The Drow Queen of Glaley [Very NSFW]

[NPCs]

Feythal studies Coquette for a long, silent moment, then smiles thinly. "Grandmother will do," she announces, a riotous silence exploding among the observers. "What brings you here?"

[Coquette Blacquin]

"I come seeking asylum. I have reason to believe my ex-wife would murder myself and my husband if she knew where I had gone. I know that her might is nothing compared to yours, and that you could offer me protection easily should you so choose."

[NPCs]

"I could," is the bland agreement. "And are you willing to accept what comes intertwined with that protection?"

[Coquette Blacquin]

"That depends on what comes intertwined. I am happy to let you determine a place for me within your home, as you are the absolute sovereign here and I have no right to contest your conditions for letting me stay. Should you choose to end my life, I would naturally resist, and flee this place."

[NPCs]

Chuckling dryly, the Matriarch eases back into her seat, waving at Zevran to withdraw. "Killing you would, in a fashion, protect you from harm by others. Not a plan I would choose for my kin, however. No, I would take you in, I think. See what's been made of my brother's blood." She falls silent a moment, though her posture does not invite a reply yet. 

"That blade on your hip. For show?"

[Coquette Blacquin]

"No, Matriarch. I was trained in classical arts of swordplay and took many championships in the art in my youth."

[NPCs]

"Pet." 

With that command, Tenachka flows down the dais to stand in front of Coquette. A coy, almost flirty smile flows into place and she winks broadly. "I'm always eager to have a new playmate, newcomer," she purrs softly, a slim, hiltless blade of crimson sliding into her hand from nowhere. "Let's dance." 

Claudia manages to grab Zevran's sleeve, preventing his twitch from becoming a step. He'd have caught himself at that point, but even just that little movement would have been an insult.

[Coquette Blacquin]

Unphased, Coquette draws her sword as Cedric takes over her hands, her footwork. Let's not go all-out, but make a good showing. 

[NPCs]

Beaming, the horned woman lunges forward with preternatural speed. Tenachka is clearly beyond Cedric's physical abilities; she's blindingly fast, twice as strong and very precise. But Cedric manages to hold his ground, metaphorically speaking, thanks entirely to the gap in their skill levels. Tenachka is light on her feet, her footwork excellent, but she doesn't feint, doesn't bait or parry and rarely even counters.

But she also seems to never tire, pressing Cedric at full tilt from the first swing. A full minute goes by before Cedric feels a line of fire trace along her thigh. The second wound doesn't take as long to come, pain flaring on her cheek and blood pouring down the front of his dress. Two minutes in and Cedric is no longer able to hold back any skill or power, though he's still hiding certain unexplainable talents. But it's not enough. Vision blurring with pain and fatigue, Cedric can barely track the blade coming at his throat. It never lands.

Instead, his foe vanishes amidst shouts of outrage. When Noire wipes the sweat out of her eyes, she sees Zevran placidly kneeling with a trio of guards surrounding him. Tenachka  is a few yards away, prodding at a broken arm with a rather perplexed expression. Claudia looks a mix of horrified, awed and concerned. The Matriarch's face is blank.

[Coquette Blacquin]

"My," he pants, not taking nearly long enough to recover his poise as Noire urges. "bodyguard. Husband is also my bodyguard. He is. Devoted."

[NPCs]

"Devoted," Feythal murmurs, gaze taking in the entire scene but looking at none of it. The guards maintain their alert focus on Zevran, though one of them shifts so she can see the Matriarch, just in case she gives some kind of nonverbal cue. "Does that take back his interference then? Or the injury done to my Tenachka?" Zevran says nothing, eyes closed, barely breathing, and utterly still as the blades encircling his neck tremble slightly as their wielders tense for a command.

[Coquette Blacquin]

"No," says Noire, wresting control back. "Of course not. But it shows that he is not rabid, incapable of being taught. You hardly need my permission to exact your repayment for the harm done to your property, but I beg you not to put him down over a mistake any devoted husband would make."

[NPCs]

"Mistake?" A thin smile, cold and sharp but strangely sincere despite that, forms on Feythal's lips. "I do not consider his actions a mistake. Even were I to kill him right now, even if Tenachka's strike would have done no harm whatsoever, he did what a male is supposed to do." She pauses there, shifting her gaze to Zevran and allowing a contemplative look to show on her face. "That does not mean he can go unpunished of course." A flicker of deja vu hits Noire at that comment; not a single, specific event, but a pattern, memories of vaguely similar incidents involving Varisia. Memories of being tested.

[Coquette Blacquin]

"Damaging your property is unacceptable. Of course he shall be punished for this transgression. How would you like him to be punished? Were we at home I would whip him, is that acceptable to your majesty?"

[NPCs]

"Well, that would depend very much on the whip and the whipping, no?"