[h2]I S A B E L L A D E L R E Y E S[/h2] [hr] Princess Hye-ri returned her stiff, polite smile, and Isabella contemplated making conversation with the other girl (who had just been joined by the flamboyant prince of Castilya) for about a total of two seconds before she dismissed the thought from her mind. Instead, she cast her gaze around the spacious ballroom, searching for someone who would be worth her time. Her betrothed had not yet arrived; Isabella wondered where he was, and how late he intended to be. Her eyes wandered towards one of the walls, which was lined with paintings, where Prince Erik von Rothschild of Veredun was standing. Nearby was the crown prince of Glavnya, Anastasiy Romanova. Isabella drifted in their direction, idly watching the crowd and taking small sips of her champagne as she did so. Although Isabella had never been too cognizant of other people's fashion choices (it mostly amounted to something along the lines of [i]wow, this outfit would upset my father[/i] or [i]wow, I definitely[/i] do not[i] want to wear this thing[/i]), she [i]had[/i] to appreciate the fact that she and Prince Anastasiy were wearing matching colors, coincidentally. The Glavnyan crown prince had only been named heir about a year or so ago, if Isabella remembered correctly. His older brother and his wife had been killed-in a car accident, or something. She wasn't quite sure if they had ever discovered the true perpetrators of the crime. It was not surprising, really; her father did not tend to allow most foreign news websites and/or TV channels within Evalusian borders. Being King Gabriel I's daughter had its perks, of course; Isabella [i]was[/i], admittedly, able to access some of the more relevant websites. But one also had to remember that Evalusian internet was not exactly state-of-the-art technology. "Pardon me for being forward," she said by way of greeting, once she had reached the Glavnyan prince, "but I do love your outfit for the night." She tried her best at a wry grin, though she knew it would come out slightly stiff and/or forced, and that it would not reach her eyes. "We match." Isabella was conscious of her lilting accent, with the long, drawn-out [i]r[/i]'s, the soft [i]s[/i]'s, and the vowels just a [i]tad[/i] too breathy, though she supposed that there was nothing that could be done about it at the moment. [i]It is still easier than listening to the Castilyan lilt, though,[/i] she thought to herself with a twinge of disdain. [i]Is there a particular reason why they refuse to pronounce the ā€œsā€ sound? It's quite...irritating.[/i] [i](Interacting with [@MorningStar1399])[/i]