Both sides in the argument looked at the person who just joined their confrontation circle.
She was a woman in her mid-twenties with beautiful long golden hair as warm as the sunshine and amber eyes that looked at people with interest. Her voice was amused, yet firm, the mocking undertone playing around the ears of nobles in disbelief.
"Who…" Someone wanted to ask but stopped mid-sentence as the atmosphere was too dense. The group of young nobles didn't recognize the newcomer, but everyone could tell the royalty coming out from her aura.
It was silent for a while until Jonathan Whittomb, the second son from the house of the count, suddenly gasped and bent his knee.
