Belos paused at a crossroads in the halls of the castle, pondering whether he should return to the festivities or perhaps retire to the cellar for the night.
As he stood attempting to make a decision, the brush of what seemed to be a familiar white cloak turning the corner caught his eye. Narrowing his eyes, he followed it into the hallway, wanting to confirm his suspicion.
Indeed, he’d recognize that silhouette anywhere. Immediately, anger at the Stars of Isola stewed in the emperor’s chest, knowing just how deeply they seemed to have gone to interfere with his plans. Yet to his surprise another emotion arose, one he couldn't quite place nor was particularly conscious of. It seemed to be an aching for familiarity, a more down-to-earth need to feel secure in an unstable world, perhaps even a touch of compassion. The mask provided by the fairies may have altered his appearance beneath his usual accessory, but to his chagrin did little to untangle the uneasy conflict of feelings that were harbored within his chest.
Either way, the emperor was not about to let the Golden Guard go unnoticed. His nephew should be happy to see him, after all.
"I hope I am not interrupting," Belos stated, his voice just loud enough to carry down the hall. "I'm saddened to see you caught in the same predicament as I, though I cannot say I am unhappy to see you."