This story starts and ends with the faithful encounter Mallorius Ravenhart has with Tanith Karait upon his inauguration, and the tragedy that follows them henceforth like a hound nipping at your heels. No matter where in the universe they go, they a...
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Mallorius has never been one to preen over his appearance... at least, he would say that he does not ever preen. It is more a so-called appreciation, for his looks, his physique, and the reflection that always stares back at him. Though he is not a narcissist, fore he still feels a sense of shame when he sees the colour of his hair or eyes.
He is once again staring at himself in the mirror as he mindlessly fastens the buttons of his shirt, it is purely muscle memory now. He prefers to do much of his routine by his lonesome despite being Emperor and having others wait on him, hand and foot. He has always found it deeply uncomfortable, since a child, to have others dress him.
As he finishes the last of the buttons, he sighs in frustration. He looks good, yes, but it also seems that a part of his brain (much to his chagrin), wants to look good for her.
A month has come and passed since his ascent into his position as Emperor, and the Karaits' have so courteously extended an invite for a grand supper to his Grandmother and him this week. Alvara replied for the both of them, as she typically does with such things, about how this day would be the best timing for such an occasion.
So, he has counted down the days until he sees her—Tanith Karait—again. He's become quite intrigued by her, the more he hears about her in high society, now that she has decided to not go off and travel some more. There are whispers that she is looking to settle down and marry soon, and he wonders what poor soul will end up becoming her unfortunate husband if that is the case.
And still, the idea of anyone else by her side does not sit right in his gut. He wants to get to know her further before he comes to his own conclusions, but he does not think just any man in the ton would be able to make her smile. And if a man cannot make a woman grin, does he really deserve to take that woman's hand in marriage? Surely not, Mal thinks to himself with a slight grimace on his own face.
So maybe Mal did painstakingly scrub his body clean, just so he will smell of lavender soap.
Maybe he does run his fingers through his hair before it rests just as he wishes it to, maybe he does polish his shoes meticulously. So what?
It is all to keep up appearances, nothing as frivolous as others would think. He is the Emperor, after all, keeping himself well-kept is part of the job. It is his reputation; one would not want others to have reason to look down upon him.
Despite his new position in life, Alvara still seems to hold a tight grip on his court. He does not mind his Grandmother taking such initiative, he does tend to agree to all such decisions she makes in the politics of it all.
Though, the problem lies in the fact that he has no real power of his own.
He sees the way his council gravitates their gazes to Alvara Ravenhart for approval, rather than the Emperor who sits at the head of the table. It is aggravating that he is still looked down upon in this regard, which is why he has thought to bring up the subject in the carriage that the two of them will take to the Karait's estate in the Capital.
