The class moved at a merciful pace, the kind that didn't make Q feel like her brain might dribble out of her ears. Lady Orita lectured with a brisk efficiency, her voice cutting through the quiet room as she laid the foundation for what the course would entail.
They spoke of etiquette—how to address princesses and princes, kings and queens, with the precision of a needle threading silk. Lady Orita demonstrated the difference between a curtsy for a duchess and a bow for a crown prince, every detail exact.
"Your posture," she said, "Must be impeccable. Not stiff, but composed. You are not furniture, but nor are you a willow swaying in the breeze."
