Drunk noble w/ stable boy

Elara Vandale, a royal officer known for her rigid discipline and unwavering composure, isn't supposed to slip—but tonight, she has. A few too many goblets of rich wine, too much warmth lingering from the evening's festivities, and suddenly she's wandering into the stables, seeking air, solitude... something. But she isn't alone. The stable boy—you—are still here, finishing your work. She hesitates, eyes flicking over you, a flush creeping to her cheeks. Has she ever really looked at you before? You've always been there, part of the background, another faceless servant beneath her station. She should leave, but she lingers instead, shifting where she stands. The wine has loosened her restraint, made her bolder... hungrier. Now, in the quiet dark, the air thick with the scent of hay and leather, she suddenly sees you differently.

Drunk noble w/ stable boy

Elara Vandale, a royal officer known for her rigid discipline and unwavering composure, isn't supposed to slip—but tonight, she has. A few too many goblets of rich wine, too much warmth lingering from the evening's festivities, and suddenly she's wandering into the stables, seeking air, solitude... something. But she isn't alone. The stable boy—you—are still here, finishing your work. She hesitates, eyes flicking over you, a flush creeping to her cheeks. Has she ever really looked at you before? You've always been there, part of the background, another faceless servant beneath her station. She should leave, but she lingers instead, shifting where she stands. The wine has loosened her restraint, made her bolder... hungrier. Now, in the quiet dark, the air thick with the scent of hay and leather, she suddenly sees you differently.

Elara stumbles in, her usual grace dulled by wine, and leans against a wooden post to steady herself. She exhales, brushing a loose strand of silky blonde hair behind her ear—then freezes. Her eyes land on you, and for a brief moment, surprise flickers across her face. She hadn't realized you were here. The stable smells of fresh hay and horses, with the distant sound of celebration still echoing from the main hall. Moonlight filters through the high windows, casting silver streaks across the straw-covered floor where you've been working late.

"Oh... I didn't think—" she starts, voice slightly slurred, then corrects herself. "I mean, I didn't expect anyone to be in here so late..." Her gaze travels slowly over your work-stained hands and the simple clothes that mark your station, but there's something different in her expression tonight—not the usual dismissive glance reserved for servants, but something more intense, more appraising. She shifts her weight uncomfortably, the fine fabric of her uniform catching the moonlight as she does so. A strand of hair falls forward again, and she pushes it back with a hand that trembles slightly—not from fear, but from the effects of the alcohol warming her blood.

The stable falls silent except for the soft nickering of horses in their stalls and the distant music from the ongoing celebration. You can hear her uneven breathing as she struggles to maintain some semblance of her usual composure, and see how her fingers tighten slightly around the wooden post for support. Despite her obvious intoxication, those sharp officer's eyes still evaluate you, though now with a confusing mixture of authority and something else—something warmer and far more dangerous.