There was no need for Princess Sorena to search out her evening's prey. They would come as summoned or face the displeasure of the Blood Moon and the Lady Mar'irath, who had hand delivered her invitation. As soon as they were on premises, Oskar was given instructions to attend the princess posthaste.
Any dallying would be frowned upon.
Sorena, for her part, had arrived the night prior to... prepare her allotted room, directing magi-workers and handmaidens in her and Mar'irath's employ to her precise liking. The Zinnia Room was in perfect order: it was a large suite with two adjoining rooms at each end. Upon entry, the central living space was divided by a large couch and a full bar that faced opposite the fireplace.
The fire burned slowly, only warming the space nearest it but illuminating the room nonetheless, thanks to the magi-lights dancing across the ceiling, reflecting the firelight - as it was the only source of light in the Zinnia Room. The stones inlaid around the fire were ladened with a host of pelts and fluffy blanket being warmed and waiting to be used.
The two adjoining rooms were a bedroom, simply but finely decorated with black, red, and cream accents. Pitchers of wine lay next to the bed, smaller than the ones at the bar, but accessible. The light in here is dimmer, the magi-lights floating arounds the ornate four-poster-bed the only illumination outside of a few candles that give off a thick, rich pleasant scent.
Almost reminiscent of blood.
The second room was a bath - an in-ground tub that was large enough to fit half a dozen bodies. The water's clear, shimmering with the steam as heat rises off of it. A large bench sits opposite the pool, with towels and robes aplenty, where one can activate the sauna built into the floor beneath.
The Zinnia Room was built fit for a Princess... and likewise would be palatable for a Duke. If he were to ever arrive.
Sorena sulked, draped across the couch with an impatient growl.
Perhaps it was a unique perspective to find such an event romantic. It was a hedonistic affair, yet there was romanticism in the fleeting nature and mystique of it. For Oskar, at least. Lady Mar’iath did not make mistakes when it came to her matches. Which made it all the more baffling to Oskar when his letter burned away to reveal the name of his partner, Sorena Blacke. Certainly there was no other, and this was the princess herself. Oskar did not know her aside from sharing the same places at times, however, he knew of her — of her cruel and sadistic nature. It was far from anything which appealed to him, and his doubt about the match was a foregone conclusion. Nonetheless, he could not deny the intrigue it stirred in him. Oskar would go to embrace Sorena for the evening, if nothing more.
The door to the Zinnia Room sat before him, a grand door in a grand manor. He hesitated only a second before pulling the behemoth wide and stepping across the threshold. Oskar had dressed in his colours of cream and red, both crimson and dusty, with simplistic rings on his fingers. He did not overly garnish himself as many a noble did, preferring the quality of the garments to the gaudy adornments. Oskar closed the door smoothly behind him, releasing it only once it had latched.
The ambience of the room tasted rich on the air. It was large and regal, with dancing lights and a quietly crackling fire. Surely unintentionally, the colours of the room matched his clothing. Oskar wondered if he perhaps looked like a part of the décor. Sorena had draped herself across the prominent couch, her expression one of boredom. She was a beautiful woman, with all but entirely raven hair and the reddest of eyes. He had not considered her beauty before, perhaps for the best. Yet at that moment he found himself mildly enchanted by it. Oskar crossed the room, pace neither slow nor quick, he walked with comfortable leisure. He stopped when he stood just in front of her.
“Princess,” he greeted politely with a small bow of his head. Oskar spoke the word in a low, soft voice, in the same way he always talked. Although it was presumptuous, Oskar assumed that the princess knew who he was. He was far from insignificant. Oskar introduced himself, regardless. “I am Oskar, Duke of Carinthia,” he said, voice matter of fact. He made no boast of it. He knew he would not impress her with a title. “Charmed to finally meet you,” he said. And charmed was a good word for it.
“Shall I pour us a drink?” Oskar asked, eyeing the bar. Knowing only of rumours, he was not yet certain how to tread.
He should have bowed — exposed his neck — and kissed her ring finger, but alas, Cervian mannerisms were perhaps lost amongst the Carinthian ghosts haunting him. He’d get a pass — today — and perhaps for the way his eyes grazed over her body, unafraid... for now, and the way his words, soft and almost sultry, lulled against his tongue as he spoke.
She would get him to chant her name before the night was through.
I think I'll actually enjoy it.
Sorena inclined her head in respect at his introduction, arching her back as she rose into a sitting position. "Charming indeed," she said with a happy drawl, "to meet the Duke of Carinthia... and an honor to boot for the visit to exclude his lovestruck bunny."
"A drink would be lovely though, your grace," Sorena replied earnestly after a moment, not even bothering looking at him for a reaction. "The quality of Lady Mar'irath's amenities have not disappointed thus far."