Nyx returns bare minutes before the call to dinner, just as promised. He'd shed the tabard and pin signifying his rank as Captain of the Guard and donned a nondescript uniform of blue instead, matching Laurent's evening wear. Try as he might, he can't help tugging awkwardly at the sleeves and collar, movements stiff and uncertain-- at least until he catches Laurent's gaze and the brightness of his smile.

"...Sorry. Tailor didn't get a chance to let out the shoulders, so they're a bit tight."

In actuality, the tailor had sniffed and muttered something about how 'upjumped barbarians should be grateful for what they got,' and Nyx had left it at that. Trailing beyond Laurent, he feels an unexpected pang of anxiety. How many times had he followed behind Auguste as he entered the grand hall, barely two steps behind? It had taken Nyx years of trial and error and a great deal of Auguste's forbearance for him to learn proper behavior in court. Now, as Laurent's guard, how will he be expected to act to not disappoint his new charge?