It was exactly everything one would have expected for the coronation of a king, no expense had been spared and everything was glittering, from the silver candelabras, to the people themselves everything was done up to the nines. Eavan smoothed down the skirt of her deep russet gown. Meg had done an amazing job on the construction of it, and she felt quite like the animal she was hinting at with her attire. Having scandalously forgone the farthingale and multitude of underskirts normally worn, her dress hugged the curves of her body. The corset made the most of her small bosom actually creating a slight bit of cleavage, which was accentuated by fox fur taken. The golden embroidery around the hem and along the sleeves slashed to show a creamy under gown suggested leaves and the garnets on the bodice sparkled in the light of the candles. The russet and black mask she wore suggested a fox without being blatant, and her hip length wavy red hair was caught up in a long braid adorned with garnet pins


She sipped the wine from the goblet in her hand as she watched the dancers move across the floor. Some moved with grace, others stiffly as if they could not hear the beat of the music to which they moved. A consummate people watcher, Eavan enjoyed social gatherings far more then her sister ever had for all Maire’s curves had always drawn more attention. Her tongue flicked out to lick the wine from her lips. She had envied her sister for her tryst with Lord Kesteven, if she was going to be honest with herself. Everett had been a bore, and quite boorish when it came to the bedchamber, most of the time he had been far to gone with wine to be of much use to anyone. Once she had hoped that even if she could not love him, perhaps they would at least be able to enjoy each other in some way. However, her hopes had been quickly dashed, and she had turned to writing as an outlet for her passions. Passions, which had always run far to close to the surface in both of his girls for her father’s comfort.


The press of bodies and noise was a bit too much for her, and she stepped out onto the balcony for a breath. The cool night air caressed her like a lovers hand and she sighed softly. As glittering as the ball was, the night sky surpassed it, with the glittering of the stars above, she felt a sense of calm overtake her. She might not be as religious as her mother, and sister, in fact she was far less so, but with the majesty of the sky above her she could only marvel that God could not be outdone by the hands of mere men, King or no.

Malcom was, as usual, goblet in hand as he was wandering about. As the evening was beginning to wear on, however, he was feeling a bit stuffy and warm. With a drawn-out sigh he made towards one of the balconies. As he slipped outside, his expression of charm and roguishness had vanished. He seemed impassive, drowning in a see of his own thoughts as he ambled towards the railing, leaning upon it to gaze out at the horizon. As he stood there, his gaze seeming to search for something, perhaps answers to the thoughts that currently plagued his mind, he became aware that he was not alone.

He turned to glance at the redhead, and instantly a soft smile formed on his lips. It was not the dashing and self-assured grin he usually wore, but a softer smile that spoke of a triggered, fond memory. Indeed, her red hair reminded him of Maggie, the slave he'd given to Ambrose some time back. It really was a shame that he hadn't liked women who would accept anything you could possibly do to them, because I suspected they would have been wild in bed together. She was a sharply intelligent woman, but also had a very maternal side to her. This woman seemed to carry herself in a very similar fashion. It was almost as if Maggie had been given a noble title and a sense of self-worth once more...which would have made her perfect for Mal's neigh-insatiable lusts.

Now too with this woman, who seemed to have a definitively similar aura about herself, he felt himself drawn and not in the usual fashion. Well, okay, not in just the usual fashion. Usually there was just the desire to bed her and run, but with her...for whatever reason he wished to get to know this woman, as if perhaps she held some of the answers he hadn't found in the horizon of the night sky. He reached up and pried off his mask, exposing his face fully for the first time that evening.

"Good Evening, My Lady," he spoke, his tone more real and reserved then he could recall it being in quite some time, "Were you in need of a break from all that too then, I take it?" She really was quite a striking woman, and his appreciative smile did not fade as he gazed at her beautiful form. Her outfit made her appear beautifully curvaceous, and though he felt attraction to her appearance like so many other women, this one was a more honest and lustful desire rather then the haughty, planned flirtations he had engaged in inside at the ball.

Despite the formality abound amongst all those inside--including himself, when he'd been there--out on the balcony he felt much more casual. He didn't even introduce himself properly, but his relaxed posture and friendly smile seemed to indicate that it was not for lack of warmth so much as the situation breeding a sense of familiarity and informality, even if such was unwarranted.

The darkness caressed her like the hand of a lover, a feeling she had not felt for such a long time. The goblet she held shone in the moonlight, as she contemplated the dark liquid. She was enjoying the ball, that was not the problem, but with the flirting, and the dancing it all seemed to fall flat. What was wrong with her? Why could she not just enjoy the night without falling into a melancholy? What exactly was she searching for? It was more then just a mild flirtation, she knew that, but it was difficult for her to let go of propriety completely to get what she wanted. The fact was that the men who would gladly indulge her in a bit of fun tended to be people she would not waste her time on, and the ones who she would happily wile away hour after hour with, were looking for something she was not willing to be… a wife.


"Good Evening, My Lady, you were in need of a break from all that too then, I take it?"


Eavan turned to face the owner of the voice that had interrupted her reverie. Her eyes took him in, every inch of the man before her, from his head to toe, and the look in his eyes were cataloged in her mind. Dark hair and dark eyes the man seemed to ooze confidence even in such a quiet space. It would be rare for a man with a mien such as his to be cast as a hero, and yet she had the feeling he could play the role well, if he so chose. Her eyes cruised over him and her heart beat a bit faster as thoughts she usually managed to suppress seemed to jump to the fore of her mind. It was definitely official; she was just slightly out of control of herself. She pressed her eyes closed as she gathered herself together. She lifted her glass in toast to him and smiled.


“It can be far to difficult to catch your breath in there, the layer of lies, and falsehoods nearly overwhelm the scent of the candles, and the press of the bodies and the heat of the hall can be far too much to bear. I much prefer the honest caress of the nights breeze, and the scent of the heliotrope is by far preferable to the scent of deceit.” Her smile became slightly mischievous as she turned her attention back to the room beyond the doors that separated them from the hall. “Besides, it is much easier to observe the people from here, should you care to do so.”


She tipped her head to the side looking for the entire world like the inquisitive vixen she was dressed as. “What drove you out into the arms of the night, my lord? Or is it just that like me, you are a lover of nature in all its forms.”

In this situation, for a reason that Mal himself didn't understand, he was more reserved and thus exuded a quiet confidence. Normally, it was a loud confidence, but something about the circumstances made him maintain his more reserved self. Perhaps he had simply run out of the energy necessary to be an abrasive prick.

He'd noticed her having a hard time catching her breath. The interesting thing wasn't that she was having a hard time doing so as much as the fact that she had been breathing quite slowly and regularly before he'd made his presence known. The quickening had come only after she'd spied him. He was actually quite flattered by that very small detail, and flattery was something he was used to giving, not receiving. That only made him all the more off-kilter to his usual self.

"Indeed. The court is rife with it. I must admit that I am not immune; I myself put bells on my shoes and dance to a tune, though an admittedly much different one then most." He let out a soft, musing chuckle that was more self-derisive than anything else. "I've performed this dance so much of my days that sometimes I wonder if the dance is the reality of me or the time I'm not dancing. Which is the performance anymore, I wonder?" He realized how deep he was going at the moment, and laughed at himself softly again.

"But never mind my problems. Whilst I love nature it is true, I cannot lie. It is the nature of the female form I love most, and I'll admit yours is quite stunning." He knew it was direct and possibly overbearing, but he wasn't in the mood for politically correct banter, just refreshingly brash honesty without embellishments or calculated flattery. She was indeed quite the vixen, but Mal, for some reason, was quite a step away from his usual roguish tendencies despite her look. Normally he would have been all over her, and even he was surprised that he wasn't.

"And besides, I much prefer the current company to the farce playing itself out in there right now. All the people in there I have already observed, and for now they do not interest me. I'm far more interested in hearing more about yourself, My Lady...exceptions to the rule always intrigue me." He was being perfectly calm, reasonable, and conversational rather than trying to simply flatter his way into her skirts right off the bat. What was wrong with him?