Tarthian Empire space, Tarth orbit
Le Persequor - lurk mode (invisible)
Pietas Stateroom

Inside the safest and most personal space he possessed aboard his ship, Pietas stood before a virtual mirror. The device knew every garment in his wardrobe and could dress his image in any combination before he bothered putting it on.

Only his valet and android staff had access here. But he didn’t need their help choosing what to wear tonight. Half the fun was preparing his body.

Not for a lover, though before the evening ended, he expected to find one. No, this was about Pietas taking pleasure in the ritual of being himself.

Not the king or the commander. Him.

Not calm. Not blatantly saying take me. Something much more dangerous.

Available.

With his long platinum hair, he could hardly blend into a crowd. But dressed for the occasion, he could wander into any number of establishments and survey the possibilities.

Once he settled on a location, his attire would attract a second look. His demeanor would communicate interest. And for the right person, his gaze would arrest attention.

Freshly bathed, his hair dry and hanging down his back, he chose a scent and brought it to his nose. Woody and earthy, with a sense of peace. Not tonight.

The next carried amber and spice over a trace of smoke. Warm. Dark. Assertive. Better. But that one entered the room before he did.

Bergamot opened bright, then faded into amber and sandalwood, with vanilla low beneath them. Not sweet. Warm. Intimate.

This one didn't announce anything. It waited to be discovered.

Pietas smiled.

He didn't want to scream sex tonight. He wanted to purr it.

After drawing the glass dauber from the bottle, he traced the scent over his skin. Down the center of his chest, across each collarbone, then from the base of his neck up to his chin. A tease on either side.

Nibble territory.

“All right. Trousers. How many pairs do I have in black?”

The number made him blink.

“That many? All right. Need to narrow this down. How many in black leather?”

When it displayed, he tapped the right side and brought up a view he could scroll through with a gesture. Too many choices. Maybe he should just go with ass-hugging denim and be done with it.

But on the next scroll, up came a pair that laced up the sides to expose plenty of skin.

“Now we’re getting somewhere.” He tapped those and they appeared on his image. A gesture turned his image sideways, then a slow pivot to see all the way around. In the back view, he said, “Walk.” The pants showed off his long legs and tight butt to good effect.

“Boots? Or shoes?” He tried several pairs, then settled on boots in black leather with ridiculously high spiked heels. At already seven feet tall, he’d be able to see the entire room in whatever club he attended. Besides, they made his legs look even longer and leaner.

He went through a row of shirts before deciding on a loose tank with horizontal slits. Over that, he chose a shiny red jacket with buckles everywhere. He had two.

The cut of the first said, Look at me.

The other demanded, Get over here now.

And a black version came with the cool command, Here. Now. On your knees.

Oh, yes. That might be delicious.

He pondered the choice. Went with the Look-at-me red. He didn’t want to hunt or prowl. He wanted to show up and be seen. Clothing and attitude would do the rest.

Of course he wore his usual ten rings, tonight in simple white gold without gems. Intricate, open designs that showed off his long fingers. No signet.

He couldn't resist matching silver bracelets studded with turquoise the same color as his eyes. Which cried out for his favorite silver-and-turquoise necklace with graduated stones that swept down to a broad crescent resting against his chest.

The red jacket paired with silver and turquoise jewelry invited second looks. Most likely thirds and fourths.

With the look complete, one question remained. What to wear under the outfit.

For that, he opened a few drawers organized by style and color before picking a little surprise for whichever lucky person got to see what lay beneath that leather.

Designed specifically for him, and a perfect fit.

Pink lace panties.

Once attired, Pietas left his dressing area. He gave a casual pat to the statue in the alcove outside the sleeping quarters. White marble Six stood eternal watch.

Uurah rose as he approached the door. “My lord, you look splendid.”

“Thank you.”

“Where are you going?”

“Out. For a…quiet evening.”

“Shall I accompany you, my lord?”

Pietas chuckled. “Absolutely not.”

“Oh.” Uurah bowed. “That kind of quiet.”

“Indeed. I’ll be home eventually.” He pulled on fingerless white lace gloves. “Don’t wait up.”

---

Visual Inspiration
This story was sparked by a visual from @loveg.ys. No artwork from the creator has been reproduced or incorporated into this story.
View the original on Instagram

Tarthian Empire space, Tarth orbit
Le Persequor - lurk mode (invisible)
Pietas Stateroom

“This is useless.” Pietas shut down the ship’s interface with Imperinet and sat back. “All I want is to find a suitable drinking establishment. If this was a conquest, I’d have laid out siege plans by now.” He stood and walked away, began pacing in the open office space. “I’ve lived thousands of years, commanded armies, overthrown governments, navigated interstellar civilizations. Why can’t I figure out where to go for a drink in Tarth City?”

He tapped his bracelet. “Uurah. Come here, please.”

The android portaled into his presence. “Yes, my lord?”

“If I wanted the names of bars in Tarth City, what would be the best way to go about it?”

“The best way you would, or the best way I would for you?”

He considered that, twisting his signet ring. “Both. If you found the names, how could I use them to make a choice?”

“I can access a comprehensive list from Imperinet, my lord. What sort of data do you hope to glean?”

“Meaning?”

“Will you want city district, full address, hours, managerial contact information, menu, catering specifics—”

“Yes, yes. All that. The basics. But how could I use that to decide where to go?”

“What would make an establishment suitable, my lord?”

Pietas stopped pacing. Good question. “I—haven’t thought about it. I don't know.”

Uurah waited.

“If I knew that, I wouldn't have called you.”

“Then perhaps we should determine what would make one unsuitable.”

Pietas pivoted toward him. “Now we're getting somewhere. Continue.” He sat, motioning for Uurah to do the same.

After sitting, Uurah produced a notereader and activated it. “Shall we begin with distance? How far away would be too far?”

“Technically, I can portal anywhere on the planet in seconds, so distance is irrelevant. Later, I might want to know, but for now, it's not necessary.”

Uurah made notes. “Hours? Do you want places with daytime hours, nighttime only, or late night hours?”

“Daytime, no. Night. Definitely late night, when sensible people are tucked in bed, sleeping.”

Tilting his head, Uurah poised the stylus over the device. “Sensible, my lord?”

Pietas frowned. “Yes. I find sensible people less fun. And if I’m going there, it won’t be for any sensible reasons.”

“Ah, I see. I’m beginning to understand the type of establishment you’re seeking. Would you intend to exert yourself on the dance floor?”

“Exert myself?" His thoughts flashed back to a memorable night after the bar he'd entered had closed, and the dance floor had been the best place to— "Oh, wait. You mean dance?” He sat back, considering. “I suppose, if asked. If I saw someone I’d like to dance with. If I liked the music.” He fluttered a hand at Uurah. “Put yes, but not a requirement. I can find what I’m looking for without dancing entering the equation.”

“Yes, my lord. Drinking? Do you want a bar that serves craft beer, or fine spirits?”

“You ask incredibly ridiculous questions. Is it even a bar if they don’t serve alcohol of some kind?”

“Point taken. So the quality of the drinks would not be a determining factor?”

“Uurah, no matter what I drink or how much of it, I can’t even get a buzz, so quality being a hard condition? No. If I were going somewhere with Cyken or Nanchonta, then craft beer would be ideal. But Cyken’s married now, and Nanchonta is not my idea of a drinking buddy. Or a wingman.”

“My lord, I wasn’t aware Nanchonta was a pilot. When did he learn? I shall update my records.”

Pietas resisted the urge to sigh. Uurah was being his usual literal self. “A wingman is someone who goes out with you and helps you meet people.”

“For what purpose?”

“Uurah. Consider the list we’re working on. Why might I want help meeting people?”

The android froze for a moment. “I have accessed the Tarthian Slang Encyclopedia, 33rd edition. I now understand 'wingman.' Do you require a wingman or were you expressing your considered opinion of Nanchonta’s lack of skill in that area?”

This was going to take forever. “Let’s go with opinion for now.” The thought of the healer walking into some of the establishments Pietas had cruised made him shudder. Nanchonta would want to set up a health screening kiosk on the spot.

“Very well, my lord. I shall add ‘medical references’ under the not required column.”

“Good. Add ‘sensible’ while you’re there.”

“That was first on the list. Now, might it not be helpful if we considered less of the establishment’s amenities and more of the clientele instead?”

Pietas pointed at him. “Excellent. They should be attractive.”

“Under what standards, my lord?”

“Mine.”

Uurah went still. “My lord, I am accessing known data about these establishments but find no requirements on appearance other than they be wearing a shirt and shoes. From what I know of Tarth City nightlife, I assume the inference is they will already be wearing pants.”

Chuckling, Pietas nodded. “True.”

“My lord, would public access provide a means of determining attractiveness?”

“Explain.”

“Some locations indicate screening at the doors. The requirements are somewhat unclear. I believe proof of age is one aspect, but from media reports, it appears that celebrities, models, and licensed sex workers gain entrance more quickly. Though not specifically stated, the inference appears to favor attractiveness.”

“If they were screening out ugly people, Uurah, I would be a shoo-in for entrance. However, you are correct in your assumption. Media attention at a location should go in the undesirable column.”

“Would you like me to add ‘undesirable’ as a separate column or continue to use ‘not required’ instead?”

This had been a bad idea from the beginning. “Keep the one you chose and use it for any negative influence.”

“Yes, my lord. Perhaps it would be more helpful if we considered less public and well-known sites and consider smaller establishments.”

“Good idea. How many are there?”

“There are one hundred and fifty-three districts in Tarth City. There are multiple such locations in each. There seem to be more clustered in the northwest area, outside the city proper, and beyond the end of Tarth City Park. I could make a grid of locations in that general area. Would you like the database to show reputation, private room availability, discretion, and police presence?”

Pietas sat up straighter. “Police presence?”

“Yes. Some establishments in this area have multiple calls per month. Some, per week.”

Rubbing his hands together, Pietas smiled. “Perfect. Start with those. Overlay the locations on grid identified by district. Color code those that have more police run-ins on a fading scale of light red to scarlet.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“How long will that take?”

“It is ready now. I built it as we spoke.” The android gestured toward the interface on Pietas’s desk. “Would you like me to show you?”

“Yes.” He followed the android over and sat in the chair while Uurah stood behind him.

The android pointed out how to access the grid, zoom in, and where to click to read more. “Once you select a location, the popup shows more data. The turquoise dot will load their coordinates into your bracelet. If you decide to visit, you only have to choose it from the bank of choices.”

Pietas turned around. “Uurah!” He stood. “This has been astonishing. You did a great job. Thank you.”

With a faint smile, Uurah bowed. “Will there be anything else, my lord?”

“No. No, I’m dressed, ready to go, but had no location in mind. Now I’ll have plenty of choices. Thank you. You may go.”

Once Uurah had vacated the area, Pietas zoomed in on the northwest quadrant, scrolled across neighborhoods and business areas, finding one entire section awash with red, from pale to the darkest crimson. When he zoomed in farther, the red resolved into smaller points, then smaller, and then more distinct still. There had to be a thousand red points just in this one area.

He clicked on a few to be sure they were actually bars and not other locations included in police call-outs. But no. Uurah had done due diligence. Each one he chose was a bar. These were definitely the kinds of places he’d had in mind.

A hideaway where no one knew him. Some hole in the wall where he could settle into a dark corner and see who the biggest troublemakers were. How willing they were to react if he picked a fight. If he found a pretty face—or a handsome one—he wasn’t opposed to having a good time in a less violent manner. But the mood he was in, a good ass-kicking was what he needed. And to be honest, he wouldn’t even care if it was his own.

He just wanted a fight.

How was he ever going to choose from so many locations?

Pietas sighed. “This is useless.”

---

Visual Inspiration
This story was sparked by a visual from @loveg.ys. No artwork from the creator has been reproduced or incorporated into this story.
View the original on Instagram

Tarthian Empire space, Tarth orbit
Le Persequor - lurk mode (invisible)
Pietas's Stateroom

Engrossed in reading, Pietas did not look up when Uurah entered. But after a period of quiet while the android simply stood there, Pietas set down the pad. “What is it?”

“My lord, you asked to be advised when it was time to prepare for dinner at the palace.”

He stretched, yawning. “It can’t be that late. How much time do I actually have?”

“Tonio has already arrived and is waiting to escort you.”

“Oh, so he’s early.”

“No, my lord. He’s on time.”

Pietas stroked the surface of the pad. “I was enjoying this story.”

“I will ensure it’s here when you return.”

“Uurah.” Pietas stood. “It’s on a pad. It’s not going anywhere.”

“But you are.”

Narrowing his eyes, Pietas considered whether to respond to the veiled bait. “Yes. I am.” He tapped his bracelet. “Arkwright, please meet me in my chambers.”

In his room, while Arkwright brushed his hair, Pietas considered what to wear. His current outfit was quite comfortable. Everything fit. The colors were unusual for him. Instead of his usual all white attire, he’d opted for new lounge pants in black. Fitted for his waist and hips, they fell straight to the floor in a fluid sweep of black silk charmeuse.

As tall as he was, there was no such thing as buying off some rack. He’d made do plenty of times in the past. Back in his mercenary days, he’d shopped thrift stores. He and Cyken, who was only half a foot shorter, despaired of ever wearing pants that didn’t end above their ankles.

So now, when he had the privilege of owning whatever he wanted, he chose from fashion houses that sized garments specifically for their clients. Best of both worlds. Shop online, receive tailored items. One small house had caught his eye, and he’d bought duplicates of everything he liked.

Businesses went out of business. It was mortal nature to end, just as it was immortal nature not to. His relationship with mortal commerce had taught him to buy ahead. Nothing worse than finding that the perfect shirt or pants or boots were no longer available because their creator had died years ago.

Once, when Pietas had complained that his favorite bootmaker had died two centuries before, Cyken had asked, “Are you telling me your boots lasted two centuries? What kind of boots do that?”

“The answer is obvious.” He’d stuck out one foot shod with scuffed leather. “Good ones.”

“Arkwright?”

“Yes, my lord?”

“How do I look in what I’m wearing?”

“Splendid, my lord.”

“Not too casual?”

“Quite suitable, I would say.”

“Excellent.” He turned his head side to side. “I’d like to pull my hair back from my face.” He opened a small case and sorted through the handful of clasps inside. His favorite turquoise? Or the double dragons? Perhaps less showy? Or more sparkly? He chose one studded with onyx, to match the pants. “Use this, please.”

When Arkwright finished and stepped back, Pietas rose and walked to the mirror. “Perfect.” His hair still fell loosely, half-way to his waist. Curls were never going to happen. Even his hair refused change. He could cut it. That was his only choice, other than clasps or bands.

Cyken had once said Pietas’s hair was the only straight thing about him.

Straight. What a dismal word. Pietas preferred eclectic.

He returned to the sitting area, where Uurah waited. From the look on the android’s face, he did not approve.

“What? Arkwright brushed my hair. I’m ready on time.”

“Yes. And he did well. But you’re barefoot.”

Pietas stuck out one foot. “Oh. So I am.” He returned to his room and opened a closet holding flats, slipped on a black pair, and went back. “Better?”

“My lord, those are slippers.”

He waited for more, but Uurah just looked at him. “What?”

“To be precise, they are ballet-style. They are inappropriate for the palace.”

Pietas pulled aside one pantleg. “But no one will even see them with the length of these pants.”

“For the palace, pants should not reach the floor, but break atop the foot.”

“Why, does my sister have a pants requirement?”

Uurah folded his arms.

“Arkwright said what I was wearing was suitable.”

“For your quarters aboard Le Persequor, quite. Not the palace.”

“Do I have to put on real shoes?”

“My lord, you will be seeing your sister. No, allow me to rephrase. Your sister—the Empress—will see you.”

“Fine.” Shoulders slumping, Pietas returned to his room.

Shoes. And he’d been so comfy on the couch. All right. They had to make him tall enough for the pants to not reach the floor. Boots? He went to his virtual mirror.

“For the outfit I’m wearing, which boots go best?”

An array of choices surfaced. He slid the rows, considering. “What do I have in red?”

Fewer pairs came up, but one pair caught his eye. “These. Send Arkwright to me.”

After his valet laced up the boots, Pietas went back to his sitting room, where Uurah still waited.

“Now?” He pulled aside one pantleg.

“Red lace-up? For the palace?”

“Uurah, no one will even see them. And they keep the pants off the floor.”

The android motioned for him to turn around.

Pietas pivoted and came back to face him.

“Red boots?”

“Yes, yes. What’s your point?”

“My lord, this is still much too casual for the palace.”

How was it this android could call him ‘lord’ and then tell him ‘no’ no matter what he did? He went back, muttering about mother hens as he did.

“Too casual. Fine.” He tapped the mirror. “What would make this outfit less casual?”

The device showed his reflection with a scarf belt.

“No.”

A bejeweled belt.

“I didn’t even know I had that. Put it in rotation. I’ll wear that soon. But no.”

After a few more accessories, all of which Pietas refused, the image shifted to one of him wearing a necklace, bracelets, and rings.

“Of course! How could I forget my rings?” He sat on a bench beside the chest where he kept many. Easy choice. Black pants, white shirt, red boots. He chose rings with onyx, silver, and rubies. One for each finger and thumb, as was his habit, and held out his hands.

“Better.” Now for a necklace. That took more time because each hung on its own hook, and he had to slide aside rack after rack. “Not turquoise, even though I love it. Surely I have something with plain onyx.”

At last, he found one. Heavy chain, with a fat scarab-like pendant in black jade. A gift from a pretty queen on a world in the Colonies of Man. Good memories.

He called Arkwright again. While Pietas could put on the necklace by himself, he couldn’t lift his arms well enough to put it under his hair.

Arkwright added it, brushed out his hair again, and stood back.

With this open V-front, the necklace lay against his chest, quite visible to all. He met Arwright’s gaze in the mirror. “Presentable?”

“Very becoming, my lord.”

“Thank you.” At least someone appreciated what he went through to indulge Her Pickiness.

Uurah gave him an approving smile. “Better, my lord. But you cannot wear that.”

Pietas looked down at himself. “Arkwright says I look splendid.”

“You do look splendid.”

“Thank you.”

“You cannot go to the Imperial Palace dressed like that.”

“Those are two contradictory statements.”

“They are not. People will be wearing jackets, suits, or tuxedos.”

“Jackets?” He’d just received a shipment of a divine item. “Be right back.”

He’d hung the garment outside his closet, intending to buy something that went with it. And now that he looked at it… it went perfectly with this.

Pietas tapped his bracelet. “Arkwright? I need you again.”

Finally, attired in an outer robe of silk chiffon, he turned side to side before the mirror.

Black, sheer, extraordinarily light, with enough yardage to trail and move around him. Long sleeves, floor length, open from throat all the way down. His other garments remained visible beneath it, but the moving black layer changed the entire silhouette.

Splendid, indeed.

He swept back out to where Uurah waited.

When the android opened his mouth, Pietas held up one finger.

“This is comfortable. I'm wearing boots. I'm wearing jewelry. Arkwright has brushed my hair. I look fine.” He lowered his hand. “Where is Tonio?”

Uurah gestured to the door, and Pietas breezed through it.

“Tonio!” He held out his hands. “Thank you for waiting.”

Resplendent in a black tux, the head of the Chosen Council, Grand Master of the Thieves' Guild, stood. “My lord, you look splendid.”

Pietas turned back to Uurah. “See? Splendid.”

Tonio gave a short bow. “Shall we go?”

“Yes." Over his shoulder, he said, "Uurah, don't wait up.”

---

Visual Inspiration
This story was sparked by a visual from @loveg.ys. No artwork from the creator has been reproduced or incorporated into this story.
View the original on Instagram

Tarth City, Di Lusso District
En route to the Conqueror’s Palace

Sitting beside Tonio de Laney in one of Cyken’s stretch black hoversines, Pietas took in the literal canyon of skyscrapers on either side. “Where are we? I know we portaled to my place in the Nizamrak Building, but now I’m lost. Are we heading north? South?”

“North, my lord. We’re coming up on the intersection where we’ll take Conqueror’s March Boulevard. From there, it’s straight to the palace.” Tonio looked over at him. “How long since you last attended one of your sister’s events as a guest?”

“As a guest? I was a prisoner once.” He paused. “No, twice, as different people, ironically for the same thing.” When Tonio’s eyes widened, Pietas added, “I’ll tell you about it sometime.”

“Sometime? My lord, with as many lifetimes' worth of stories as you could tell, your definition of ‘sometime’ can be alarmingly flexible.”

“Amusing. And quite true. But to answer your question, the last I was there as a guest was a different lifetime, back when the Tarthian Empire had just been founded. I was—” He broke off, twisting one ring as he thought back. “You know, I don’t actually recall a specific date.”

“I didn’t know you could forget things.”

“Oh, I don’t. I can tell you where I stood, who I spoke to, and even what food was on the menu each time I was there. In that life, I was often called to the palace for a constant stream of parties. But there was trouble brewing in the Empire of Eire Dunn, and I had to leave the Empire and deal with it. I was gone at least fifty years or so. But I can’t recall if Dessy had set up the Tradestandard system yet, so I don’t have a firm grasp on the correct date, but it was the middle of the week. It had rained, and the lights of the city reflected in the dark streets.”

“My lord, the Tradestandard system began four hundred years ago.”

“Exactly.”

“And you remember it was raining the night you were there?”

“Tonio, was it raining on your tenth birthday?”

“Pardon?”

“Your birthday. Was it raining?”

Tonio looked puzzled. “I have no idea.”

“I was there, because the week you turned ten, your father revealed to you who the Chosen were, and your family’s place among them. No one suspected then that you’d become head of the Chosen Council, Dean of Students at Thieves' Guild Academy, and eventually Grand Master of the Guild. At that point, you were just a little boy having a party in the backyard.”

“And you remember that?”

“Of course. You had seven friends with you, two girls and five boys. You wore red shorts and a red-and-white-striped t-shirt.” He added. “It was sunny.”

The man had twisted toward him, and the more detail Pietas had added, the further Tonio had withdrawn into the corner.

“I— I remember having a party in the yard. We always did. I’m probably still friends with half the kids there. I married one of the girls. But I don’t remember meeting you.”

Pietas sat back. “Tell me what you do remember.”

“Playing. Running around. One of the boys got sick because he ate too much cake, and his mother took him home. But the only adults were the parents of my friends, and my own parents. The only other person there was some guy who made balloon animals.”

“You wanted a red one, to match your shorts.”

Tonio’s mouth dropped open, and he laughed. “You? You were the balloon animal guy?”

“I’d demonstrate but—” He spread his hands, “—no balloons.”

“You came to my birthday party and made balloon animals. You, the king.”

“Yes.” Pietas let him sit with the memory, enjoying seeing him grapple with whatever thoughts that generated.

“So… Why were you at a kid’s birthday party?”

“You were to be the fifth generation of de Laneys to serve. And your father wouldn’t stop talking about how smart you were, and how he was looking forward to your party because he knew how much you loved being with your friends. So I asked if I could come.”

“Knowing you were the king, he said yes?”

“I should think so. He was quite the influential Chosen. He and your mother both.” Pietas chuckled. “He asked how he’d explain why a man you didn’t know was at the party, and I said I could make balloon animals. Tonio, he laughed so hard at the idea…”

Pietas laid a hand on the man’s arm. “That’s one of my fondest memories of your father. He saw the humor in life being lived.”

Lighting shifted as the vehicle slowed. Ahead, the ten-story gates opened in the white marble fortress, and they eased through.

Pietas turned his attention to the exterior, where tiny white lights twinkled against the darkness, turning trees and shrubs into a wonderland. They passed into the forecourt proper, big enough for a warship to land without scraping a single wall.

“It’s always astonishing,” Tonio said, looking out his side. “The sheer size of this courtyard. From outside the walls, you have no idea how much space is actually just…space.”

The vehicle turned and followed a lighted path to an arbor where Praetorian guards came smartly to attention. His sister’s symbol, a solid black fist, emblazoned the front of their white uniforms.

Attendants rushed to open the doors on either side.

Pietas stepped out, unfolding his long frame to stand upright. He straightened the flow of his black silk chiffon outer robe, and reminded himself not to fidget with his hair. Arkwright had taken great pains to arrange it over his shoulders and back, spilling the straight platinum almost to his waist. He wouldn’t spoil the effect by tossing it back.

More than one guard looked over at him. Sizing him up for trouble, most likely. Another guard swept his gaze over Pietas and smiled, but turned his attention back toward the front. Still, his gaze returned, alight with a glint of pleasure.

Interesting. The Praetorian here were nearly all his height. Was it true his sister’s personal guards were all blond, like Pietas himself? He’d like to see beneath the helmet and find out.

The guard slid one more long glance his way, his interest clear.

Perhaps Pietas should see what lay beneath the uniform as well. What a delightful thought to hold onto when heading into what would surely be a dull meet-and-greet cocktails. Followed by an equally uninspired dinner.

Would the man have occasion to enter the ballroom to stand guard? How likely was it Pietas could find reason to ask his name?

Unlikely. But it wasn’t his name that drew interest, was it?

No, he cautioned himself. Best not head down that path. He was here because his sister was honoring someone important with whom Tonio shared a long relationship. This event confirmed the Crown’s support of the Guild.

So, no flirting with the handsome young guard. Well, not tonight. But he’d never forget that hint of a smile.

For tonight, Pietas planned to keep a low profile.

---

Visual Inspiration
This story was sparked by a visual from @loveg.ys. No artwork from the creator has been reproduced or incorporated into this story.
View the original on Instagram

A situation regarding the palace awaits verification

The hoverbike had more thrust than good sense. So did its owner.

The establishment asked Pietas to leave. Its owner had other ideas.

No further public documentation pending investigation.

How many incident reports exist? Consider this: Pietas is more than twelve thousand years old, and he has always been open to questionable ideas.