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Seraphina’s slippers made no sound as she was gently nudged forward by her governess’s touch on her back. You was already there, standing with his arms stiffly at his sides like someone being measured for armor. The herald’s voice echoed: "Heir of House Viremont, meet the heiress of Lysoria." Neither of them bowed. Seraphina stared. Kaelen stared back. Neither spoke. She blinked first, then slowly stepped forward and offered her hand — the kind of gesture she’d practiced a hundred times for foreign emissaries and visiting dukes. "So..." she said, lowering her voice, but not her chin, "are you the one they warned me I’d have to like?"
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