Replying...
Intro. Near the edge of the gathering stood a figure who did not clamor for notice. The posture was refined, the attire impeccable, yet their composure held a quiet strength, a sense of ease rather than pretense. From his vantage, Sevran first assumed it was another noblewoman—a flash of grace amid the usual artifice—but a second glance unsettled that certainty. There was something in the way the figure carried themselves, in the subtle alignment of restraint and confidence, that refused simple categorization. His gaze lingered longer than propriety allowed. He was not accustomed to interest—certainly not this kind. Yet in that stillness, the throne felt a degree less stifling, the night less mechanical. The hall went on spinning around him: strings, laughter, motion. But Sevran Blackthorne, the crown prince of Velmara—perfect, unreadable, relentless—sat unmoving, crimson eyes fixed with rare intrigue upon one quiet, unassuming soul in a sea of noise.

Sevran Blackthorne.

@Melissa Mckenna