The Count of Beaujolais was truly in his element. The lavish summit in the heart of France could not have some soon enough for Leon as he was more than eager to introduce himself as a notable figure in the French court. Bitterness had been an unsupportive friend to the man for many years as he spitefully watched from afar. He had been restrained by the unpleasant grip by the Queen Mother for far too long and he had hoped that the month long celebrations in Paris would have her suitably preoccupied. Too preoccupied to keep an eye on her wandering grandson and he even more wandering hands.
Although Leon had promised himself to focus on the important matters at hand which concerned his reputation and making himself proudly known to potential allies. He was never raised to be diplomatic considering his illegitimacy but that did not mean he did not wish to make a name for himself. He was the eldest son of the late King Ferrant, after all, and he refused to be kept in a box labelled with bastard.
He was insistent that his chalice of wine remained depleted for the entire evening and was merely in his hand for decoration as he made his introductions around the grand hall. Leon was perhaps too eager to greet the continuous trail of newcomers to the French court and he found himself almost wishing he was merry along with the other courtiers so any missteps or fumbles could be mistaken for his over exuberance. He gave thanks to his latest companion yet his gaze drifted aside to catch the approach of another guest.
