All eyes turned toward a woman dressed in flowing noble apparel; her lustrous golden hair fell past her shoulders to the middle of her back.
To say she was beautiful seemed like an understatement because she practically glowed with an indescribable benevolence—like she was above all mundane matters. Which made the look of worry on her face so striking because what could make this angelic-looking beauty, who was exuding a somewhat divine purpose, so distraught?
"Lady Victoire," the blond man said with a bow.
The Mages bowed even deeper. They had dropped their hands, and their spell circles had vanished as they all backed up a bit in obedience to Lady Victoire's orders.
"My Lady, these intruders…" the blond man started to say.
"Oh come on, Lincoln, I know who they are," Lady Victoire said, "And so do you, I'm sure."
"Yes, my Lady," Lincoln said, shaking his blond head, "But my Lady…"
"You were with my Son on that day," Lady Victoire said, pointing at Delia.
