"May I have the honor of dancing with you, my Lord?"
The words were still hanging in the air like confetti. Hermes blinked twice, thinking he must have misheard.
"…Excuse me?"
Paragon's golden smile didn't falter. "May I dance with you? That's what I said, my Lord."
Hermes stared at him from behind his zanni mask. "…What are you, from the 1600s? I'm not a lord."
Paragon chuckled, deep and rich, like he found the confusion itself entertaining. "Relax. That's just how I am with people I respect."
Hermes' lips curled into something halfway between a grimace and a smirk. "Respect?"
He let out a short laugh that was too sharp to sound genuine. "That's rich. You're the one in the Top 10. The one with magazine covers, the glowing smile. If anything, I should be calling you Sir. Sir Paragon. Or maybe… Lord Paragon? Has a nice ring to it, don't you think?"
