She received them in the main hall, forcing herself to maintain diplomatic composure despite her inner turmoil.
Sir Roland Beaumont was a man in his early forties, with the kind of distinguished silver at his temples that spoke to good genetics and comfortable living.
His wife, Lady Viviannah, was perhaps five years younger, with auburn hair and the kind of beauty that came from careful cultivation and expensive cosmetics.
Both were members of the barony just beside Drakenten, holders of small estates who derived their importance from proximity to the Arkwright duchy.
Morgana had known them for years and had always found their company pleasant if unremarkable.
"Lady Morgana," Sir Roland said with a courtly bow, "what a pleasure to see you returned safely to us. The reports from the Silverspire had been... troubling."
Reports? Morgana frowned.
"Indeed," Lady Viviannah added, her green eyes studying Morgana with unusual intensity.
