Before Darien can spiral further, the sound of laughter echoes from the hall. It's that of two voices belonging to his sisters, Daphne and Isolde.
They sweep in together, Daphne talking at light speed about something involving her date with Nash, while Isolde looks like she hasn't slept in three days.
"… and then he said, 'You smell like cinnamon,' and I said, 'That's my perfume, you idiot!' Isn't that hilarious?" Daphne chirps.
Isolde groans. "I need coffee."
"Ladies," Ines says sharply, eyes flicking toward them like daggers. "Etiquette."
The girls know better than to act impulsively where their mother's presence lurks. To the woman, etiquette and appearances are the base of a powerful leader, and she wouldn't have her kids any less than that.
They both freeze. Daphne drops into a curtsy; Isolde mutters a half-hearted "Good morning" and collapses into her chair.
