for: @iskanderpryor location: valtolia ballroom.
the music is a wind chime within the marbled, gold gilded halls of the valtolian castle. bright, airy, the notes singing through the air as five kingdoms of nobility mingle together. the prince of sollia finds it interesting. even as he dances, his eyes observe—a well trained thing to do, taught to him by his father; always stay observant of surroundings, watch the people, you'll learn more with body language than words.
he can see how stiff some of the others are, even as they laugh and smile in the faces of other kingdoms. three years of peace does not overwrite fifty years of war and bloodshed. three years of celebration does not mean that everyone will open their arms so willingly to those that sundered their home lands. some look poised to pounce, like one wrong word will start the war all over again. it's masked behind pleasantries and effective ego stroking, but the body does not lie when the man thinks they can get away with the curl of fingers into a fist, the tightening of a jaw as they look away.
and crowned prince lucealyx sollia sees it, even now as he moves from the middle of the dance floor. his curls are pinned beneath a gold and white crown that looks like the spines of dragon wings unfurling around his head. across his neck, down his chest, over his arms are white and gold dragonscales, patched together to make a statement peace, the sheer fabric beneath covers his skin, but leaves just enough to be noticed. his trousers fit him snuggly, following the curve and swell of his rear, down the strong planes of muscled thighs and calves. elegant, strong, a statement. let them whisper.
let the rage, too, as he makes his way toward another prince. he stands beside the prince of bergia, handing him a crystal and gold flute of some valtolian wine, he's sure. he tips his head in a slight bow, grin on his lips. "your highness." lucealyx says, voice like a dragon's rumble before it expunges its fiery breathe, molten rock and silk. "after a slight reprieve from the dancing, would you care to join me back on the dance floor?" he offers the goblet of wine to him, the glass hanging from his fingers delicately, easily. "i won't take offense if you say no, but i may sulk off to a corner and cry my woes away." he jests, a wink of his eye, his smile widening. he leans forward, whispering into iskander's ear. "let's give them something to gossip about, yes? it's not often bergia and sollia are able to...mingle."