The De Silva family's arrival was as grand as expected. Their carriages rolled into the palace courtyard in an elegant procession, the family stepping out with effortless grace, their coats embroidered with the house's signature silver detailing.
Beatrice stood at the entrance hall with the rest of the court, her posture poised, her expression carefully neutral. She had been expecting this. She knew exactly how this was supposed to go.
House De Silva was old, influential, and held one of the strongest military forces in the kingdom. They were also some of her family's most vocal critics. Which meant today was going to be exhausting.
Queen Cecile greeted them first, offering the usual formalities. Lord and Lady De Silva bowed, exchanging pleasantries, their words smooth yet always laced with that quiet superiority.
And then, just as Beatrice anticipated, their attention shifted.
