In the Balance

[Aeros]

TIMESTAMP: Sundered Rise 7, 123
NOTES: -

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Wearing the bodies of his loved ones like an extension of a wardrobe had, by now, started to feel almost normalized– almost. Æros felt lucky that Thessia's interest in Necromancy had apparently spread to others of his kin over the years. Most lacked her skill, but that didn't really matter; it was the thought that counted, her effervescent curiosity that made the idea of playing host to a spirit more palatable.

The body Æros wore today was his brother, a young, golden elf with only the barest knowledge of elegant possession, something that he'd been taught the simplest forms of in recent weeks by their aunt. Cicæro was a curious sort, and while he did want to strengthen his bond with Æros, the main reason his brother had been able to convince him in this case was because Æros had told him what it was he intended to do. And, well, even if he wouldn't have control, technically, he would still 'meet' Arkænyn princeps even if it was in an abstract way.

For this excursion to the Palatium Furiarum, Æros had adorned this borrowed form with something more modest than his usual preference, but still flashy enough not to bore him; his robes were white silk with purple and orange floral patterning and flowing, semiliquid-looking gold trim. The movement and magical flourishes of the garment were works of Æros' Masquerade, ever eager as he always was to make use of his Crafts. And though he did add some of his more starlit accoutrements to his brother's features, the application thereof was subtle; there were slight shifts of color much like the setting sun to the skin and the presence of those crawling, coruscant stars Æros had always been so fond of, but not much more– Cicæro was a pretty man all on his own, so there was really no need for excess enchantments.

Janus accompanied him, implicit as it was that the two of them would make this trip together. The moonborn paterfamilias of Gens Val'Sælyan dressed dark, cloth the color of deep, blue night, accented with an almost brassy sort of gold and glinting with softer hints of magic when compared to the louder way his nephew preferred to present himself. Janus preferred a look that was a colder, more subtle form of imposing.

The two quickened their travel by passing through a portal opened by another of their kin, finding themselves emerging within the palace's vicinity on grounds that were open to the public. The palace before them was as dramatic and grandiose as the palace below; architecturally, they were almost mirrors, though they did differ with regards to particular motifs. To Æros, the building felt strange to approach– because of the similarities, it felt familiar to him, despite the fact that he'd never entered the Palatium Furiarum proper before…and those familiarities pained him, knowing what their intent was.

His gaze was distracted, eyes cast and jumping between various bits of scenery, becoming particularly lost in the fountains as they walked by. He didn't really want to do this, but his uncle was right; of that, he could not deny. And even if his elder wasn't, Æros knew he could not argue; it wasn't his choice, and he'd been told that from the start. In stark contrast, Janus would appear focused, confident, as he strode through the grounds slightly ahead of his nephew.

Upon reaching the grand entryway to this radiant domain, the pair were intercepted by a servus. The woman inquired after their purpose, and Janus told her that they had business to discuss with Arkænyn princeps, explaining to her that they'd been explicitly instructed to appear before him in the flesh, without prior appointment. He insisted that the princeps would understand, were she to convey these vagaries to him. She was…incredulous, but she acquiesced and guided the two to a sitting room, saying simply that she would 'see what she could do.'

Æros kept his mind quieted for the most part with his magic. Despite his disdain for the neverending heat of the desert sun, he had to admit that he quite liked the exquisite sort of brilliance, the everpresent luminosity of architecture and art made to honor Aværys. Which made him feel odd, since he really felt like he ought to be elated to be here– and yet he had to work actively to unweave his anxiety with aether lest it overtake him. But then, constant emotional conflict had been a cornerstone of his existence since his life had ended. He had started to wonder if he'd ever feel calm, truly, naturally calm, the sort of feeling uninfluenced by the heavy hand of his magic, again.

And on the other hand? Janus felt completely at peace, appearing fully pleased to be present. This was effortless, too, because such a presentation aligned with how he really felt– no magical manipulation necessary on his end.

He did, however, offer Æros a bit of his magic; the spirit had quieted his Symphony to those that might pry, but he couldn't quite silence it from those far enough above him in skill. Janus could detect the constant flow of the boy's magic and, perhaps because he genuinely cared, perhaps out of pity, or maybe even out of his own sense of self preservation, he did help to orchestrate an effortless aura of calm for the Symphony of his distraught nephew.

- - -

"Vallenor Tongue/Speech"

"Vastien Tongue/Speech"

"Valasren Tongue/Speech"

"Common Tongue/Speech"

[Pharaoh]

Janus and Æros-Cicæro would appear in an area of the Palatine District designated for arrival by Traversion. The area surrounding the palace was the most heavily policed area in Solunarium, or at least the most overtly so. The Golden centurions here were supervised by members of the Aværyan Guard: Baseborn cousins to the Unbroken Line, who devoted their lives to the dynasty. They would be recognised by the scarlet capes and other red accents applied to their lustrous gold armour, though their faces were obscured by well-warded helms. One particularly large scarlet captain, who looked as though he might have been half Moratallen under a small fortune in enchanted gold, turned his helmed head toward the pair and nodded to Janus before continuing along his patrol route.

Within the palace, they would be kept waiting at length in the opulent sitting room. There were others present, some of whom Janus would recognise as relations to Luxian senators. Some appeared excited, others anxious, most were vexed or exhausted from having been kept waiting for so long, though none were bold enough to complain even in hushed tones in a place where even insubordinate thoughts had been known to be surveilled, if not policed.

No refreshments were offered, nor news for well over an hour. The serva who'd spoken to Janus didn't return, it was male servus Janus would remember had served as nomenclator to Severus Naxos-Sol'Aværys Everyl Princeps, paterfamilias to Gens Naxos and Princeps Prætor of the Luxium. He would step toward the pair, but sidestep them to beckon another small group who'd been waiting. It would be another six hours before the same nomenclator finally approached Janus, and nodded to him.

"Your Grace." He said, before pivoting and turning back toward the door to lead the pair down the corridor to the imperial presence chamber. As they walked, he offered a few instructions:

"Do not look His Serene Starlit Highness in the eye.
Do not speak before His Serene Starlit Highness has addressed Your Grace.
Do not turn your back upon His Serene Starlit Highness.
Do not merely bow to His Serene Starlit Highness: Kneel."

These rules were not new to Janus' ears, but they had never applied to him before. Typically such obeisances were demanded of Vastians. Perhaps their current allegiance to the Draconic Crown put House Sælyan lower in the estimation of the Elven Crown.

Although Janus had stood before the Radiant Throne in the past, the room was transformed to suit its current occupant. Whether it had been renovated or masked by illusions of Masquerade so intricate as to be wholly seamless was unclear, but whatever the case- this was not Thalya's throne room as the senator knew it. This would be made all the clearer by the current occupant of the throne in question.

The nomenclator kept his eyes upon the base of the daïs, flanked by officers of the Aværyan Guard bearing halberds. The great imposing chamber was otherwise empty.

"Speak." The Prince-Regent rasped as the nomenclator lowered himself to kowtow before his liege.

"Your Serene Starlit Highness, I present unto you the delegation from House Sælyan of the Senatus Umbrarum."

Prince Arkænyn smiled faintly, his eyes and witchmarks aglow as he extended his right leg toward the top step of the daïs.

"Kiss my foot, and let us speak on your prospects in the Luxium." He glanced down to the golden sheen of his knee-high boot, and awaited compliance.

[Aeros]

TIMESTAMP: -
NOTES: -

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Ever since swearing fealty to the draconic crown, both Janus and Æros had spent much of, if not most of, their time in the Umbrium. The gilded counterpart that was the Luxium was not something that they would ever quite forget even a thousand years removed, but it was always bit blinding to be in the heart of it. Though the two halves of the capital were mirrors in many ways, adjusting once more to one starkly contrasting aesthetic to the other could be a bit jarring.

They had been explicitly instructed to show without having prior, traceable reservation– Janus knew that part of that would involve a degree of waiting that depended on everything from how busy Arkænyn princeps was to his mood. On his end, the amount of time elapsed from whence they’d arrived to being seen was certainly not the worst; they could’ve been sent away on account of the man having zero free moments that day, so in some ways, being let in at all was a relief.

And much as waiting can be a grating endeavor, in a city as steeped in magic as this, there were endless things to catch the senses. That, and for somebody as old as Janus, he was fairly practiced with patience; he could amuse himself well enough through mundane means, but there were also subtle uses of magic he’d use– evoking Semblance to trace the history of a piece of art or dissect the anatomy of birds and beasts flying overhead and similar. Æros used to do much the same thing in the past, but without his Semblance, he spent much of the wait either occasionally talking to Janus or in an almost meditative sort of state.

When finally they were addressed, the instructions were given from the mouth of somebody only one half of the pair recognized. The familiar face was not unwelcome a sight, though the recognition would serve little purpose. His words, however, were not something Æros had directly been told before and though Janus had heard these words in the past, he hadn’t quite expected them to be leveled at him. Even still, there was no rhyme nor reason for him to complain; such was both unhelpful and beyond his station. He did, however, speculate that the reason was, in part, due to their current allegiances.

Nevertheless, both he and Æros nodded to the nomenclator and stated their intent to acquiesce. Frankly, they’d do whatever ridiculous request the crown prince had, should he name it– Janus because he knew how the game was played and Æros because he was desperate to appease the royal.

Upon entering the hall that housed the Radiant Throne, they would follow the nomenclator’s lead until the distance was closed enough and they were designated to stop. Æros, of course, had never been here, and Janus was a bit surprised at Arkænyn’s choices, though not the fact that he had redecorated. Why would new blood want to operate out of a room that had been decorated by their mother, after all?

They did as they were told, both kneeling at the appropriate time, and with a level of reverence fitting for both Arkænyn’s status and the instructions they were given. Before they were given orders to stand, however, came the first demand of the princeps himself: that being, his desire for, presumably both of them, to kiss his extended foot.

Mayhaps a bit silly, but to be frank, Æros could not begrudge a man for flexing his power and Janus felt similarly, because while the latter did think certain superfluous demands could be a bit childish, Arkænyn was young and new to power– could either man blame him for being pompous? Næ.

There was a look passed between both kneeling men, though not one of hesitation, more of a flash to determine who would go first. And in this case, that would be Janus, followed shortly thereafter by Æros.

“I would love nothing more, Your Serene Starlit Highness,” came Janus’ reply to what had been said. Æros was otherwise silent.

- - -

"Vallenor Tongue/Speech"

"Vastien Tongue/Speech"

"Valasren Tongue/Speech"

"Common Tongue/Speech"

[Pharaoh]

Arkænyn was pleased with their prompt acquiescence. The elder elf even feigned enthusiasm, which was particularly gratifying to the young Prince Regent. The command may have been excessive for someone of Janus' station, but it was not unprecedented. There had been rulers in ages past who expected greater displays of submission and, to his credit, Arkænyn's boot couldn't have been cleaner if it had never been worn. His footwear, like all of his garments, had been thoroughly cleaned and continued to be maintained by the Kinetic Craft to such a degree that no mote of filth touched his clothes or his flesh. When both of their lips had met his boot leather, he drew his foot back toward the base of the Radiant Throne, only to raise it and cross his right leg over the left as he sat back in the seat, smiling broadly. His eyes fell upon Æros.

"I do not believe any part of me has been kissed by borrowed lips before. Rented, perhaps... Enthralled? Certainly. But never borrowed. What an enticing prospect..." Arkænyn's Aurisian-accented Vastian trailed off as he pondered the notion. Though there was much to discuss pertinent to the current situation and the prospects of House Sælyan, Arkænyn's first point of focus was more intimate in nature.

"Does this boy idly observe the actions you set his body to execute? Has he any control, or are you dominating his body utterly?" The Prince Regent wondered, his hand rising to stroke his own cheek and chin- black painted nails stark against his moon pale visage. His violet eyes explored Cicæro's form as his tongue protruded slightly to run across the top row of teeth he bared as he drew a goblet of wine to his lips and tipped it back.

"Does the subject need to be willing, or might you commandeer a body unbidden?"

[Aeros]

TIMESTAMP: -
NOTES: -

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When both were given leave to do so, they would rise. Janus was somebody who, were he not raised in a society filled with such a wide array of excess, might find gestures like that to be a certain degree of inefficient and grating; time, at least, for him, has granted him ample patience. He also saw the value in appeasing Arkænyn, so if these gestures appeased him, so be it. Æros’ feelings in the moment were a bit more complicated, but if absolutely nothing else, the pressure of the moment would keep him reigned in. But to be fair, he did admire Arkænyn, so oddly enough, obeisance wasn’t that counter to his conscience. And it was, indeed, some small consolation to both of them that the princeps was no brute and his boot was objectively flawless.

Arkæyn’s first line of questioning went in a curious direction, though hardly a surprising one given the circumstances. It was not lost on both Æros and Janus that the oddities of Æros’ newfound condition might’ve been a thing that caught the princeps’ eye– but for precisely what reason, neither of them could say.

“When referring specifically to the one I now possess, he is suppressed; I can give my ‘host’ a modicum of awareness if I so desire or if they possess notably powerful, defiant souls. The body that holds me now, however, is home to somebody whom I have overtaken amicably, so he rests willingly; he won't stir unless I give him leave to.” Æros began when addressed. This was a subject he himself was still actively exploring, so while he would answer as honestly as he could, there were certainly nuances to possession that were still lost to him.

“But while this one is willing, I can take hold of those who are not– to do so is a battle of wills, though I am perfectly capable of dominating others.” The spirit continued, reassuringly, almost. “That being said, I’ve not held this form long, so my grasp of the defiant may be…tenuous. Still, I fully expect myself to become stronger in that regard with experience.” He added the line at the end mostly to make up for what he viewed as the admission of weakness said prior.

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"Vallenor Tongue/Speech"

"Vastien Tongue/Speech"

"Valasren Tongue/Speech"

"Common Tongue/Speech"

[Pharaoh]

Arkænyn leaned forward as Æros spoke. His long, slender body doubled in half as his long fingers slid along the sides of his thighs pausing to grasp his knees. He bit his bottom lip, though his eyes smiled at the explanation.

"Stir him." Arkænyn instructed, as he launched off of the throne and descended the steps of his high daïs to stand at floor level with his subordinates.

"No sense depriving the poor boy of a royal audience, when our records indicate he's never enjoyed such a boon." The Prince Regent began to slowly stalk around Æros-Cicæro, appraising the form of the boy with a scrutinising eye. "And prithee forfeit your exploitation of Masquerade. I am at least your equal in the Craft, so there is no sense in expending the æther on my account." He brushed by Janus, the soft fur of his mantle wafting across the senator's shoulder, though he was largely ignoring the elder elf in favour of the younger form.

He halted his predatory orbit, to glance over his shoulder to the nomenclator.

"Remind me what this one is called?"

"Ær-..."

"The host, not the ghost." Arkænyn grinned, amused at his own inadvertent poetry.

"Val'Sælyan Cicæro, Your Serene Starlit Highness."

"Val." Arkænyn clucked his tongue, his head whipping sharply to regard Janus. "Forgive my ignorance..." The foreign-raised prince said, not sounding entirely genuine in the apology. "But why, pray tell, did you forfeit your senate seat to a Len when your house is, as I understand it, replete with Vals?" With that question posed, his interest slowly turned back to Cicæro's visage and he stepped close to inspect his artful features, even going so far as to lift one hand to stroke his smooth cheek with the back of his own hand. Leaning forward, he would whisper hot into the cup of his ear.

"Wakey, wakey, Cicæro, darling..."

[Aeros]

TIMESTAMP: -
NOTES: -

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Arkænyn was not a man who had been within Solunarium proper for long. He’d spent most of his life in Auris, and as such, both Janus and Æros lacked much familiarity with him– so his demeanor, his personality, so forth– all of it was difficult for both to predict, though Janus had, by now, typecast him to a degree. Æros, on the other, lacked the foreknowledge to do so accurately, but wasn’t wholly oblivious to the implications of his actions as he rose from his throne and began to stalk ‘round them like a lion among lambs.

Janus’ composure was stoic, keeping his gaze on the royal’s movements, but his body and features would move minimally– if much at all beyond his eyes. On the other hand, Æros was more expressive, following Arkænyn’s movements by tilting his head in addition to moving his eyes, his features more visibly curious, inquisitive, interested.

To the platinum royal’s command, “as you wish,” and so he would.

To stir Cicæro was no monumental task, but it was even more uncanny an experience than simply piloting a body not your own. And as he did this, so too did he allow his magic to fade, evaporating like grains of cosmic sand from both cloth and flesh. To some degree, the magical mirage’s dissolution would reveal more of Cicæro than before, as pieces of the illusion had extended onto or over the boy’s skin in parts.

Whilst this happened, the princep’s attentions briefly shifted to Janus. “Ah, a fair question,” he began.

“The simplest answer is thus: potential. For one, he was the only platinum blood amongst my kin, split though he may have been. And while I understand that half-bloods carry their drawbacks, Æros always showed both remarkable constitution and arcane prowess. He’d come to master magic much faster than I’ve come to expect people capable, and brooked five initiations thus far– I’d argue the potency of his platinum blood was not dampened by the mix of Fæ…and yes, I do understand that present circumstances complicate those aspects.

“But beyond that, beyond the potential for raw power, there was both hunger and ambition, though the latter two were buried by…unfortunate circumstances– of which I have since dealt with.”

For a moment, he paused. “And lastly, he is young, trainable; many of the others not only lack his aforementioned qualities, but they also lack that adaptive mutability.” There wasn’t an ounce of shame in admitting that a lot of his intent was based on how he believed himself capable of manipulating Æros into being whatever it was he wanted him to be. And through his answer, he’d react little to whatever it was Arkænyn wanted from rousing Cicæro, though internally, he was more than a little curious.

That statement was not a shock to Æros, though he did hope that his uncle saw more in him than a tool to use or a successor to mold. But at this exact moment, he didn’t quite have the wherewithal to ponder the implications because he was contending with the oddities of sharing skin with another in a literal sense. His eyes would flutter and widen with surprise as Cicæro’s consciousness surfaced, taking in his surroundings. Arkænyn’s intimate proximity almost made him jump.

“Wh…what is this?” the man's voice would ask, sounding wholly disoriented. Aloud, he’d say again as if responding to himself, “...I told you, brother– you’d meet His Serene Starlit Highness, in a fashion.” This wasn’t actually what Æros promised at all, but it was arguably better.

- - -

"Vallenor Tongue/Speech"

"Vastien Tongue/Speech"

"Valasren Tongue/Speech"

"Common Tongue/Speech"

[Pharaoh]

Arkænyn took in the prolix response to his question, eyes remained fixed upon Cicæro whilst Janus orated.

"Tut, tut." His violet eyes darted to the senator. Lips pursed, he shook his head in an expression of chastening.

"You will have to divorce yourself from such Immaculist notions if you are to assume a prominent place in the Luxium. We are Sanguinists up here. That is to say one cannot be a Platinum Elf when one is not, in fact, an Elf. The point of the distinction is aspirational..." He took a few backward steps toward his daïs, and extended his long arms to the side presentationally.

"Look upon me." He instructed, as he did a slow, demonstrative turn. "I am the coming storm." His lips curled into a devilish grin, "That I was born Platinum Child to a Solar Sovereign of the Unbroken Imperial Elven Line in the age of the Founders' return is no mere happenstance. It is a portent. I, Blood of Aværys Imperator, Blood of Varvara Imperatrix, am exemplar to the Coming Race of Deiori who will rise to assert the righteous natural order here and far beyond." He lowered his arms, facing them directly once more and stalking up to Janus, their noses nearly meeting as he descanted his destiny,

"Blood that has been compromised cannot return Elvenkind to the purity to which our blessed race aspires, Senator..." His eyes shifted toward Æros-Cicæro, "...but that does not mean a compromised creature... Perhaps even one who cleaves to life by borrowing the pretty bodies of his kin... cannot serve in other ways." He reached his hand up to cup Cicæro's cheek, the cold metal of his rings and the warm skin of his palm stroking downward as he looked into the confused eyes of the freshly awakened elven youth.

"As long as he knows his place, hm?" He leaned close, resting his forehead against Cicæro's and shutting his eyes, lingering there for a moment. He parted from him with a sigh, and pivoted to march back up the steps toward the Radiant Throne.

"So tell me, Janus... Æros... Cicæro: Do you know your place in the pyramid, and are you prepared to debase yourselves before House Sol'Aværys, the Unbroken Dynasty."

[Aeros]

TIMESTAMP: -
NOTES: -

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Janus was wholly unsurprised by the views espoused by Arkænyn princeps; for he knew what beliefs the Luxian court held– and it was for that reason that he'd so easily turned against them in the beginning. He did not agree with the platinum elf's words, but at this point, that, unfortunately, did not matter. The politician knew this well, and yet he'd walked into this scenario willingly all the same. What drew him here was the latter portion of the extravagant elf's words– that being exactly what it was Arkænyn had planned for them, because clearly, he had something in mind; a purpose; but what? Were they to be tools? Toys? Did he want to hone Æros' peculiar abilities for his own ends? His questions were endless, but for now, he'd keep his silence, merely nodding in acquiescence to the royal.

Cicæro's expression would shift a few times as the two souls his body housed adjusted to sharing and for Cicæro himself, orienting himself with exactly where he was and what was happening 'round him. Æros had cautioned him that he would likely not recall the events of the day due to the potentially sensitive nature of that which was to be discussed, but apparently, the princeps had other plans. Cicæro felt starstruck, for he'd not the experience Æros had mingling with others of similar status, so for him, having Arkænyn so close was…a lot. His awe and lack of preparation led him to yielding control almost entirely to Æros, though he would wrest enough back to speak or move as commanded; he was spellbound, overjoyed to be present.

Æros had heard Sanguinist rhetoric plenty, as his lineage caused quite a bit of bickering between many, even beyond his kin. And now, stripped of blood entirely, that problem was…certainly different. Even despite his lineage, he now held no blood of his own– and while that did mean he could, in theory, commandeer the body of another, change and adapt his bloodline, that ability to choose was limited by how his society would view doing so.

A thought occurred to him– maybe along the line, Arkænyn could help with that? With the right flesh, Æros could serve whatever purpose Arkænyn wanted of him.

But in the moment, Cicæro’s body held tension– which soul that belonged to was not clear. And it wasn’t negative, no; Æros could feel what amounted to excitement start to build within both himself and the soul of his brother. Because, while he did not agree with Sanguinist beliefs, that didn’t matter, did it? He could pretend, and there was much flexibility to be had in power granted by having Arkænyn’s favor, should he earn it.

Having allowed Cicæro to manifest alongside him, Æros could feel how the other’s Symphony lit up at Arkænyn’s touch in technicolor clarity, too. It was one thing for him, even as a master, to hear the songs of others unguarded, but to be housed in their flesh, to have their souls nestled so closely together? It was so loud; it bled into him more than he’d ever felt anyone else’s, even when he laid with other Mesmers.

He could suppress the other to quiet it, but…the Cicæro’s enthusiasm and an emotion nigh to swooning at the princep’s touch was, oddly, useful, for it made it far easier to bear the strike to his pride that this was. Unlike when his ego had been checked when it came to his dealings with Phocion, this was also different– Arkænyn was a prettier, platinum blooded man and those violet eyes were…bewitching.

To the royal’s query, Janus would answer with expression unreadable yet calm: “Yes, Your Serene Starlit Highness.”

And from Cicæro’s voice, “we are yours to command, Your Serene Starlit Highness.”

From the way he gesticulated– that small flourish with his hands– and the deep, expressive nature of his features even despite such a small statement, Janus recognized Æros as the speaker right away; he knew his kin, but for others, it would be ambiguous. Nevertheless, Cicæros appeared perfectly poised to please.

- - -

"Vallenor Tongue/Speech"

"Vastien Tongue/Speech"

"Valasren Tongue/Speech"

"Common Tongue/Speech"

[Pharaoh]

Arkænyn pivoted sharply to face his would-be subjects once more, his face alight with pleasure at their acquiescence. He found Cicæro's obvious awe particularly gratifying, and the prince did nothing to veil his overweening delight. Whereas most of his royal house tended toward flat stoicism and muted expressions, he doffed such facades altogether now- grinning like a child with a new toy, he lowered himself to perch at the edge of his mother's throne.

"I have reconsidered the offer I posed in my letter." He said, in an apparent non-sequitur. "Your house will, of course, be accorded their due seat in the Luxian Curia, but I do not wish for Æros to be the one to occupy it. I would prefer to see his much vaunted 'potential' firsthand..." He said, with a wry wink to Janus, who'd been the one doing the vaunting moments earlier.

"Senator, if you wish to vacate the seat yourself, I've no doubt you can find a suitable replacement amongst your elven kin. Perhaps this pretty lad who now plays host to your spectral nephew is up to the task?" His tongue ran over his top lip as he regarded the boy, who was actually his elder, with those predatory purple eyes.

"As for you, Æros. You will sit in my Regium Consilium." At this declaration, the nomenclator's eyes widened slightly and he turned to glance over his shoulder incredulously at the Prince Regent. "I know... It is traditional for only members of my kin to sit upon the council, but with the Phædryns having gone rogue, we've been incomplete. My mother may, of course, swoop in to revoke my decision, but Her Divine Radiance hasn't deigned to assert herself in months, so I doubt it." He scooted back in the seat and slumped toward one of the armrests.

"First thing's first. Your family will need to stand before the Umbrian Senate to renounce your fealty to the Zalkyrians in favour of House Sol'Aværys. I will receive your official oaths personally before the Luxian Senate, and whoever you choose to take your seat may be announced then as well. Unless there is any other official business, you are dismissed, Senator Janus. Æros and Cicæro will join me for a drink." To the nomenclator he called:

"No more audiences today!" And with that, he hopped up from the throne, jogged down the steps and put his arm around the younger elf, leaning close to whisper in his ear.

"It is so, so important to make certain one leaves time in the day for recreation, don't you think?" He leaned even nearer and took Cicæro's earlobe between his teeth in a light nibble, before guiding him around the back of the daïs where double doors flanked by Aværyan guardsmen parted before them to reveal a lavish sitting room.