For dinner that night we found Bran and Shevraeth waiting in the parlor next to the dining room. Nee had probably prepared them, I realized. This was new for me, but it was according to the rules of etiquette; and if I looked at it as rehearsal--more of the playacting--I found it easy to walk in beside her, minding my steps so that my skirt flowed gracefully and my floor-length sleeves draped properly without twisting or tripping me up. Nee walked straight to my brother, who performed a bow, and grinning widely, offered his arm. This left me with the Marquis, who looked tall and imposing in dark blue embroidered with pale gold, which--I realized as I glanced just once at him--was the exact same shade as his hair. He said nothing, just bowed, but there was mild question in his gray eyes as he held out his arm. I grimaced, thinking: Putting my fingertips so lightly on his sleeve I scarcely felt the fabric, I fell into step beside him as we followed the other two into the dining room. Though this was my home, I didn't plop down cross-legged onto my cushion, but knelt in the approved style.