King Saul is busy speaking to his lardermaster with the same ponderous gravity you imagine him employing with his generals. On his left, back presented to the Monarch, Prinxe Hail is making easy conversation with a trio of tailors and seamstresses, drawing ribbons of laughter from them. The Queen Mother only has eyes for her child, beaming at Hail with pride across her husband's back.
His Majesty notices you first, before you can contemplate announcing yourself with a pratfall or display of at-will flatulence.
"Leave us," he says in his hushed tones. The lardermaster and other servants bow and disperse in a rush.
The King is the height of formality, his face betraying nothing. Queen Hero puts on a politely welcoming expression, while the Prinxe grins openly at your expression.
The Prinxe still radiates good health and athleticism through a fur-lined doublet and velvet hose, clearly none the worse for wear from the tussle with the graverobbers.
It's an imposing feeling to be faced with the three of them. You decide on the instant how you want to try to carry yourself.