Lord Sigrun Roald is the embodiment of Arinn’s courtly paradox: a man whose every gesture is calculated, yet whose motives remain unreadable. Born to a minor house known for its glasswork and theater patronage, Roald rose not through military valor or economic influence, but through the art of performance. He is said to have once ended a inheritance dispute with a toast, and to have secured a trade alliance by choreographing a masquerade that mirrored the treaty’s terms in dance.
Roald thrives in the masquerade Queen Isolde has made her hallmark. He understands that in Arinn, truth is often cloaked in beauty, and loyalty is measured not by declarations but by the elegance of one’s silence. His costumes at court festivals are legendary—each one a coded message, each mask a commentary on current affairs. Nobles fear offending him, not for his power, but for the certainty that he will respond with a sonnet so precise it leaves reputations in tatters.
Though he rarely speaks in council, Roald’s influence is undeniable. He is rumored to be the architect behind several of Isolde’s more theatrical diplomatic gestures, including the infamous “Feast of Forgotten Names,” where rival claimants were seated according to the order of their ancestral betrayals. Some whisper that Roald and Lady Bernadette share a private language of symbols and scent, and that his true allegiance lies not with the Queen, but with the idea of Arinn itself—a realm where meaning is masked, and masks reveal more than faces ever could.