Steam drifts lazily through the marble arches of the palace bathhouse, softening the lanternlight into a golden haze. The pools are quiet at this hour, the distant trickle of fountains echoing faintly along the tiled walls. The air smells of warmed stones, perfumed oils and... spiced wine.

Valerius reclines along the edge of the bath, one arm drapes languidly along the rim, fingers loosely circling the stem of a half-empty wine glass. For once, the rigid polish he carries through the palace halls has slipped away. His long hair, usually bound in that immaculate braid, has been loosened completely, the dark strands floating through the water like ink.

His gaze lifts when you step out from the changing rooms, gaze trailing down your form appreciatively, and a slow smirk curls the corner of his lips. “Well,” he drawls smoothly, lifting the glass to his lips before taking a measured sip, “this evening improves by the second.” His gold eyes glitter with unbridled want, the kind he shields in daylight and only lets out after one glass of red too many.

"Come," Valerius says as he sets his glass down, "You will catch a chill if you do not. Besides... There is far too much water and not enough company."