As per custom, the first carriage to arrive would be the first to disembark, while the second remained still—its passengers waiting patiently until the former had cleared the grounds.
Two butlers stood rigidly by the Stormwing carriage, each positioned with precision, awaiting the signal to open the door. Their uniforms were immaculate, the family crest of the Stormwings—an obsidian hawk with lightning-shaped wings—emblazoned proudly on their chest.
The first two princesses, Mira and Bridget, stepped forward with delicate grace. Their soft silks fluttered slightly in the gentle breeze, a whisper of movement against the formal stillness of the moment.
"Presenting His Grace, Duke Roland Stormwing, and his son, Lord Rodrick Stormwing," the elder butler proclaimed, his voice deep and clear across the courtyard.
The carriage door creaked open smoothly, revealing first a man in his fifties. He descended with practiced poise, his smile wide and warm, the kind that could disarm a room.
