Dusseteu

GARION - DARK NATION KING

Upon entering the grand ballroom, Garion seemingly bristled. Familiarity of the situation assailed him with unwanted thoughts, and he absently clutched her small hand. Tiny compared to his own, he felt small standing amidst royalty—he'd never felt like he filled his own shoes, he never felt like his position was something he wanted to take hold of. And now he was thrown head first back in the place where everything had began, where he'd nearly drug his wife kicking and screaming into the depths that was his home. It didn't put a smile on his lips, but a wary expression bordering on a scowl. How could he be happy in a situation like this? The constant reminders of his future being taken away weighed heavily on his shoulders, and every time he glimpsed his beautiful daughters, a knot tightened in his chest. Soon, they'd be taken away from him—forced into an arrangement they abhorred. He hadn't taught them enough, he hadn't spent enough time with them. When would he see them again?

A soft sigh escaped his lips as he stepped out of the carriage, he held his arm out for Aedre to take hold and helped her down, before offering it to her. Certainly, Aedre could feel the similar feelings of bitterness swelling in her gut. Certainly. Forcing a small smile to tug at the sides of his lips, he turned towards his wife and stepped out towards the gathering. Things had changed. Some things hadn't. The same old blithering men would attend the gatherings, each staring at one another and smiling crooked-toothed grins at each other—as if finding amusement in the youths' lives being so swiftly taken away, because they knew. They knew it would happen every twenty years, at the same place, with the same regulations. Nothing changed. And everything changed. “It feels the same, doesn't it?” He stated, leading her into the grandiose building, he glanced this way and that before settling his eyes on Stella and Layla, whom danced on the floor with abandon. He smiled. It was genuine.

ZENITH - DARK NATION PRINCE

Without any words, Zenith stepped away from the carriage and disappeared into the building as aloof and confident as Gethen did—and as quietly as Vincent had. Truthfully, he didn't want to speak any further with his parents, and he didn't want to meet his wedded wife immediately after arriving. There was nothing he wanted to do more than escape into the night, disappear without responsibilities or expectancy. However, his smouldering eyes were mesmerized by the surfaces beauty. There was no doubt that he loved the Dark Nation, but certain curiosity swelled in his chest and he couldn't help but look around with wide eyes, as amazed as a child. Slowly inhaling a breath of fresh air through his nostrils, he exhaled and felt no heavy burden on his chest. The feeling was strange though, the air was clear, he felt refreshed with each breath—as if breathing wasn't a chore, as if his strong lungs needn't work so hard.

Soon enough, Zenith had wandered into the ballroom and he too found his eyes scanning across daintily clad women, suavely dressed young men, and royalty mingling with each other. The entire scene seemed surreal and he found himself rocking back on his feet, wondering where he could wander off to without being bothered. He had to constantly remind himself this wasn't a meeting he was being brought along to, this wasn't something he was attending as a boy, this was something that would forever change his life. His freedom. His future. Catching sight of Gethen, he allowed himself to breathe easy and strode gracefully around the dancing figures, eyeing only Hanza and his sister. Appearing by his sisters' slender shoulders, he gave her a wry smirk before arching his eyebrows. “I do believe, that I deserve one, too.” He offered, brushing past Hanza to stand at his side. It was strange seeing Gethen dressed in something so... feminine, as it might have been strange to see Zenith in such attire—a well sewn suit, specifically chosen for him by Hanza himself.

Following alongside Gethen, Zenith allowed himself to look around his surroundings. Mentally, he tried to pick out who he was betrothed to, without much success.

-Amaury-

Amaury only cocked his head to the side, not sure what the King meant by that. Certainly he knew himself better than anyone else? But then again, perhaps it was hard for a monster to fully comprehend himself... From the way the King of the Earth country talked, the man was practically everything a person imagined lurking in the dark. But it wasn’t his place to worry about the dark sins that plagued the king; it was only his job to make sure he was somewhere else, no longer on this earth, paying for them.

He wasn’t like these other simpering fools in the court. They all had one important thing that he didn’t, fear. Amaury had no reason to be afraid. While others went around on tip toes, trying to figure out how to live, how to scrape favors from those better than them, he would never stoop that low again in his life. He would never beg for something he wanted and he wasn’t afraid of the consequences. It was that thought that kept him going, made him able to live with what others perceived as almost an empty-headed carelessness.

He pretended that he didn’t even understand the prince-ling when he spoke, his smile just calmly as before as if nothing were amiss.

“I imagine it would be dangerous to merely float away, one wouldn’t know if he would ever come down or not, don’t you think your majesty?” The assassin asked innocently. That little wolf cub was of no concern to him.

‘Run along little boy, go play somewhere else. Your daddy and I are certainly too busy for the likes of you.’ But he dare not say anything too obscene. He knew all of these people around them were not only royalty but men high in the king's graces. Amaury wasn't a fool, if he dared show for one moment that he had a lick of sense they would fixate their attentions on him instead of brushing him off as a empty headed boy with stars in his eyes from being surrounded by such people for the first time in his life.

Layla ceased her fussing when Stella pulled her to her side, keeping her wrist firmly in her grasp. She quickly shot her eyes to the floor though as one of the men apologized, very polite in tone, seemingly sincere but no matter the tone it didn’t help her embarrassment. She not only ran her princess into strangers but into men at that and from the way he spoke they were probably of royalty or some high status! While she was mentally beating herself over the incident the words of the other man caused her to look up towards him. He could only be speaking to her, she didn’t know what her eyes looked like but she’d always been told they made people uncomfortable due to their odd color but of course Stella, being the kind soul she was, would tell her they were wrong and they were a beautiful, unique color. That didn’t matter though, the officer, oh lord they were of higher position, her eyes were odd to him. “I’m blind sir. I apologize if my eyes make you uncomfortable but it’s a fact that can’t be helped. If you’d like I could stare at the floor while you’re here.” Her suggestion was partially serious but at the same time there was a hint of sarcasm. Her feelings had been hurt so she couldn’t help herself. It would seem Stella’s teachings on stick up for yourself, no one can push you around just because you’re a servant, were sinking in.

Stella smiled at the man asking if they were well. “Yes, no harm done. Falling on hard surfaces isn’t exactly something we’re not use to.” Laughing a bit at the thought of having nothing BUT hard surfaces to fall on their whole lives, she was glad they ran into someone polite and not snippy. That would have completely ruined the ‘dizzying fun’ they were having. Though Layla didn’t seem to share the same lightness to the situation; aiming her eyes to the floor, no doubt embarrassed, Stella wondered if she was going to have to twirl the girl then and there to get her to stop worrying.

Still debating on whether twirling would just further embarrass her friend, her thoughts were cut short by the other man’s words about Layla’s eyes. Shooting a glare at the man, she bit back the words wanting to spill out and glanced at Layla instead to see her reaction. At first, hearing the girl’s apology wasn’t helping the words stay put; but as soon as she caught the hint of sarcasm she could have hugged the girl! “You would never think she was blind by how she carries herself, but she is exceptional at dealing with the hand she’s been dealt.” Smiling brightly, she would have to settle for a compliment instead of tackling the girl happily.

With the introduction of the two men’s names, Stella was surprised to hear they were Water Nation; but thank goodness the pair was officers instead of royalty. She didn’t think her luck was quite that bad, and she didn’t want to run off if they made any connections on who they were…. So that just left her and Layla’s identities to reveal… Darn it, she didn’t know if they knew the Dark Nation royalties names! Then yet a princess with a blind friend wouldn’t be that difficult to narrow down… “It’s a pleasure to meet both of you, I’m Bella and this is Ava. We are both from the Dark Nation.” Smiling at both of them, she hoped that a couple of false names would buy them a bit of leeway on who they really were. Even if they weren’t all that original…but they were close enough! A maid and a princess speaking with two officers wasn’t nearly as comfortable a situation as two ladies speaking with two officers.

Garion - Dark Nation King

After allowing a few more moments of weakness, Garion's expression dropped and he turned away from his daughter and her servant. He couldn't bare to look at them, he felt he was the cause of all of this even though tradition clearly called for this gathering. Silently brooding in his self-blame, a frown tugged at the corners of his lips and he sighed softly, eyeing the other inhabitants of the gathering. He couldn't help but feel as if the beautiful cellos, violins and soft rhythms held something far more sinister. Something forbidding. He felt as if he'd spun in circles and he was lost, in spite of being the grizzly, strong Dark Nation King—he felt weak. Unintentionally clutching Aedre's hand tighter, he only noticed when he felt her wince, and he let his grip loosen completely. His dark eyes searched hers, seeking some kind of comfort in what they were doing, because he still didn't agree with anything.

“Do you still feel regrets?” The King murmured softly, barely audible. Perhaps he'd meant for no one to hear his lamenting? He didn't know. He looked around the room, his eyes landing on each daintily dressed woman, on each suited man, each of them sweating beneath their collars. How would any of those Princes fair with his hotheaded daughters? It almost brought a wry grin to his lips. Almost. It wasn't enough, though. He felt Aedre's grip tighten against his strong arms, and he looked down at her. He couldn't reflect her weak smile but in that moment, he knew. Aedre, in spite of being the heady and strict woman she portrayed herself to be, was just as torn as he was over this situation. She didn't want to see her children ripped from her arms. She had to feel that way, shouldn't she? His wife's voice broke through his troubled thoughts, and his eyebrows furrowed. “My sister?” Garion enquired, glancing around with a softened gaze. Emma. The Queen of the Water Nation. Sometimes, he could still feel the old pangs of loss—he was losing everything to other Nations. His family. His sister. His daughters. “I haven't seen her yet.”

Zenith – Dark Nation Prince

The sound of the cellos and violins whisked across the ballroom, providing adequate rhythms for a nice slow waltz. Truthfully, being underground wretches who weren't as jovial as those on the surface, they didn't hold many balls that called for dancing. All he learned was from Hanza and Gethen, forcefully teaching him because every good man must know how to dance. Reluctantly, Zenith learned how to waltz and swing—and he'd never admit it, but he enjoyed the lessons. Gethen's ability to mesmerize everyone with her dances was far beyond his capabilities, and he wondered whether or not she would show off amidst the other poor dancers swaddling on the dance floor. He hoped she did. He reflected her boisterous grin with his own telltale smirk. How much time would they have together? The reminder felt like a heavy weight pushing down on his chest and shoulders, he had to constantly remind himself to enjoy what time they had left. “As always, you're always right,” the Prince replied, shrugging his shoulder. “And you, too, you'll have to fend off your toad with a stick wearing that outfit.” As always, Gethen was dressed impeccably. Even when she wasn't, she was stunning. It was no to no surprise how she'd turned so many heads upon entering the hall.

He smiled at Hanza, offering his gratitude in silence. Zenith had always been charming and handsome in his own way—dark and coolly collected, he was pale but in a way that was nearly endearing. It may have been his startlingly dark eyes that captured your attention. How he could compete with the other Princes, he wasn't sure. His sarcasm and dry wit could only go so far. Hanza, too, wasn't bad to look at—he'd noticed women giggling into their white-gloves, and staring after him with wayward glances and shy smiles. “Thank you. Both of you,” He thanked, mocking a short bow before straightening. He clapped Hanza jovially on the back and leaned his elbows on the counter, surveying the area with a nonchalant expression. It was hard to feign indifference when his heart was thumping so loudly against his chest. “Perhaps they won't think I'm a Prince, and mistaken me as an escort. I don't really look like myself, after all.”

Watching as Gethen circled around the bar to give Vincent a amiable slap on the back, Zenith raised his own glass in greeting to his brother. There was something to be relieved about—at least he would get to see his brother everyday, and perhaps drink with him when things got particularly awry. He took a hearty swig of the strong liquor, he winced slightly and took another. The warm sensation in his throat and belly brought him back to reality, as well as calmed his shaking nerves. “Eventually, there's nothing we can do.” He repeated softly, eyeing Vincent through dark eyes. “Thrust into their arms.” He couldn't help but chuckle, and he tilted his head slightly towards his dark-haired brother. Vincent had always been the one in the family who seemed to be far too preoccupied with wooing women, and he was particularly good at it. It was surprising to see him skulking by the bar, when he could be whisking attractive women off their feet. “Why aren't you dancing, Vince?”

Something vibrant caught his attention, whisking in his peripheral vision. Soft pink? He couldn't help but stare after the slender girl sweeping across the floor with fluid, precise movements—grace, that was it. Zenith sipped on his drink, and took another deep breath. Breath-taking was what she might have been. He couldn't differentiate people into Nations, as much as he would to have liked to. Logically, it would have been impossible. There were small traits and features each Nation had, but being cooped beneath the ground for so long, all he heard was from hearsay. Searching the slender dip of her shoulders for some kind of sign, he found none and tore his eyes away before he was caught staring.

CIARA - WIND NATION

Zooey walked around the outer corner of the dance floor, her movements fluid and almost angelic as her blush pink chiffon dress flowed around her like a cloud. She smiled at her sister as she approached the couch, brushing a long dark wave of hair from her face, “Are you alright, Ci?” She questioned, gathering the soft fabric of her dress in her hand in order to sit down.

"Just peachy Zo, how about you? Enjoying this lovely gathering?" Ciara slurred sarcastically as she put down her empty glasses. Her head was beginning to feel like it was flying. If she couldn't, at least she found a way for some part of her body to be free. She suddenly felt bad for being short with her sister, it wasn't Zooey's fault. "Obviously I'm not okay, don't pretend like you are either. I just do a shittier job of hiding it."

Ciara sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. If her new home was hell, this was definately limbo.

"I find it outrageously ridiculous for us to suffer for past stupidity. But nothing we can do right. Since this is like our engagement party or wedding or whatever the hell it is I say we toast!"

The brunette jumped up and grabbed two glasses of champagne and handed one to her sister. "Here's to a lifetime of happiness!"

Siris sat not far off from the festivities, one leg crossed over the other, and softly hummed along to the music. The sun was already beginning to set and it cast gentle orange hues over the area, basking Siris with it's dwindling warmth. At the end of her foot hung her shoe, which - as she bobbed her toes - threatened to fall off and drop to the floor. She didn't mind, but if her mom caught her being so informal she would probably have a cow in the middle of the dance floor.

So many people had showed to this, and yet she hardly had a decent conversation since arriving. Unlike her family, Siris had always been shy around others of her species. She was content with being a wallflower. Rhys stood close to her, giving her the courage not to faint as the night progressed. In this situation her heart was the enemy. At first it had slammed against her ribs, as if trying to break free. Now, thankfully, it had calmed to a mild -yet rapid- flutter.

Somewhere in this mass of people was her husband. Maybe she should look for him, ask around and wait to be pointed in the right direction. But that would probably come across as too needy. Beyond that, women were to be wooed, not the other way around. Smiling kindly as a person passed, she resumed her subtle foot bobbing and waited for something to happen.

OOC: It’s Seraphina that Vincent goes to see. Hayden is walking around if anyone wants someone to talk to! And Eve is just outside the doors to the garden by herself.

IC: Vincent placed his empty glass down, grabbing the next one from the bar tender who seemed to have come to terms with the fact that the Dark Nation Prince may just drink all the liquor at the bar tonight.

“Why aren't you dancing, Vince?”

Vincent took a long sip of the dark liquid, relishing the burn as it slipped down his throat, and turned to look at his brother, “I’m about to. I just needed to have a few drinks before I could continue with this.” He said, gesturing broadly to the royals and music around them. His expression was dark and unimpressed and he shrugged, looking around to see who he would approach. His dark eyes wandered towards the princess in the black dress, but she was now occupied with a delicate woman in pink who seemed too doll like and pure for his lustful tastes.

His dark eyes kept wandering the dance floor, searching for someone to entertain him for the time being. Eventually they fell upon a platinum blonde woman, standing and observing the band. Her dress fell perfectly around her hour glass frame and the head piece she wore displayed her for all the world to see that she was royalty.

“Excuse me.” He said to his siblings and downed the rest of his drink before walking out onto the dance floor and towards the woman with more grace and power than would have been expected.

“Good evening.” Vincent said, his deep voice cool and calculated, as he stood next to the stunning woman.

----------------------------------

"Just peachy Zo, how about you? Enjoying this lovely gathering?" Ciara slurred sarcastically as she put down her empty glasses.

Zooey’s soft expression didn’t change as her sister took a verbal shot at her, but she did lean forward slightly to place an encouraging hand on her leg. She knew that Ciara would be having a terribly difficult time with the entire thing, but truth be told Zooey was still quite hopeful. There was a chance, however small it was, that her betrothed could be the one she had been waiting for her entire life. He really could be her true love…. Maybe…

"Obviously I'm not okay, don't pretend like you are either. I just do a shittier job of hiding it."

Zooey smiled at her sister, a soft and sad smile, and shook her head, “Ci, it’s going to be alright. Don’t dismiss this man before you have even met him. Besides, we’ll still be together and that will help immensely.” She explained rationally, vaguely aware that people were staring at the pair of sisters. They truly looked hardly anything alike, except for their intensely bright blue sapphire eyes and dark hair. Aside from that everything about them was opposite, especially how they carried themselves.

"I find it outrageously ridiculous for us to suffer for past stupidity. But nothing we can do right. Since this is like our engagement party or wedding or whatever the hell it is I say we toast!"

Zooey drew back her hand and laughed, “It is an engagement party, isn’t it?” She said incredulously, having not thought of it that way before.

The brunette jumped up and grabbed two glasses of champagne and handed one to her sister. "Here's to a lifetime of happiness!"

Zooey stood smoothly from the couch, her long gown flowing around her body, and accepted the flute of champagne. She clinked it with her sisters and added, “And to love! Even if it’s just between sisters.” Smiling warmly at Ciara, she tipped the glass back and took a sip of the sweet bubbling drink.

AEDRE

Aedre tried for a gentle smile rubbing his arm with her free hand whilst resting a chin upon a broad shoulder. "Why don't why go find her hm?- Give her a polite cautioning upon what'll be heading her way-our charming daughters do not come with a warning note do you not think it would be merciful of us to give your sister a little heads up" she murmured silkily her red hair tumbling back the end brushing feather light against the bottom of her back.

Aedre didn't think it fair to leave Garion's sister up to controlling the girls, after all being of the dark nation once before she'd most probably feel responsible for anything wrong they did...and there was plenty wrong they were capable of on a daily basis. Slipping off Garion's shoulder like silk she pulled him lightly off in on direction giving the eyes she noticed upon them her tiger smile before continuing her search for Emma.

After what felt like minutes of her eyes weaving through the crowd as people moved abruptly when they laid eyes upon the Dark nation king approaching- built like a bear with a feline on his arm, she spotted Emma with an unfamiliar man on her arm floating through the crowd her eyes moving in a manor that suggested perhaps she was looking for them too- or more looking for Garion. Aedre would never be certain whether Emma liked her- it wasnt as if they'd had any time to know eachother- she supposed it would be a shock to see one another again- a more refined dark nation princess and a crude wind nation princess. How a Nation could change you...


GETHEN

Gethen laughed at her brothers but couldn't help her lips turning down and her laughter turning a little meek when she noticed Zenith staring out at the crowd. From the few seconds of captivation stamped across his face Gethen presumed it was a girl to his liking and found herself sinking into the bar chucking the drink back abruptly. "Ahh" she hissed under her breath placing the glass down with a clink as Zen turned back towards the bar and Vincent spied his unfortunate prey lingering aimlessly about on the dance floor. Something busty she assumed internally stirring a finger in the second drink the bar tender placed infront of her before popping it in her mouth to suck off the alcohol reluctant to waste a drop.

The bar tender swooned and Gethen grinned as Hanza took her wrist and pulled her finger away from her mouth giving his head a small shake in disapproval. Gethen had her second drink with less dwardling feeling the unpleasant burn and savouring it as a reminder of how she wanted to feel to her prince when he was made to swallow her words.

Gethen turned to Zenith a devilish smile pasted across her lips. "Zenny" she purred "I think i will go play- just this once" she held up the finger she'd teased the bar tender with and trailed it down Zenith's jaw before giving her brother a wink. "Just warming up" she whispered before scanning the crowd for a man and spotting him over her brother's shoulder, her grey eyes turned back to her brother. "Go fondle that girl you were looking at a moment ago for goodness sake before holy matrimony prevents you from even smelling her" she advised before breaking away from the bar a visible heir of inducement in every step she took.

Hanza smiled graciously at the prince his heart still fluttering from where Zenith had slapped his chummily upon the back. "Excuse me-" he pardoned with slightly sardonic look only to be taken towards the fact he was having to chose Gethen over his prince as always and that by Vincents and Zenith's genius taunts towards Gethen about going off to play with unsuspecting men with a few drinks inside her she was embarking off to do just that!! His beloved little Gethen, his diamond, amongst all these- feeble hearted men with lustrous desires too big to handle.
He hurried after the princess a finger raised in question. "Gethen- Ge- Gethen" he called after her. "Shalnt we dance?"
Gethen paused detaching her eyes from her target to glance back at Hanza.
"Oh- well" she slauntered up to him taking his hand and thrusting herself into his chest as her other hand gripped his back. "If you think you can handle it"
Hanza grinned at her a fire in his eyes as his hand found her hip like it belonged there. "Dont forget who taught you to dance" he murmured back his usual tone traded in for one of low seduction. Hanza was something else entirely when it came to dancing- it was possible to see the thick chemistry between him and Gethen that had been carefully constructed over the years they had practiced together. They broke off into a whirl embarking upon the first dance.
Hanza knew how to distract Gethen.

TERRA

Terra nodded at Kalmut at his comment a small smile sneaking upon her lips as she eyed the boy talking to her husband. There was something uncannily bright about him and it unnerved her. Or perhaps it was this occasion alone that left her feeling strange.

Garion - Dark Nation King

The small comfort did nothing to calm the riling sickness slumping in the depths of his stomach. Garion couldn't help but peer over heads just to glimpse his daughters, and to his chagrin, Stella was talking to two well-dressed young men. Even if one of them was her chosen fiancee, it still unsettled him. In his mind, he would forever be their dotting, protective father hefting an axe in his calloused hands. He hoped that they knew that. “I guess I should,” He responded softly. A small, weak smile tugged at the corners of his ever-frowning lips. The entire ballroom environment put him off edge. The only thing that kept him from walking away from the halls was Aedre's soft hand feathering over his arm, and her chin resting on his shoulder. Like a statue, she was his sanction. “In spite of all that, I think they'll get along,” He added, chuckling throatily. “She was a Dark Nation barbarian, once.”

A small wink proceeded that he was joking. Garion had ears and eyes everywhere, he understood what stereotypes had festered in the undergrounds. Barbarians. It was a common place name that they'd been given, even though it was far from the truth. Just because they suffered famine and unmentionables, they were a proud Nation who excelled in battle. Without any battles or wars to be fought, he thought they were just like chained hounds—waiting and nipping at their leashes. Someday, he wouldn't mind letting the hounds go, just to break such ridiculous traditions. If his daughters so wished it, he would do it. All he had to do was wait until they received more power, more of an inkling of what they wanted. When they acquired voices that had to be heard, he would do something. Counselling his sons, Vincent and Zenith, would not be difficult.

He felt Aedre slip off his shoulder, which brought him back from his troublesome thoughts. Garion followed her through the crowd of dancers, drinkers and guests. He murmured soft, rumbling greetings before dispersing away from them and after his wife. People seemed to whisk away from them, parting like the sea with only vaguely, inaudible whispers. It had always been like this. The Dark Nation king was feared, he resembled a grizzled bear who bared his battle scars for all to see, and with a quick-viper woman with the eyes of a predator perched on his broad shoulders. It was no wonder. Following Aedre's gaze, he spotted his sister and a familial smile broadened across his features. Even if his sister had so willingly accepted her role, he knew how strong she was and missed her. Nearly barrelling his way past guests, bringing his wife along with him, he threw his arms wide and pulled Emma into a rather tight hug, lifting her unceremoniously off her feet. “Ah, my sister! How have been fairing?”

Zenith - Dark Nation Prince

Zenith's lips curled slightly as he eyed the various guests twirling into their dances. Nothing to sneeze at compared to Gethen and Hanza, he knew that much. Slowly swallowing the remainder of the liquid at the bottom of his glass, he tipped his head and made a satisfied sound before discarding the glass on the counter. It wasn't surprising to see all of the Dark Nation's offspring huddled against the bar. They were all considerably close to each other and all of them—perhaps not Stella—admonished a taste for the finer liquors. Hearing Gethen finish her drink, he arched an inquisitive eyebrow and turned in her direction. From the corners of his dark, smouldering eyes, he caught sight of the stupidly grinning bartender who seemed to be eyeing his sister. With abandon, and no tact. He hissed something under his breath before leaning his elbows on the counter. Another voice intruded on his thoughts and he swung his head back in Gethen's direction, trying to ignore the small whisper coming from the other side of the counter. “Do not—...” His voice trailed off when Gethen's finger trailed down his jawline, stopping just below his chin. “Remember, fluttering water fairies and toads.”

A slight flush appeared on his pale features when Gethen mentioned dogging down the flighty girl he'd been looking at. He brushed it away and sighed softly, shaking his head. What was the point? He felt like this was some kind of juvenile dance he was being force to attend. However, his sister was right. If he didn't do as he wished now, his freedom would be cut considerably. Not that he was known for traipsing about with naked women hanging from his arms, like his brother, he had more respect than that. That respect was most often misplaced for homosexuality—though, he ignored those comments. It wasn't that he wasn't popular, because he was. His interests lied in different things, more intellectual things. No woman had swayed his attention away from his work, yet. Would it ever happen? Who knew.

Catching Hanza's elbow, Zenith leaned close to his ear and whispered something about keeping Gethen safe and in check, before he broke away from him. In spite of believing that a little fun was necessary in such a situation as this, he didn't want Gethen to bite off more than she could chew and end up in a very hairy situation. He knew that he could count of the flamboyant advisor to protect and distract her. He admired his ways of persuasion. His dark eyes followed the pair until Hanza took Gethen into his arms and they swung into their usual, mesmerizing dance. Amidst the crowd, they could dazzle anyone. Finally, Zenith gathered himself up and smoothed the front of his shirt. Apparently, from what he could tell, the pink-clad girl was toasting to someone else—sisters, perhaps? Invading on their toast seemed rather rude. He would wait.

Throwing decorum to the wind, Emma embraced her brother openly. With her eyes squeezed shut and her fingers brushing the edges of his shortly cropped hair, she could almost pretend that none of this had ever happened and that she was still at home in the Dark Nation, hugging her brother after a long day at the Court. But she knew it couldn't be so while she could still hear the music and laughing of the ball around her, and even feel the lights illuminating the night as they shined down on her closed eyes, far brighter than anything they would have underground. Taking one last moment to breathe in the smell of familar cologne that masked the damp, earthy scent of her homeland (something that had always lingered on her brother), she released him, her eyes wet with what could easily be mistaken for tears. She smiled widely and blinked them away, not forgetting her location.

"Oh, Garion," she began, struggling for words as she clasped his hands in hers, "Why, it's been so long..."

From the corner of her eye Emma saw the signature red hair of his queen and nodded to her with a small smile. "Aedre," she said acknowledgingly. Though her memories were now aged nearly two decades, Emma was surprised by how differently the sovereign carried herself now than the last time she had seen her. Her mask of practiced civilities softened for a moment when she'd realized how much the harsh Dark nation had changed her Wind sister.

Emma resisted the urge to embrace her brother again. Much as it pained her, she realized this was hardly the place for a tearful reunion. Catching Kvan's eye as he tried to look anywhere but at the group, she realized how uncomfortable this must be for him.

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry!" she exclaimed, pulling herself together with a curt little laugh. "Where are my manners? Garion, this is the family's escort, Mr. Skyheart. Mr. Skyheart, this is Garion and Aedre, rulers of the Dark nation." Not bothering to even think about how his class might effect the nature of such an introduction, she continued on, prattle acting to cover her disappointment that they could not meet more privately. "Unfortunately, my husband suddenly caught ill this morning and is unable to attend, much to our family's devestation." She frowned, her commentary leading beyond just idle talk. "He wanted to see the girls off very much, not even to mention his sisters. It is truly a misfortune that such a disastrous thing would occur on so important a night."

SERAPHINA

It was without doubt that the man before her had experience with women. He radiated a certain air around him yet, it also made her a tad bit curious. She wondered if this curiosity of hers was of the dangerous kind or was simply harmless. In her own opinion, she wanted it to be the latter part. Watching the man move with much grace and if she would dare say it sexiness, Seraphina find him quite an interesting man indeed. Although, it would be a shame if she would have another eye for a man that is not to be her husband. Still, they were two individuals socializing with each other. Surely, nothing is wrong at all.

"Let me join you then and see how satisfied I would be, Sir."

Smiling with amiability, she took the extended hand with her own. The fire princess did notice the tint of coldness in his voice. However, she was not frightened by it. Moreover, it had a certain charm to it. Seraphina decided to enjoy her time in this banquet as best as she could. After all, this would be the last time she would be known as the Fire Princess. Adding to that, it might be the last time she get to attend such a festivity.

Garion

Still holding Emma in his strong arms, Garion spun her in a slow circle and allowed himself to laugh boisterously, finally setting her back onto her feet. All of his troubles took pause at their timely reunion and the wrinkles on his forehead eased—they'd both grown so much since they'd last seen each other, time had lapped its way across them like strong tides licking the Earth. Everything was so different, yet his feelings for his headstrong sister remained the same. He had to remind himself that things had changed and once the ball was finished they wouldn't see each other again until the actually marriage ceremonies. They wouldn't ride the tunnel back to the Dark Nation. They would part ways, bid their farewells and wink their secrets from across the room. Time had a cruel way of snatching everything you held dear. Even if Emma appeared different, he could still spot the telltale twinkle in her eyes. A light that could never be extinguished, the Dark Nation fire that burned for all of life. He took another breath before drawing away from his dear sister, the wry expression never leaving his eyes or lips.

The ball was soon forgotten when he stood in Emma's presence, Garion wasn't the type of person to enjoy gaudy occasions such as this. He was far more prone to practising sword play, saddling his infamous horse and romping with the marketplace lads. The bright lights that illuminated the wide dancing hall only made him squint his dark eyes, he rubbed ruefully at his eyes before placing one great paw on Emma's shoulder. “Sight for sore eyes,” He murmured softly, catching her small hand in his. “It's been too long...” He added sorely, and squeezed her hand gently. The Dark Nation king had always been close to his sister, he missed the days they spent underground and letters were never enough.

He threw his wife a genuine smile, it reached his eyes. Garion often wondered whether or not Aedre missed her siblings as much as he did, and if she'd even been close to them. Surely she missed the cool breezes of the surface? Perhaps just as much as Emma missed the earthy, musty smells of the underground. It wasn't something someone could replace. He kept his hand firmly on her shoulder, standing solidly as a statue and he looked down at her. It was only when he followed Emma's gaze to her escort that he arched his eyebrow, frowned lightly and nodded his head at the introduction. Mr. Skyheart? Garion couldn't help but appraise him with his smouldering gaze, locking with the man's brown eyes. When he was satisfied with what he saw, he offered a beaming grin. With gusto, he took the young man's hand and shook it. Any friend of Emma's was a friend to him.

“Ah, Dareus is ill?” Garion enquired gruffly, he brushed his fingers through the stubble of his dark hair. Emma knew how he felt about the larger, democratic man—which wasn't much, he always thought that he was too soft for her. He still understood that he wasn't a bad man. “Perhaps it would be wise to hold gatherings beyond sending off our daughters and sons to misery,” He added, guffawing loudly as he patted a hand on his chest. He eyed Kvan with interest, his mouth curling into another telltale smile. There was a certain fire he could see in the boys' eyes, something akin to the fighters he'd faced in battle. “No need to bow, lad!” The King expressed, then added, “A hired guard? Surely, you're formidable with a blade.” And for a ponderous moment, he wondered if it would be appropriate to introduce Kvan to his daughters. He would have chosen a common guard over royalty for his daughters, any day.

Zenith

With elbows leaning precariously on the counters edge, Zenith unabashedly stared across the dance floor at the beautiful woman accompanying who he presumed was her sister. From his vantage point, he could only pinpoint certain similarities when it came to the facial structures—perhaps they had the same nose? He couldn't tell whether or not she was royalty, and thought it unjust to judge primarily on accords of what they were wearing. How could he tell the difference? He was already resigned to his wedded fate, he decided it would be best to take his sisters advice and enjoy himself while he could. When Zooey swung around to meet his flinty gaze, goaded by her companions words, his smile tugged at the corners of his lips and he tilted his head slightly. Radiant. The Prince was always placing certain words for certain people or situations—radiant, this word fitted the pink-clad woman, who mouthed her greeting with secretive lips. Despite his royal status, he claimed the curiosity and disposition of a willy tomcat.

Trying to puzzle her thoughts, Zenith decidedly straightened his posture and placed his empty glass in front of the bartender. He mouthed something to him before striding across the floor with the grace only a true feline could possess, and halted a few paces in front of Zooey. Worries and tension dropped away like a velvet curtain, he guessed the warm liquor swilling in his stomach had some effect. And he offered another wry smile, it told many things but kept everything worth knowing hushed away. “Care for a dance?” He offered, holding out his hand. Whether or not she took it was completely up to her. In spite of the inevitable adieu at the end of the night, he wanted to know more.

Zenith - Dark Nation Prince

Zenith's hands were quicksilver in hers, all fantastic intrigue, pseudo-mystery and veiled danger, truly impossible to hold onto. His offered hand didn't shake, hardly wavered as he awaited her response. From the corners of his flinty eyes, he spotted her bemused sister grinning like a cat basking in sunlight and offered her a slight smile, as well. However, his ebony eyes locked back with Zooey's baby blues, and he counted the differing colours casting constellations, undecipherable but honest. The way he managed to carry himself hid any ill intentions, if any at all, he could have passed off as one of the bartenders' who'd taken a brief brake. Royalty was in his blood, but he was far more acquainted with commoners—it served as a mask, as well as monumental experience—and he believed that Zooey saw him as such. And even if she did, who was he to correct her?

His fingers curled lightly as he stood anchored in place, a small smile playing on his features. Whether or not she accepted an innocent dance was entirely up to her, he was planning on keeping his mind off troubling matters one way or the other. Zenith watched a small pinch of hesitation cross her visage, mostly in her eyes, and he was about to excuse himself for asking so boldly. Manners and etiquette were mostly lost on the young man, it had always been his downfall; more or less an embarrassment for his family. Royalty ought to act as royalty, they said. Only his mother seemed to comment on such things. No harm would come from such a simple gesture; a dance was a dance, nothing more. So, when she set her empty champagne glass down, his smile widened and his pearly whites peeked through.

Zenith bowed his head to Ciara, and chuckled lightly. “Thank you for letting me borrow her,” He whispered, his voice lilting with an unrecognisable accent. As soon as Zooey's delicate hand slipped into his own, he curled his fingers lightly and brought the top of her hand to his lips in a quick kiss, straightening his posture immediately after. Tonight, he decided, would prove to be interesting. His free hand rested on the right side of her hip as he led her out into the middle of the dance floor. From his peripherals, he noticed that his brother had the same ideas—though a few shades shoddier—, so he twirled her away from them. His steps were seemingly precise, practised. Two strangers colliding, it seemed.

Alayha - Water Nation Gypsy

Egoists and pigs had rallied up this selfish ball, that much she understood. How they could squander their coin and pleasantries to each other, ignoring the realities of the world with silly traditions. And Alayha understood wearied traditions all too well. Gypsies were prone to walk the same beaten paths they'd paved for decades—everything was familiar, everything was the same—and these men, high on their thrones, put their offspring through the same tortured rituals that they had to suffer, for what? She could never understand that. No sisters or brothers of hers suffered their traditions; it provoked laughter, not turmoil and grief. She shook her head. Sleek, snowy white hair framed her dabbled visage; to please her new masters (or entertainees, as she'd like to call them), she pulled her outlandish hair from spilling down her back into a styled bun that appeared more like the Wind Nation and less like the outskirts of the Waters. She was an outside party looking into a flowered window, daintily decorated to sell off their children. What she saw, she didn't particularly like or agree with.

As graceful as a firefly skirting the waters, Alayha gathered her Water Nation dress and nearly floated across the waxed floors. By all accords, gypsies hardly wore footwear unless they were forced. Strapped sandals would appease royalty, she balefully hoped. There was no love to be found in the confines of the building; only the shattering sound of children fighting against their captors—their parents, their societies, their prudish traditions. She had seen firsthand what love was like, had witnessed it countless times in her beautiful city. Listening to two people falling in love, a thin wall like paper wings between their one heart, fluttering and ebbing and pulling together. Much like butterflies. Did any of them know that? Alayha pursed her lips, surveying the dance floor as she dwindled on the sidelines. Something in her urged her to join them, share her own water swan dance. Her better senses dismissed such ideas; she was here for one thing only, accompanying the Wind Nation back to their homes so that she could serve them as an entertainer. That was all.

Kvan Skyheart:

The young man sighed. It had been so long since he'd attended such a formal occasion, and he was glad that he was able to wear his normal clothing underneath the ceremonial armor he'd been told to wear for the ceremonies. He stepped back from the royals, once more leaning against the cool marble of one of the pillars supporting the great ceiling high above. Scanning the crowd for threats, he noticed the gypsy girl wading through the crowds like a breeze through a field.

"Hmmm. Another commoner passing through crowds of royals like myself? Interesting," said he, marveling at how she moved so easily. She was a dancer, for certain, but would she show off her talents for the crowd, or would she simply walk around and enjoy the variety of foods?