Armia sipped her champagne, desperately wishing it was something stronger. The nobles around her chatted and laughed, their voices a cacophony of fake politeness and thinly veiled judgment.
[Just smile and nod,] she told herself. [Pretend you belong here.]
A portly man with a walrus mustache approached, eyeing her scales with barely concealed distaste.
"Lady Armia, isn't it? Quite... unusual to see a darian at these gatherings."
Armia forced a smile.
"General Neal was kind enough to invite me. I'm honored to be here."
[Even if I'd rather be literally anywhere else.]
The man harrumphed.
"Yes, well. I suppose we must make... allowances in these trying times."
A younger noble, clearly several drinks in, piped up.
"Speaking of trying times, what's your take on the war, Lady Armia? Bit of a conflict of interest for you, eh?"
Armia's tail twitched in irritation, but she kept her face neutral.
