Inside the grand salon of the manor, the tall windows let in a gray light.
Dyana and Randal stood side by side near the large fireplace where the fire warmed the air. Dyana had removed her soaked veil; her hair clung in strands to her temples and nape. Randal, for his part, maintained an inflexible posture, hands firmly clasped behind his back.
The condolences began in murmurs.
An elderly baron, his graying beard still beaded with water, bowed deeply before Dyana.
"My most sincere condolences, Madam Duchess. Isabella was an admirable young woman. May the Seraphs, in their mercy, grant her eternal rest."
Dyana inclined her head, her parched lips trembling slightly.
"Thank you very much for your words, Baron Dumein."
The same essential phrase returned, declined with infinitesimal variations.
"Our thoughts are with you in this terrible ordeal."
"The duchy has lost one of its most promising lights. Our deepest condolences and unwavering support are yours."
