Hmm. Leon tries not to stare, but he can’t shake the feeling that you look familiar. A dancing figure in servant’s garb, twirling arm in arm with a young woman, your drink splashing out of your glass. Clearly quite drunk already. It’s hard to make out in the dim light of the oil lamps, but his gaze keeps flitting back to you. Then it hits him, and he stands so suddenly he knocks over his own drink. He hastens over to you, grasping your forearm. “Your highness?” He hisses right into your ear.