Approach Vaughn to get his attention without interrupting his conversation.

You make your way across the ballroom toward its massive fireplace, dodging deftly through servants, subjects, and guests. A large, half-circle rug stretches out from the base of the flames, dark green and plush, and when you reach it, you slow. Those in the ballroom have given Vaughn and his conversation partner a wide berth, and from where you’re standing, you’re quite visible.

Vaughn’s eyes, dark and calculating, flick to you, then back to the man from Vestyr. He speaks low for a few moments longer, long enough you feel as though you’ve been dismissed perhaps, but then he raises his voice. “Ah, Lord Dragoon.” He gestures for you to approach, and the Vestyrian turns. “Have you met the renowned Lord of this castle, Ser Chancey?”

“I have not,” the man says, quiet and breathy. There’s something overeager about his gaze. {if male = true}He takes your hand to shake it but holds it overlong, turning your wrist in his palm evaluatively and squeezing hard enough you can’t pull away. He licks his lips. “Quite marvellous, the things I’ve heard about you,” he whispers. {elseif female = true} He takes your hand to kiss it but holds it overlong, turning your wrist in his palm evaluatively and squeezing hard enough you can’t pull away. He licks his lips. “Quite marvellous, the things I’ve heard about you,” he whispers.{endif}

“Chancey.” It’s Vaughn who speaks, but his voice has gone so low, so icy and predatory, that you have to look to make sure it’s him. His eyes are like cold fire, his lips half-bared to a wolf’s snarl.

Chancey drops your hand immediately. “Apologies,” he says.

“Not to me,” Vaughn snaps.

“Apologies,” Chancey says to you, quavering. “Forgive me, Lord.”

“Scarper,” Vaughn orders, before you can stutter out a reply, and the Vestyrian bows briskly to you and to Vaughn before departing like a frightened rat.

“Snivelling simpleton,” Vaughn says, staring after him. “I’m sorry to have let you near him.”

“He’s not the first or the worst creep I’ve encountered,” you say. “Who is he, anyway?”

“An ordained knight from the city-state of Vestyr. Second cousin of Lord Kullion, who rules it.” He shrugs after the man, disgusted, and turns fully toward you. He puts on a charming, small smile. “And importantly, of no more significance this evening.”

“Or ever, if we’re lucky.”

Vaughn’s smile tugs a little wider. He looks you over, from head to toe and back again, not hiding that he’s evaluating you. His dark eyes linger in places that make you swallow.

{if wary = true}”I’m assuming that you’ve considered what I’m offering more closely, Lord Dragoon?”{elseif eager = true}”Have you considered closely the papers I gave you earlier today, Lord Dragoon?”{endif}

“I have,” you say. “And considering still.”

His even smile widens once more, pleased. “Wise and sharp-witted. How lucky I am.” He holds out his arm for you to take, and you do. You take it, and let him hold you close against him.