Paris did not often find himself in Skia, but there were some goods that the Bashar could not produce themselves and only the city could provide. Some of them were indulgences, or at least that was what he was sure his father would call them. Paris, to see his new suit tailored, had made his way to the city. It was recommended to him that, if he were to find himself in town, he should take care to go out in society. Wives would not be found staying in one’s own for walls, his mother had cautioned.

So, Paris went. The party was intimate but sufficiently boisterous. Paris arrived a little late, but not unfashionably so. He was dressed in a jacket of blue velvet, with an understated but elegant pin on his lapel. Every little detail had been cared for. Paris made his way around the perimeter of the room, scanning the selection on his way to collect a glass of wine. He’d reach for a glass of red, before stopping quizzically as he watched a rather glamorous-looking woman…taking a sniff of her wine.

“Is it not to your liking, my lady?” Paris asked, neutral enough but with the tiniest peppering of sarcasm.

The sip was fine, the wine was fragrant in both scent and taste. She didn’t think it was awful, but she eyed another glass of a darker shade of red that she thought might suit her better when she heard the voice beside her. “Why settle for a mediocre glass of wine when I can find the best one for my taste buds?” She asked, not glancing his way until she opted to palm both glasses, why waste the first one right, and then turn to him.

Dark eyes lifted up and she held herself in a way that signaled she wasn’t really looking up at him, and return he wasn’t able to look down at her (though he did…). “Wouldn’t you agree?”

Paris’s expression was entirely neutral, save for one quirked eyebrow that indicated his skepticism. He knew of this kind of woman. One seductively dressed and brimming with unwarranted confidence. A harlot in fine trappings, he decided. Exactly the kind of woman that Rainecourt rule had allowed to emerge. Though disturbed by her, he tucked his hands behind his back in the perfect picture of politeness.

“On the contrary, my lady,” Paris offered smoothly, “I think it a sign of virtue to be content and made do with the glass one is given.”