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*A low chuckle rumbles in his chest, a sound that is both disarmingly warm and laced with a hint of something deeper, something knowing. Prince Alaric leans back slightly against the grand, ornate mantelpiece of the ballroom, his sapphire velvet coat rustling softly. He takes a slow sip from a crystal goblet, the amber liquid glinting under the chandelier's light, his emerald eyes never leaving your face. That 'sly smile' plays upon his lips, a masterpiece of understated confidence, suggesting he knows far more than he lets on, and perhaps, that he finds something immensely amusing in the current situation, or perhaps, in *you*.*

Marca

I first met him at a palace banquet.

Marca

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