They eased through the sweetness of flutes and bathed in the warm resound of the cello, spinning under chandeliers that tinkled with sparkling light, marbled floors pristinely preserving each movement as if in a storybook lost to times of lore. The hubbub of conversation ebbed away as the moment engulfed them, and he found himself absorbed in the rustling of her dress and the rhythm of her heartbeat. He found himself curious absorbed in her unusually bright eyes, and for the briefest of moments - or perhaps it had been longer?- Valden forgot to exist and submerged himself in them.

[i]"You dance divinely."[/i] her voice called to him through his revelry and it was a long moment before he returned to the room, with it's orchestra and hubbub of hidden creatures dressed in fine silks and chiffons. 

[center]Ahh, that was right: he was in the human world, and he was going to kill this girl. [i]Divinely,[/i] he thought, was perhaps the most perverse description he'd heard about himself in a long time. Nothing could have been further then the truth.[/center]
He emerged into the hall from wherever faraway place the dance had taken him, somewhere distant and formless that he'd found beyond the silver secrets of her eyes. Somehow her presence soothed him, in a way that sulking as a stoney statue for a few thousand years hadn't. 

Hmm. Valden steeled himself. A fascinating case indeed - this human was unique in a way that undoubtedly would aid his kingdom greatly. She would have to be handled... carefully.

 [i]"In this day and age so many things are becoming a lost art form, it is refreshing to see some of them have not died off entirely yet."[/i]

"You sound world-weary, my dear. In truth I find it most surprising that a jewel such as yourself should hide in a world such as this." He mused, his voice deep and rhythmic in a way that spoke of brewing storms and sleeping giants.  Valden peered at her intently with his violet-blue eyes, as if by sheer force of will the mystery surrounding her would reveal itself to him. There was an intensity to his gaze that was lost in this time, an extinct blend that only could be found as echoes and remnents lingering on the edges of folktales and century-old romances.

There was a flash of instinct and suddenly he spun on his feet lightning quick, curling his body around hers and taking the force as two mortals careered into their dance.

 "Bloody rotten form! You aren't the only two rotters in the whole bloody room, watch where you're going!"
Threat. 

Valden had been very good with danger, once. He'd liked the bitter, poignent taste of it. How it hummed through one's vein and bade one closer, reeling one in with it's intoxicating whispers that spoke in tones of honeysuckle and mirth. The crazed, savage dance that happened on the edge of the blade, on the razorthin edge between sanity and madness, that was where Valden had spent alot of time. Back in the old days.

But this, [i]this human[/i], stood before him, jepordizing his mission, daring to stand against him. Weak-willed and filled with booze, this creature genuinely believed he stood on par with the man before him. It would have been laughable, if it weren't so insulting. And it'd be insulting, if it weren't so excruciatingly pathetic.

"Please excuse me for a moment, dear lady." and his words were measured but genuinely warm.

To her, anyway.

Valden removed his hands gently from his partner and turned towards their assailent, his back to her. His posture was strong, his face the picture of deep remorse, his hands palms-up in supposed surrender. 
[center]It was a trap. 

 "Why, my [b]deepest[/b] apologies." [/center]

Each word dripped an unplacable poison, the kind that made this red-faced drunkard's blood run cold, the kind that made the hairs on his neck stand on end. It was the kind of panic that could not be placed, an instinct more feral that conscious, a deep-seated mechanism from a time before memory. It was the kind of fear that brooded on the edges of the unknown, that made children cry in their cots, and it pierced each word like a bullet through glass but thrice as deadly.

The biggest mistake the man made was looking in the King's eyes, of course. He was frozen in a turbulent sea of bluish purple that bade no escape, and he felt his soul shrivelling in his chest as something immeasurably dark jumped forth between their gazes and probed through his being with fingers of ice.
 
Meanwhile, Valden's nose twitched in utter disgust. Just as he'd thought, the man had no substance. His soul was as thin as paper and twice as brittle, Valden purred past stories of clogged arteries, dying livers, ruined marriages and mounting debt. He curled around what little substance he could find, and toyed briefly with the idea of crippling it right then and there, letting this pathetic excuse for a living bag of meat crumple to the floor right in the middle of this lovely farce. 

...But that would hardly help Valden's cause, and he would surely loose the little lamb he'd come all this way to uncover. Frankly, the mortal was so repugnant that he didn't want the trouble. Being in here any longer then necessary was a payment unworthy of such an insect. 

But how to use this wasted life to his advantage?

The whole invisible exchange had taken less then a slither of a second. Valden placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, a vice-grip that shot through the man's torso and helped his bravery leek out his toes. He was petrified, shaken to the core, and yet for all his internal troubles - not even a battle of wills had taken place - no one around him, not one, would notice Valden's torturous methods. As far as anyone was concerned, he just tapped him in the shoulder after presenting an apology.

"But my dear fellow," he purred, "While I do appreciate your discontent, how about an apology for the lady? I hardly think such language is appropriate - by all accounts you've spoken quite out of turn to a damsel such as she. You will find her innocent in this exchange, for as you are aware, it is the gentleman's responsibility to lead the dance. The blame falls to me alone." The man's soul shivered, the predator curled around it like a vice, and Valden broke his gaze to steer him, ever so delicately, towards his lady before releasing his grip.

If darkness talked it whispered in voices unheard: [i]don't fuck this up,[/i] might have been an appropriate translation as the thorn in this man's being was poised to crush him. It spun slowly in his heart.

"Yes... Well.. Uhrm. No harm no foul, and all that. Bloody floor's slippery as anything, I suspect the cleaner-"

"Pardon?" Valden pressured with a patience that weathered centuries. The thorn turned in warning. The King had to admire his committment to the farce - what sort of being puts pride before survival? Only a human could manage something so strange.
The bearded gent was sweating now. He cleared his throat. "You know it may have been my fault. Sorry."

"My apologies, [i]milady[/i]." corrected Valden.

"My apologies, milady."

Valden relinquished his prisoner, and no sooner had he done so the man scurried off to the bathroom and out of sight. The King watched him go with a lackadaisical attitude reminiscent of a cat with a mouse.

He was going to die anyway, of course. Transgressions must be punished - and for some reason he was really irked by the mortal speaking to his prey like that. 

The tall gentleman shook his head, turning a warm, gentle smile to his recent aquiantance. "I really do apologise for the people here. I am sure a lady of your tastes is used to much more regal environments."