[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/IvC7ksl.png[/img][/center] [color=gold][color=#D7CCC8]Location:[/color] Castle Dining Hall [color=#D7CCC8]Interactions:[/color] [@Lava Alckon] Farim [@Rodiak] Nahir [@Potter] Kira [@Helo] Rohit [/color] [hr] [color=#D7CCC8]Hafiz sat still as marble, eyes fixed ahead as if observing a far grander tapestry than the one draped behind the throne. Roman Ravenwood wielded charm like a dull dagger, flashing it openly, mistaking recklessness for wit. And now, with one graceless swipe, he had sullied both his own name and the girl’s with it. Hafiz watched Violet’s humiliation unfold with the detached scrutiny of a man studying a crack in fine porcelain. She shattered slowly, not with a scream but with a controlled voice. It would have impressed him… if he found sentiment impressive. More so, he found her pain delightful to witness. Hafiz considered the idea that Roman was controlling an unruly woman who secretly loved being shown for what she really was, and he chuckled to himself. [i][color=gold]Let us see how long she lasts before she crawls back into the ashes she came from.[/color][/i] Calbert, however. Now that was a man Hafiz had underestimated. That smile of his, so civil… so terrifying. The Count had taken offense like a noble should: coldly, publicly, with just enough restraint to remind the court that he could have chosen violence and had not. Hafiz noted it carefully. He had long dismissed Calbert as a schemer grown soft with sentiment, but there it was—steel beneath the silk. A father who had been poked too close to the heart. He would need to be watched more closely. He swirled the wine in his goblet, though he had no intention of drinking. His voice, when it came, was low and smooth as lacquered wood, offered to no one and everyone at once.[color=gold] “How fragile we become when we mistake appetites for allegiance,”[/color] he murmured aloud, the words light as air yet heavy with judgment. He did not look at Roman. He didn’t have to. The insult hovered in the space between them like suffocating perfume. [color=gold]“Passion,”[/color] he added coolly, [color=gold]“has slain more empires than it ever built. But let the children keep playing at war with their hearts, and calling it virtue.”[/color] He let Rohit's words then take his attention, and he smiled at him. [color=gold]"Rohit,”[/color] he began, [color=gold]“your father is a man of sharp instinct. I pray you grow into it… in time.”[/color] Hafiz’s fingers traced the rim of his goblet, eyes fixed on Rohit with the faintest flicker of amusement—like one might regard a child putting a crown on a dog and declaring it king. [color=gold]“You mistake indulgence for benevolence, Amar.”[/color] His tone was calm, but barbed like thorns hidden beneath silk.[color=gold] “But then, you’ve been afforded the luxury of mistaking many things.”[/color] He leaned back slightly, his voice low and smooth as oiled steel. [color=gold]“Joy does not keep borders secure. Nor does art silence a hungry mob when the grain stores run dry.”[/color] A pause, his gaze flitting toward the feasting crowd. [color=gold]“A ruler who feeds spirits over stomachs courts only one thing: rebellion with rhythm.”[/color] Then, as if the moment had grown tedious: [color=gold]“Do throw your festival. Drape it in laughter and silk. Let them feast until their bellies burst. It will make the silence afterward all the more deafening.”[/color] Hafiz's gaze then slid toward Farim. [color=gold]“Commemorate me?”[/color] he echoed, voice silken and low, like the beginning of a threat disguised as a compliment. [color=gold]“How generous. I look forward to seeing how you capture restraint and wisdom in gold leaf. Though I fear your artisans may not be familiar with such qualities.”[/color] Meanwhile, the commotion at the middle table rippled through the banquet hall, and Hafiz kept tabs on it all. [color=gold][i]How embarrassing for them all.[/i][/color] [Color=salmon]“ALEXANDER DEACON!”[/color] The sharp bark of Lorenzo's voice sliced through the air, grating and theatrical. It struck a nerve so deep, it felt almost ancestral. Even from a distance, the sound of it reignited the bitter taste of old offenses. Residual anger stirred, uncoiling like a serpent in the chest. The memory of past humiliations, of Lorenzo's thoughtless provocations and irreverent antics, was never far from the surface. Hafiz had endured fools before—but Lorenzo Vikena was the rare kind that delighted in dancing on knives. And worse... sometimes managed not to bleed. He glared in the fool's direction, watching as he soon left with the king's peculiar advisor. His pale daughter followed after as she always did, and so had Damien's bastard. Roman expressed interest insanely so in the other Damien daughter, and soon Violet and her mother were also departing. A faint smile curved his lips—not in amusement, but in promise. Let them crumble. [i]He would build from the rubble. [/i] Hafiz had just lifted his goblet to his lips when he heard the first thud of paws on linen. His gaze snapped down the table in time to witness an airborne beast—flanks jiggling, jowls flapping—soar over porcelain and poultry like a hellhound loosed upon civilization. Duck, pork, and ribs went cascading into the air like debris from a battlefield, a crimson arc of wine launching upward as Nadim’s massive paws crashed squarely onto Nahir’s shoulders. Hafiz’s breath caught. His eye twitched. The goblet remained frozen mid-air, tilting slightly. His vision narrowed to the chaos as Nahir, rather than remove the beast, shoved it toward him. The Vizier barely had time to suck in a breath before forty kilograms of fur and gleeful slobber landed directly on his plate. One paw skidded across his chest, another knocked his wine to the floor. He didn’t move. [i]Didn’t breathe. [/i] His nostrils flared as slow, hot rage began to bloom behind his eyes. The world around him may as well have gone silent. [i][color=gold]“You disgrace yourself.” [/color][/i] he hissed, voice low, trembling with rage he refused to fully unleash. Hafiz rose with terrifying composure, shoving the dog aside with a flick of his hand, the beast’s yelp dismissed as beneath his notice. His gaze found Nahir’s, sharp and merciless as he continued for just her ears: [i][color=gold]“You couldn’t even protect Kahrem. "[/color][/i] A cruel smile curved his lips. He let the words linger, let the silence stretch like a noose before speaking again, [color=gold]“And you’ve done no better with yourself. ”[/color] He stepped closer, voice dipping to a silken whisper that was almost intimate, but entirely lethal. [color=gold]" You flail for attention like a drunk on stage and call it diplomacy.”[/color] He then leaned in, his voice sinking to a deadly whisper. [i][color=gold]“You’re not your mother, Nahir. And gods know, you’ll never be me.”[/color][/i] [/color]