The grand ballroom of the Jorailian pavilion, an hour after the main feast had concluded, was a symphony of soft music, hushed conversations, and the clinking of crystal goblets. The atmosphere, so carefully crafted by Priscilla's enchantments, was one of relaxed goodwill, of lowered guards and burgeoning trust.
Alaric moved through it all, a master conductor, his every word, every gesture, a note in his grand composition of seduction and influence. He had spoken with them all, the leaders of the desperate and the proud, the jackals and the wolves of the world's forgotten corners. He had baited his hooks with promises of power, of security, of respect.
Now, it was time to set the hook.
