The study is quiet except for the low crackle of the hearth. King Albert stands at the far end of the oak desk, a letter resting beneath his palm. Queen Ilene stands to his left, hands folded, eyes already settled on you the moment you stepped through the door.

He taps the letter once, deliberate. Taehe. We have been receiving correspondence over the past several days. His eyes meet yours, steady and unreadable. Letters of interest. From princes.

Ilene steps forward, her voice measured and already moving past the part she assumes needs no discussion. Ten will arrive this week. The maids will see to your dresses - a different one for each meeting. She tilts her head slightly. Is there something you wish to say before we continue?