"Fraulien," Kasimir greeted cooly, but the baroness Grimhausen did not seem to hear. In fact she seemed to steer clear away from him, turning from her original route across the floor to veer left. Kasimir sighed, not entirely surprised. A serving man walked by him with six glasses of stout being carried to the tables. Kasimir nabbed one with an effortless grace without the fellow noticing, downing half of its contents before a count of three. 

Perhaps he should insist upon conversation with one of the many houses or well-to-do upstart nobles. Already he could see people watching him, whispering as he stood there. Every fit of laughter caused him to feel as if it was at his own expense, but he also noticed whenever he cast his gaze in a direction too long, the gossip grew quieter and the looks were less overt. Perhaps his duel with Heilwig was poorly timed, but he could use his reputation as a swordsman to his advantage. He had enemies yes, but he was also one of the few men here who were dangerous without household guards bolstering their confidence. 

He sequestered that bit of philosophy to the back of his mind and waded into the crowd, past a congregation of portly, mustachiode men and their giggling wives. He found himself at the table of appetizers, and upon the cloak of one man, he recognized the sigil of house Boeslegar. The man was broad, but not overly so, with a brown beard that reached into his oaken hairline behind his ears. If the guard captain could be believed, the patriarch of the Boeslegar family, Ingvald had slain a beastman warchief in battle with his own spear. 

"Pardon me," Kasimir said by way of announcement, reaching past the burly man to grab a small plate with honeyed ham and steamed bean, grabbing a fork while he was at it. "It would do my reputation even less service to bump into you, honored sir." 

The man looked at Kasimir gravely for a few, pregnant moments. Then his face widened in a smile. He seemed to have the magnetism of a man used to leading in battle. "I believe I know you. You're Graf Todbringer's new pup, are you not?" 

"I've not been called that to my face, exactly." Kasimir remarked, and Ingvald chuckled. 

"I have no talent for rumor, be it by ear or tongue." Ingvald said by way of apology. "But it is good to meet you. The Graf has spoken of you, and not without some small measure of praise, which is hard to garner. Most usually have better luck finding good farmland in the Drakwald. But perhaps he had reason. You are one of the two most famous newcomers to the city, after today's killing." Kasimir tried not to make a face at the term. It sounded a bit too close to murder, for his liking. 

"Who is the other?" Kasimir asked casually. 

"Ha, well I suppose it is unsurprising you've not heard, as most men steer clear when a white wolf is guarding one, even a woman so beautiful as that." Ingvald replied, granting a nod across the table. Kasimir's wintry gaze passed a small winding opening in the pressed bodies to see a curvaceous woman standing there, smiling prettily up at the hulking white wolf guarding her. The two of them were speaking to another two aristocrats, one older and one at the cusp of youth, and a number of noble ladies. "-But we've a brettonian in our midst, and between you and me, she's got a pair on her as lush as a reikland field. Don't keep your eye on her too long, though. You've enough enemies as it is."

"Enemies, you say?" Kasimir wondered idly, watching the woman. Kasimir had to admit Ingvald's assertions of her beauty were right. The classical green dress and gilded girdle only enhanced her feminine charms. But there was something else about her that drew his attention. The Knight of Ulric handed her a second glass of what looked to be wine, which she graciously accepted. However, when her escort threw his head back in a laugh after the younger noble said something particularly crass, she swiftly poured the drink out, the wine falling into the soil of the potted plant next to her. Within a blink, she had her glass back to her lips, acting as if she had just drained it. 

"Now as I said, I am not one for rumor. I only know of whispers, but if I were you, I would keep that sword on you. And try not to step on anyone else's toes." The Lord Boeslegar said, patting Kasimir on the shoulder, and taking his leave of the food table. One fat man eyed the table, but seemed frozen, his eyes going between Kasimir and the food. The bastard decided to grant him his wish, quickly finished the plate, and walked away to leave the man to his own dinner. 

He dodged and shouldered his way through the crowd, sliding up to the small gathering beside the White Wolf and his prize. The golden haired woman giggled with the group, and Kasimir gave a small token laugh as well to act involved. Perhaps it was nothing, he thought. Perhaps his suspicion of...something, was just his attraction working into his mind. 

"I hear your Athel Loren is as dangerous as our Drakwald, my lady." The older noble said, smiling to the woman graciously. The women went quiet and the men turned their eyes to her. She nodded emphatically. 

"Oh oui monsier. Iz ver-ee dangeroos. Bit beauteevul." 

"Might we hear a story or two of the place?" Kasimir added, and for the first time, it seemed the entire crowd had noticed he was there. Not the woman, of course. She had noticed as soon as he had arrived. "Or, I'm sorry, does the forest reach your province? I have forgotten."