Tour the ballroom with Ravi.

You lead Ravi away from the scene of his crime.

The two of you enter the ballroom and mosey about, collecting wine and appetizers every so often as the two of you prowl the edges of the room, looking on at your guests. Ravi is quite the gossip. He leans in and whispers to you of secret affairs, bastard children, and embarrassing traveling-party faux pas. He points out cracks in your northern rivals: uncared-for trade routes, weak laws, bad tastes in fashion. He giggles with the wine buzz and squeezes your arm affectionately, holding you close with each whispered scandal.

“You’re quite informed,” you tell him, when you’ve made the rounds.

Ravi smiles, tipping his head with something akin to modesty. “I travel all over to fetes like this. Single son of a renowned queen? I get out a lot.”

“Fetes like this? And I thought I was special.”

“One of a kind,” he says, grinning. He clears his throat, himhawing a little, looking down at his empty glass. “Actually--”

A man standing at the precipice between courtyard and ballroom shouts behind Ravi, startling him. The man swears loudly and tosses the contents of the drink he’d been given into a servant’s face. It hadn’t been what he’d asked for.

“Now there’s a man I wouldn’t mind some dirt on,” Ravi scowls.

“Duke Ellington of Riverwalk,” you say grimly. “Not a particularly renowned Lord, but I’ve had my dealings with him.”

“He ever throw a drink at you?”

“Twice.”

Ravi snorts. Duke Ellington, finished with his verbal abuses, turns back to his withered-looking wife and gabs on loudly about the shoddy decor. “What do you say we lighten his mood?” Ravi says.

“Not sure I need a diplomatic incident on top of everything else…”

He waves his hands. “Nothing that will get you in trouble, of course.”

“Ravi--”

“Come on. Don’t you trust me?” You tongue your cheek, and he smiles. “Just talk to him. Be a good host.” He winks, and slips outside into the shadows.

You debate a moment whether to just go visit with someone else, but land with determination on the fact that if you don’t help with Ravi’s scheme, he might get caught. Or rope someone else in. Or perhaps target you next.

Hesitantly, you approach the duke. He feigns adoration for your castle’s decor, knowing full well you overheard him talking loudly about how classless it is. You get him going on the upcoming winter -- a hot topic for him, as his estate rests in the frigid canyon pass beside the river. He blames his subjects entirely, claiming that a more devout region would not be subject to such weather.

At a particularly ambling part of his rant, you see just the slightest movement in the curtain behind him, the slightest flash of nimble fingers.

The Duke stops, wipes his sleeve -- pats his back -- and turns around, but Ravi is already gone. “Hmph,” the Duke says. He looks up. “A leak in your castle, my Lord. That’s no surprise.”

Before you can say anything, Ravi appears, taking your arm in his. “Sorry to disturb you, illustrious Duke Ellington,” he says, bowing unnecessarily, “but I need the Lord’s attention at once.”

The Duke harumphs, but waves the two of you away. Ravi brings you deeper into the ballroom, where you still have a good view of the Duke. He’s returned to talking loudly at his wife.

“What did you do?” you whisper.

Ravi’s had a grin on his face since he rescued you. “Well, see, his wife looks terribly bored, and I thought he needed some help with the ladies.”

The Duke shrieks. A squirrel climbs up his back, trying to nest in his stringy hair.

“Ladies of some sort, anyway,” Ravi says passively, and two more squirrels appear, sending the Duke into a panicked frenzy. Nearby servants hide their faces, but their laughing is audible. Royals all around join in, pointing and cackling as the Duke escapes toward the fireplace, chased by half a dozen more squirrels -- and one bird.

Ravi sets a small vial on the table. “Pheromones and a little magic. People who live in rich castles are high and mighty. Nature is...a good reminder.” You smile at him, impressed, and he smiles back, beaming. “I think we make a good team, you and I.”

“Yeah,” you say. “I think we do.”