Palatium Umbrarum
3rd of Frost, 123 of Steel
(...continued from here.)
The ceremony had been fucking ineffable. So many years ago, following a hunch and flicker of compassion, he had offered a young pickpocket an helping hand. He hadn't imagined the wages of that sin would be his attendance at that lad's wedding in a divine realm. He was beginning to trust those instincts, though. Arvine Venasyr had become Phædryn Sol'Zakyrion Arvælyn Princeps. Torin Kilvin had become a Kalzasern kozoku and grandmaster runeforger. The naked elf in the Midden had become Dhruv Val'Esdraelon, marked by time magic and eager to repay his debts. Even Rivin was an investment already paying off and likely to continue to do so...
While he was a bad man, his odd good deeds, all tempered with selfishness, seemed to be the ones that defined him. Of course, he would have rutted in Arry right before he made his vows to the minstrel had he been able to sweet-talk the desert prince into it. Mists, he would have claimed jus primae noctis on Finneas the Fantabulous right in front of Arry had he been willing to pay the price.
Call it caution, but he was behaving himself more or less. The initial reception in the realm of Deus Aværys had become a reception at the Palatium Umbrarum, and people were already speaking about continuing the revels in the Noctis Æternæ. Apparently, Arry's winged half-brother had led the charge.
Only half-listening to the slurring jest of some senator's son or another, he laughed appreciatively, drained his cup, and slapped the man companionably upon the knee.
"Need to find the most scantily clad slave to refill my drink," he said. "Back in a bit."
Aurin wouldn't be back in a bit, though. He hoisted himself up and meandered off, playing more tipsy than he was. That was a habit of his since before even his tenure at the Velvet Cabaret, disarming those around him into thinking he was less capable than he was, less prone to remember secrets shared. He loved secrets.
When his eyes fell on the Vastian woman, a friend of Finn's, he stepped up to greet her. There had been a brief introduction, he remembered, but they hadn't actually spoke.
"Hilana, isn't it?" he asked, his apparent tipsiness mostly fading away. She hadn't seemed like the type to stay up late and debauch. Finn had said something about her menagerie? Her store? Perhaps the day was a local holiday, however, their crown prince being married under the eyes of their gods.