The carriages began rolling in when the sun began to set, and Daphne watched with no small amount of interest at the difference in carriage designs. There was a sigil on top of each carriage, and they seemed to be based on animals. From her room, she could spot a hawk, a bear, and even a fox.
How interesting. Reaweth had nothing like this.
The sight of never-ending carriages lining the path did cause a pit to grow at the bottom of her stomach. These were Atticus' people, and they would be her people soon enough.
Everyone's eyes would be on her. How was she supposed to compose herself, when she spent most of her teenage years at the corner of every ballroom? What if Atticus' nobles were just like him, ruthless and cunning and prone to mocking?
How was she supposed to escape?
"Are you alright?" Atticus asked.
Startled, Daphne jumped a little, turning her head to look at him. Her hand was looped with his, resting on the crook of his elbow.
