The Prancing Lion Gala was the grandest ball of the year, or at least it was rumored to be through gossip of the royal court. In celebrating the kingdom's unification against the rebellion of ten years ago, the king had made a show of gathering all his lords for an evening of lavish frivolity. Of course for those invited it was the highest of honors and an object of much enjoyment, but for those not so fortunate... There were the cooks who slaved for weeks to prepare ample food, the servants who throughout the evening endured hard labor and ridicule, the peasants on the streets whose livelihood was further robbed from them by the mindless luxury of the nobles. These were the ones for whom the rebellion had been fought, and, then unbeknownst to many of the nobles, who were still being fought for. That was the motivation of Yvette Berranger. Her superiors in the revolutionary movement---some of them being former nobles---had procured an invitation for her, and tonight was her first assignment: not to act rashly, not to harm, but to observe and evaluate the work to be done concerning His Highness. Despite her sense of loathing towards the upper class, she was the best actress in their company, and not at all unattractive. She leaned against one of the pillars that lined either side of the ballroom, amber eyes scanning the area for her target. She felt momentarily nervous and could not help but add a little adjustment to her dark hair: half of it pinned up while the rest fell in rich brown waves over shoulders left bare by the cut of her midnight blue gown. Her facial features, with soft cheekbones and a delicate pixie's nose, seemed to indicate high birth, though a somewhat golden hue to her skin, as well as the curve of her lips, hinted at something almost exotic. It was obvious that she was attracting the attention of more than one gentleman, but until she had accomplished her goal for the evening---and likely even after that---Yvette found the entire affair self-indulgent and somewhat dull.