She remembered the Count when she had first set foot in this place, turning to look at her, smiling at her. Most people likely would have taken it as a friendly expression, but something about it made her leery. She was cordial to him of course - called him your Grace or my Lord as was due - it was unwise to act antagonistic towards one's host, after all, especially when they wore the mantle of political clout. He had a flare to him that suggested he wanted her to be impressed by the grandness of the hall, the richness of the fabrics in the tapestries and the cushions of his sofas. His servants milled about, their eyes downcast for the most part, muttering out their ma'am's and their may I help you's with all the dutiful meekness of a lesser.
A new view, a new set of armor, and a new lord; yet still it always ended with the silence before the plunge. Having gone back on his word, Vincete had not expected himself to be still residing in Colovia, nor did he expect to be serving one of Noble blood yet again. But here he was, upon the battlement, early morning the blanket of ice still lingered over the landscape. Vincete had found the lands under Volund Decentius were rather calm, all things considered; he found himself with his thoughts more than he had expected. Introspection, mending, and just trying to come to terms with old demons, the nightmares that plagued him.
Ralius slumped heavily against the balcony railing, hand feebly attempting to grasp at the crossbow bolt buried in his side. Were his situation any different, he might have enjoyed how the moonlight reflected on the calm sea below him, but the sound of approaching footsteps took what little focus he could muster.