Haize

He offered to help, still standing over her table. Well he was right about them both feeling out of place. Still, she mentally measured the pros and cons of letting this man sit down at her table and help versus asking him to leave. He probably wouldn't be too upset, and there was the real possibility of having to redo a lot of the assembly back in the dorms to get it just how she liked. But looking deeper, he was asking for a place to be comfortable amidst all this 'shindig' chaos. And it sounded like he did know droids, that comment about the wire getting pinched in the leg was right. Even if just in the long run it'd wear through from the constant bending.

Ultimately though, he was someone asking for help and to not be left alone. "Okay," she pushed her foot out under the table and pushed out the chair opposite of her for him to take. "I'm Casaana, and this," she picked up the multi-eyed disk of the seeker droid's body, "is Tap-It. Or it will be once she's finished and back together." Also in Casaana's box of tinkered parts were an array of various sensors and tools made for various types of astromechs. Clearly the Padawan was wanting a helper not just on missions, but in the workshop as well.

 

[Voli Cholrass]

Current Outfit

"Ugh......" Voli wanted to be anywhere but here. She wanted to be in her room, reading books about the occult, grisly horror, or the Book of Sith that she hadn't read in a while mainly because it radiated of Dark Side energy. The last thing Voli needed was her Master Dreidi Xeraic finding out that she had a book about the memoirs of various Sith Lords throughout history as well as many Dark Side techniques. She also wanted to go back to her Holoblog, she missed debating with her fans about theories of the unknown, the dark and urban legends of the galaxy. Being in her room was always a safe haven for Voli.

But her Master encouraged her to come and mingle with her fellow Padawans in the Naboo Ballroom. Voli resisted that notion at first but then she remembered that she promised herself to make friends. "Might as well get started," Voli thought miserably. "I hate ballrooms they're the most boring and sterile environments. Which means it's the perfect fit for Mom and Dad."

She adjusted her hat on her head as she carefully sipped some Red Wine. Though Voli was too young to drink, her parents allowed her to drink some Wine back at Coruscant. Red Wine was her parent's favorite. The young woman continued to look around seeing if her fellow Padawans were out and about. "Noone is here," Voli thought. "Time to go home."

Elian Abrantes Isla Reingard Phillip Slate Kito

 

[Davik Haize]

OBJ III
Casaana

He took the offered seat and gave her his first name. He was going to be assembling a droid in the middle of a royal procession. You couldn't make this up. But Judge was nowhere to be found. He only found the occasional glance his way from several Tapanis. Thin, grateful smiles, but behind them, there was no mistaking it – fear.

"Tap-It." Davik said, forcing his focus on the table and Casaana, his equally odd companion he doubted was real. But this was the key – piecing back together the droid to reassemble his fractured mind. "So what are we putting together here – a seeker?..." he said, looking at the lens, then noticed a few sensor modules in the box of parts he recognized as R-series and asked, "An astro?"​

 

[Colette]

Feridade Parthi // Quinn Varanin

And sure enough, there it was. Turn your head and fate took a shit. More often than not on you.

Colette's eyes scanned the crowd but came to a complete stop on the ashen shape of a familiar face. Familiar for the right reasons? No, familiar because it had nearly ended her life. Colette's eyes began to jitter. A moment of decision paralysis struck her.

The decision? Whether or not to face the past.

The outcome? Uncertain.

A brief moment of hesitation, a shorter one to make the choice. Her first foot forward was followed by the next. A growing feeling of indifference struck her. The past was the past, and the future was now. She swallowed the indignant history to embrace the uncaring present.

"Good evening," she spoke from behind the duo before she stepped into view. "Enjoying the event so far?"

She observed Feridade for a moment, took him in and sized him up. If Quinn was here, the Sith were here. If he was here with Quinn, he was most likely one of them too. Now, he had Quinn close by meaning she trusted him. Didn't meet the description of other known lovers… So, an associate maybe?

Cold brown eyes eventually shifted over to meet those she had previously only seen so up close at one other point in her life. This time the two of them weren't at each other's throats as they had been then but rather face-to-face at a different point in each other's life.

"Quinn." she offered with a small bow of her head. No title, no honorifics, just a name.

 

[Vulpesen]

Silence and observance. Not a bad policy in general, but one that was no longer customary to his usual operations. After decades in the spot light, keeping his mouth shut had become something of a rare art, at least, for extended periods of time. Still, such a skill was easy to keep when someone came forth with such a boisterous introduction as the jedi who approached them. At the very least, it wouldn't be hard to get information on this man from the Tenevi, not when he so eagerly offered it to those he just met.

"Empires do have a habit of causing and suppressing civil unrest," he said dryly. "Fortunate that there always seem to be enough jedi to step in when things turn overly violent." Memories came of similar situations from his own life. He had been a padawan when he had stopped a Togorian massacre with the army of light. As much as he might have abandoned the path of the jedi, he couldn't deny that they served an important purpose in the galaxy. "Vulpesen Torrevaso," the Valde stated simply. Whether his own reputation continued to carry weight mattered little to him, not when meeting a face that he had yet to recognize.

Ra'a'mah Malcolm Ironmaster

 

[Oriana Indupar]

Oriana shook her head ever so slightly. Chasing down Lord Wenelle could be a disaster from a public relations lens. This was an event for Tapani first and foremost, the Chancellor just happened to be here. Selfish as it was, she wanted Evandro Wenelle to speak on his status as a refugee. To share his story and the terror that was occuring in the region.

"No. Not yet." Ori gave a small pause. "He could be speaking with fellow Tapani refugees or appealing to the Chancellor or the Senator. Let us give him a few moments. The night is young. The shrimp is still piled high."

A small smile at her own very rare joke. Oriana wouldn't be caught dead in public making such a comment but she had uttered it low enough for Guinevere Cavello to hear. If someone passing by overheard it could easily be brushed off as someone very concerned about having enough food flowing for their guests.

A thought struck her.

"Maybe he has not found us because he simply does not know who I am? A very real possibility. I would expect him to give an impromptu speak instead..."

Oriana was a very minor Noble. One that had been married off and only returned due to her husbands death. She was a blip, a person who wasn't even supposed to return to Indupar.

 

[Dashiell NPC]

Zee listened without interruption, keeping his optical sensors firmly on Mister Arlos. Programming knew there were no threats to be found at this social ball. Additionally, Mister Arlos was burning a hole across the room, studying Miss Persephone's every move as she spoke to a Jedi with an affinity for shrimp.

[ I have a long history of giving romantic advice Mister Arlos.] Zee straightened more than he already was, pride in his body language. [Mister Dashiell and Mistress Arceneau have successfully created a union no thanks to my interference.]

Interference in the form of L3-37, the droid on which his programming was structured and built from. Zee contained much of L3-37's programming and could be considered an offshoot of the droid. Years ago L3-37 was able to successfully talk up Mister Dashiell, guide the young man through the early days in the relationship, and even punish the half-Galan for not following through on a timeline L3-37 had set once courting began in earnest.

So there was a sense of pride now that both were married an an heir had already come from the relationship.

Zee was confident this could be replicated. Differently, as Miss Persephone was quite the handful, yet not impossible. Miss Persephone was more sensitive than she let on. Zee would have to force Mister Arlos to realize this. A firm hand would be required in this case.

[ Keeping your distance will solve nothing, Mister Arlos.] Vocabulator was harder, an edge of demand in it. [ If you wish to know how Miss Persephone is faring then put one foot in front of another and find out. Nothing has come to you easy so what makes you think Miss Persephone will fall into your lap. Inaction will force her into the arms of another. ]

Kiran Arlos​

 

[Malcolm Ironmaster]

Objective 2: The Grand Ballroom
Tags: Vulpesen , Ra'a'mah , Jairdain Ismet-Thio , Jax Thio , Open

Malcolm bowed politely. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance, sir. Any time the darkness rises, the light must rise to meet it." He smiled. "So how long has it been since you left the Order?"

 

[Cynan Obaith]

Objective: 3
Outfit: Suit
Tags: Fallon Draellix-Kobitana

Cynan looked pleased that Fallon seemed to enjoy his presence, his attention. It was good, in his mind. He gave a short nod of his head, "I shall have to keep that in mind then." Giving a chuckle.

Giving a soft laugh, Cynan nodded his head, "oh, very true and exactly why I am here. Important to build connections as well as swaying the minds of the politicians." Cynan made a note of the fact that it was events like this that Fallon's parents met. Always interesting to see how people meet and date, sometimes he found it was in the strangest or most unlikeliest of places that people fall in love. "As for the money aspect, it is important but harder to sell people on opening their wallets. At least from my experience."

"Drollness is indeed a word." Cynan gave a smile, not one that was condescending or looking down at Fallon for not knowing the word. It was one amused with what Fallon was stating. "Oh, I definitely understand that it is the company you keep. But, sometimes when we are hunting for support or votes, there is little choice that we have in the company that we keep. Though I am very grateful for your company." Cynan grinned to Fallon.

Hearing Fallon mentioning a couple of the guests, even being so bold as to mention one that she did not wish to place his hands on the lines of her dress. "Well, I certainly wouldn't want that either for you." Locking eyes with Fallon so she knew that he was seeing what she was putting down and enjoying it as well.

"I will say, there are a couple guests that are most intriguing and a couple senators that I intend on organising for some relief work on Corellia after the incident there." Cynan mentioned, pointing out several minor senators who he intended to interact with. "However, I am free to dance if someone desires to whisk me away for a song or two."

 

[Jairdain Ismet-Thio]

Jairdain felt the subtle shift in the space around them long before voices announced it, the familiar contours of presence and intent arranging themselves in ways she had learned to read as easily as others read faces. Jax's hand was still warm at her back, grounding, familiar, while the weight of the room pressed in with its layered emotions and careful performances.

At Ra'a'mah's approach, Jairdain inclined her head in return, a small, precise gesture that carried genuine warmth beneath its formality. It was the nod of someone acknowledging family across a crowded room, brief but sincere, before letting the moment pass without drawing attention to it.

Her focus then settled on Malcolm, his voice easy to place now that he was closer, his manner earnest without being careless. When he finished speaking, and then posed his question to Vulpesen, Jairdain did not rush to answer for anyone. Instead, she let a heartbeat of silence exist, enough to signal that she was present and listening, but not intent on dominating the exchange.

When she did speak, her tone was calm and level, threaded with quiet familiarity rather than ceremony.

"Malcolm Aramis Ironmaster," she said, his name spoken with recognition rather than introduction. "We have stood on the same ground before. Batuu was not a simple mission, and people rarely speak of it honestly afterward. I am glad you did."

She turned her head slightly toward Vulpesen, her expression composed, knowing, the barest hint of fondness beneath the gravity.

"As for the Order," Jairdain continued, addressing Malcolm's question without taking it from her brother's mouth, "leaving is not always a single moment, nor is it always a rejection. Sometimes it is a matter of choosing where one's effort does the least harm, or the most good, when the paths offered no longer align with who you have become."

Her hand found Jax's arm again, fingers resting there with quiet certainty, anchoring herself as much as him.

"Some of us step away," she went on gently, "and some of us remain close enough to be mistaken for having never left at all. The galaxy has a way of blurring those distinctions when things grow dark."

She allowed a small pause, then added, her voice steady but not unkind, "What matters more than how long ago someone left is why they did, and what they chose to do with themselves afterward."

Jairdain fell silent then, content to let the conversation breathe, her presence remaining what it had been all evening: attentive, grounded, and quietly unyielding amid the shifting currents of the night.

Malcolm Ironmaster Vulpesen Jax Thio

 

[Kiran Arlos]

Objective: 2
Tags: Persephone Dashiell
​

Kiran listened to Zee's little monologue with the kind of patience you reserved for someone who was technically right and absolutely unbearable about it. When the droid finished, Kiran's brows lifted and he gave Zee a look that was half amusement, half surrender. "Yes," he said, almost painfully sarcastic, "I've heard the legends."

The smirk that followed was quick, defensive, and then it softened into a quiet chuckle that surprised even him. For all Zee's bluntness, it cut through the fog in Kiran's head and left one simple truth behind.

He knew what he had to do.

"Well, thanks, Zee," Kiran murmured, as if they were discussing a routine patrol route instead of the most terrifying five meters in the galaxy. "This will either be a great night, or a night that will be horribly remembered."

He took a deep breath, letting it fill his lungs until his heartbeat steadied into something he could work with. He moved through the crowd with a smoothness he did not entirely feel, but he wore it anyway. He adjusted his path around drifting gowns and formal uniforms, slipping between clusters of individuals that were present.

Each step closed the distance.

Persephone was ahead of him, a bright point in a room full of polished light. She looked impossibly put together and, at the same time, like she had been carrying too much for too long. Kiran kept his pace steady, kept his shoulders loose, kept his face calm. He did not want to approach her like a problem. He wanted to approach her like himself.

When he reached a respectful closeness, close enough that she would hear him without him raising his voice, he said her name.

"Persephone."

There was no further plan after that. No perfect line. No rehearsed apology. Just a decision made in the moment with his whole chest behind it.

Kiran leaned in and kissed her gently, sweetly, a little longer than any kiss they had shared before. It was careful, not desperate. It was the simplest thing he could offer without words.

I'm here. I'm sorry.

When he pulled back, his forehead hovered a fraction from hers for a heartbeat, his breath uneven but controlled. His eyes searched her face for a sign, anger, surprise, acceptance, rejection, anything he could anchor himself to.

Then he showed a smile.

"I've missed you," he said softly, it was the only truth that mattered in the entire ballroom.

 

[Cassian Abrantes]

Taera 'Calypso' ​

"You are right," Cassian said, his voice calm and true, without a hint of defensiveness. "A parade is not a battle, and history does not flatter anyone who confuses the two."

He let the words settle, then continued with a steadier warmth, the kind that came from conviction rather than performance.

"They are not perfect," he admitted plainly, nodding toward the clones and the officers guiding the demonstration. "None of us are. Not the army, not the Houses, not the Republic. But what you are seeing here is not perfection, it is practice. It is training repeated until it becomes instinct. It is discipline that holds when fear tries to take the wheel. It is work, day after day, designed to make them better than they were yesterday, and better than they would be without it."

Cassian's mouth curved faintly, not into a smile meant to charm, but into something grounded.

"Perfect, in this regard, is not something I believe in," he said.

He turned back to Calypso, giving her the respect of taking her concern seriously.

"If you are reforming the Aurodium Guard, that same principle will serve you. Do not chase flawless. Chase consistent. Chase honest training, real accountability, and leaders who would rather be corrected than comforted."

 

[Guinevere Cavello]

​

Gwen let out a soft, low giggle at Ori's joke. In many ways the princess was still so young, only eighteen, but the weight of her title had forced her to mature far earlier than most. Moments like this, simple and unguarded, were rare. It felt good to laugh, even if they had to keep it quiet and composed beneath the watchful eyes of the room.

"I'm sure he knows who you are," Gwen said, her voice light but reassuring. "Someone on his staff would handle that sort of information. And our names were on the invitations as event coordinators, so at the very least he knows who to ask for."

A waiter drifted past with a polished tray of drinks. Gwen offered a polite smile of thanks and selected a sparkling water, the glass cool against her fingertips as the evening's formality settled back around them.

Oriana Indupar​

 

[Elian Abrantes]

Objective 3
Isla Reingard
​

Elian's chuckle came out soft and sharp at once, the kind that carried more teeth than humor. He leaned back on the stool as if the marble bar belonged to him by inheritance, eyes sliding over Isla with an easy, insolent calm that tried very hard to look effortless.

"Then why are you here?" he asked, voice light, almost amused. "You already said I did not leave an impression, and you barely care to remember my name. That is a lot of effort for someone you supposedly do not care about."

He lifted the glass of whiskey he had and took a slow sip. His other hand pushed away the glass of water, he had taken his sip, that was more than enough. When he set it down, his smile returned, sly, practiced, and just a little mean around the edges.

"And spare me the lectures," he added, with a laugh. "I do not need some pretend Jedi who spends her time doing 'illicit' activities trying to tell me how to behave."

Elian gave a light shake of his head, like he was humoring a particularly persistent and self-important holodrama. He was not sure what she wanted, approval, control, moral victory, but he knew exactly what he was not going to give her.

He looked past her, toward the lanterns and the moving crowd, as if she was only a temporary obstruction between him and the rest of the night.

In his mind, he filed her away into two neat possibilities, neither of which required him to be vulnerable. Either she was into him and too proud to admit it, or she was trying to convince herself she was becoming a better Jedi by "saving" someone who had not asked to be saved.

Lucky for him, he was not asking. Elian turned his gaze back to Isla, smile still in place, eyes unreadable.

"Go away," he said, quiet and casual, like it was the simplest request in the galaxy. "I am not your project."

 

[Sibylla Abrantes]

​

Adelle Bastiel Bastila Sal-Soren Ulysses Renoux Aurelian Veruna

Sibylla watched it all unfold with the serene expression of a woman exerting heroic effort not to commit a social felony.

Oh, she saw it. The way Aurelian tempted proximity with the remaining sister, the casual brush of an elbow placed with such precision it could not possibly be accidental. It reminded her of the garden auction, when he had been basically all over Sera Mina of Bacta Works. And he was being so obvious, fully aware of being observed and leaning into it like the theatric he was. Attention had always fit Aurelian Veruna like a tailored jacket, and tonight it sat on his shoulders with infuriating ease.

Which only made her want to answer the challenge tenfold.

To turn. To test. To push.

Did he get jealous?

That was the question, wasn't it. For so long, Aurelian Veruna had been the reason jealousy existed rather than something he endured. The Prince of Parrlay. Dangerous, charming, and catastrophically self-assured. The sort who left a wake behind him and never once checked who might be drowning.

Sibylla leaned subtly toward Adelle, voice lowered to a conspiratorial murmur.

"Oh, Lord Cavill and his ilk are a credit a dozen," she said mildly, lips curving just enough to suggest amusement. "That number has increased rather dramatically since my appointment to Voice."

It was not a complaint. Merely an observation. One she had already shared with Aurelian once before. She was of age, of rank. Queen for a season, Voice for longer. Prospects multiplied whether she wished them to or not. Her father had granted her time as a courtesy, but Sibylla was not foolish enough to believe it infinite.

Which meant, theoretically…

Whatever wicked suggestion Adelle was about to make was cut short as a familiar presence slipped back into her orbit. A faint electric rush traced her spine as lavender and citrus followed him, her traitorous body angling toward him before she could think better of it.

The flute was placed into her hand.

She accepted it on instinct, lashes lifting as she took a slow sip. Gold flecked hazel met amber in a brief, unmistakable flash of perturbation.

"Oh, an objection," she murmured under her breath with cordial sweetness edged with steel. "...why am I not surprised?"

Then Bastila appeared, materializing behind Sibyla's shoulder like an inevitability with opinions, accusing Aurelian of moving swiftly with jealousy with impeccable timing.

Wait what?

Sibylla blinked rapidly, narrowly avoiding choking on her drink, and smoothed her expression into cordial composure as she turned to the nobleman beside him.

"A pleasure to meet you, Lord Renoux," she said evenly, smile flawless. "I do hope you are enjoying Naboo. It has a way of revealing things."

Her gaze returned to Aurelian then. Slowly. Deliberately. Hazel eyes brightened with amusement and something that bit underneath.

"Indeed," Sibylla continued lightly, lifting her flute a fraction before turning back to Ulysses, "it would seem the gala has afforded you both many opportunities for connection."

A faint smile curved her lips.

"Allowing you to be quite industrious with your time," she added, the words settling back upon Aurelian sweet as spun sugar and twice as dangerous, "How fortunate for the room to have your attention so generously distributed, Your Majesty."

She inclined her head politely, then leaned closer to Adelle as though to underline the point.

"But I have been equally fortunate in my own company," Sibylla said, perfectly pleasant. "May I introduce Wolf Bastiel of the Mandalorian Empire, and my Handmaiden, Bastila Sal-Soren."

Her smile held.

The fire in her eyes did not.