"Also, Lord Byrne does have a point," Silke said, keeping a straight face though her eyes were full of mirth and good humor. "You are much more fun to bother than Count Harrowmark. Your grumbling is so endearing that it is hard to resist," she teased her brother. And, subjectively, it was true. Vincent had a much more difficult time formulating witty replies to the verbal prodding, and it was amusing to many that someone who was so physically strong and imposing could become completely undone by a well-placed jest or comment.

As wine was poured into individual glasses, Silke waved her hand to indicate she would not be partaking in alcohol, instead requesting some warm tea. She enjoyed a strong red especially, such as the one being served tonight, but she knew from experience what her limits were. If she were to imbibe any sort of liquor with her present frailty, due to lack of sleep, overworking, failing to eat meals on a regular schedule, and spending a length of time in damp clothing, she would almost certainly pay a steep price. It was better to err on the side of caution. One of the servants disappeared, reappearing a few minutes later with a cup that smelled of mint and lemon.

"What are you doing here anyway?" Vincent asked bluntly as the appetizers were passed around. Once again Silke had little, choosing just one of each, while her brother, father, and guests chose to have several, the former of which had a rather robust number.

"Mind your manners, Vincent," Lord Kasper sighed in a bored monotone that suggested this was an exceedingly common chastisement- and repeated more often than anyone may wish to admit.

"There's no reason to avoid it," Silke declared. She was sipping lightly at her tea and nibbling at her appetizers. Although she was hungry, she was in a strange place where she was almost too tired to eat, and too famished to rest. Putting down the wedge that had been the current subject of her attention, she turned her gaze towards the family patriarch. "He came to warn me that the north is all but demanding my hand in marriage as a part of their peace negotiations," she informed her father calmly. Her voice was gentle and pleasant, as if she were discussing the weather rather than political manipulation that could greatly impact her life (and theirs by extension).

"Surely the king wouldn't consider such a thing," Lord Kasper said, frowning to himself. Both he and Vincent were fiercely protective of Silke. The loss of her mother, Violet, and the subsequent death of her brother, Alistair, had left a deep wound on their souls. The either detached themselves entirely or became borderline hysterical when she showed any sign of serious illness, injury, or the possibility of leaving them in any way. A long trip to another city would almost induce a panic. Distance or harm to her, no matter how temporary, was a reminder that one day she could be gone from their lives as well. If anything would make them rise against their monarch, it would be if they were ordered to 'sacrifice' Silke by sending her away.

"I'm afraid he would have," she replied, casting a glance at Lord Byrne. Despite the tense subject of discussion, he was carefully (with perfect etiquette) wolfing down the artichoke wrapped in bacon as if he hadn't seen food in days. She rolled her eyes at him, which either went unnoticed or ignored, before turning back to her father. "Imagine if you ruled a kingdom and one of your subjects was all that was needed to secure a treaty for even a single year."

"[i]Would have?[/i]" Vincent said, giving her side-eye. Growing suspicious, he glanced between his sister and Galt.

"We're not so formal here. You can have as much as you like, Vincent certainly does," Silke replied sweetly to Galt's question before silently taking a few more tiny bites of her sun-dried tomato. She was giving her fiance a chance to volunteer that he had proposed before she did so herself. Casual as her family might be- and they were compared to other members of the nobility- generally it was the groom who'd announce an engagement. Although she didn't care a bit about the tradition, she could recognize he might, or that he might care in the context of how he'd appear to his future in-laws if he sat quietly while she did all the talking. So, rather than control the entire conversation herself, which she would be happy to do if needed, she tried to give him the space to make the decision how he'd prefer to proceed.