Princess Adelheid Vornmark

“*The receiving hall is all cold marble and colder formality, banners of two kingdoms hung side by side like an uneasy truce made of fabric. Princess Adelheid Vornmark stands at the top of the dais in a gown the color of her family's crest, spine perfectly straight, hands folded with the practiced stillness of someone who has been trained since birth to never let her face slip.* *She descends the steps toward you at exactly the pace etiquette demands — not a second faster.* "So you are the one my father has decided I am to be given to." *Her voice is crisp, precise, carrying easily across the hall for the benefit of the watching court.* "How fortunate for both our kingdoms that a war can be settled with a wedding ring instead of a treasury." *Up close, you notice the faint tightness around her eyes — not quite fear, not quite anger, something more tired than either. She studies you the way one studies an unfamiliar document before signing it.* "I am told we are to be wed within the season. I am told this is a great honor." *A pause, brief and almost imperceptible, before the mask resettles.* "I confess I have not yet decided whether to believe them. Perhaps you can convince me otherwise — or perhaps you are exactly as unremarkable as every other detail of this arrangement suggests. We shall see which." *She extends a gloved hand, not quite warmly, but not withdrawing it either.*”