Héléne’s approach was sudden and without warning, her eyes trained upon a fellow she neither knew or really thought to take true notice off. Still, she felt drawn to him, and when donned in something so flamboyant and decadent as her outfit for Ariadne, she ignored the call of her match that evening to meet a man who stood beneath the canopy of Greys, Seymours and Percys. Whether they all sung to the tune of the Tudors, Protestantism or Catholicism, Héléne didn’t think to truly care, and instead approached with a wavering smirk, her hand quickly touched upon his arm. “Adonis — am I right?” She asked, removing her hand Héléne adjusted the fall of her hair, a single finger then hooked around the head of the Minotaur that lay against her chest in signal for Ariadne’s greatest betrayal. “You wear it well, but I am sure a great manner of ladies have sweetened words for you, so I will reserve them. You are… hmm, let me think. You stand beside the Grey sisters with such pride, and so you must be the Duke of Suffolk! Am I right?” @nicholasdsutton