He could not help the casual needling. Dancing with nobles. Charming ladies. Holding court off to one side- and ever at least one of the Chevalier seemed to watch him from a distance. Whether they thought much of offering such scrutiny or not, he couldn't say. Work needed to be done, egos needed to be stroked, dances to be had. He wondered how long it might take them to corner him- if it would be one or if it would be several.

Settimo noticed the attention. It was a subtle thing, the presence of his Kestrels- one kept near and another shadowed Michel, trading off depending upon where they are or what they did.

Familiar paranoia itched at the back of his mind and later in the evening Zevran honestly had his fill of it. This was going to happen- better it happened on his terms. Glass of wine in hand he paused with an eye to the nearest Chevalier. Inclined his head to him in blatant invitation- and ducked into the nearest private alcove. Here he would be cornered in close quarters, but he would have a wall to his back and sound might not carry. It would do.

...or it would had there been but the one. Apparently four saw fit to accept the invitation, masks and feathers bobbing through the crowd as they made their way to his hiding place.