When Silke saw her brother queue to speak with Galt, she had allowed the tiniest hint of a frown to tug at the corners of her mouth. It was not that he had done anything terribly unexpected; Vincent was a proper gentleman who took his courtly responsibilities very seriously. The ghost of displeasure had been at the notion that a new count might meet her brother before any other member of the aristocracy. In her opinion, it would have been a shame if the hero's first exposure to nobility (omitting the duke) was someone so impersonal. Vincent was exponentially worse with women, of course, but she couldn't remember anyone, male or female, complimenting her on his charms.

Thankfully, Lady Frescea was quick-witted and light on her feet as she seized the opportunity to approach Vincent Kasper and take him by the arm. From a short distance away, Silke could see her brother's lips open and close as he tried to articulate an argument. He had been figuratively cornered by the time he had regained his composure enough to speak. By then, the duke had wandered off, the line had dwindled to nothing, and there was no queue for him to return to. It was incredibly satisfying seeing her plan so perfectly executed. Even her group of count's daughters and baron's daughters intuitively understood what was happening and naturally melded away as she took her first strides away from them.

The room was a veritable kaleidoscope of colors. Silke wore a gown of deep cerulean blue, embroidered at its edges with delicate silver and white embroidery, that hugged her slim figure. The precise hemming of her skirt just above the floor, as well as her smooth, elegant gait, gave the illusion of her gliding rather than walking. Her hair, a deep chocolate brown that matched her eyes, had been swept back from her face into an elaborate braid for the occasion, then decorated with sapphire ribbons and tiny white flowers. While she could not compete with the most beautiful women in the room, she enjoyed dressing well. Clothes were both the weapons and armor of a courtier.

Silke had been watching and evaluating Galt silently before her approach. Everyone knew he had saved the duke's life, but she was interested in far more details than her peers. Her father, brother, and most of the people in the room were content to know he knew how to wield a sword, dismissing the rest as unnecessary. That answer did not satisfy Silke. Quietly she studied him and noted that he had a more fluid stride than a knight, that his gaze drifted away from the duchess's face when she spoke, and that when the conversation was not so stiff and formal, he had a palpable charisma.

"Vedrick," she said, her voice as warm as if she were greeting the oldest of friends, "I do hope you haven't been too hard on the count. The very best of us struggle to match your level of composure and refinement." From nearly anyone else in the room the comment would have sounded more akin to a passive-aggressive jibe than an earnest compliment, but Silke spoke with a sincerity that made it clear she was praising the royal aide.

Redirecting her attention towards Galt, Silke leaned forward and took the hand the hand that had just been withdrawn, clasped it, and gave a firm shake. "There is nothing wrong with a little deviation from protocol. It'll be our little secret," she added with a mischievous conspiratorial whisper. No one was looking their way other than Vedrick. Truth be told, even if someone had seen the gesture, they wouldn't have been scandalized. Since establishing herself as a darling of the court, her few eccentricities were overlooked, or they were acknowledged with a good-humored laugh and shake of the head.

For a lady of her station, Silke's grip was surprisingly strong. Similarly strange, whereas ladies had perfectly smooth skin from their luxurious lifestyle, her fingers had small callouses from her secret archery practice. The count's daughter kept the handshake brief, unwilling to discuss the abnormality he might discover, and flashed him another bright smile that was a sharp contrast to the other maidens in attendance. They saw him as an eligible bachelor and so they were coy and flirtatious. Silke had no intention of every wedding. Galt was a fine man, as far as she knew anyway, but she was not meant for grand things such as a happy marriage.

"It is nice to meet you, Count Galt," she greeted. "It must be quite overwhelming to have so many new faces and names to commit to memory all at once. My father is Count Johann Kasper," she added helpfully, pointing to where he stood across the room, waiting for the king's entrance and in close proximity to the duke. Silke was a blend of both her parents' physical traits, and it took a close look to see the resemblance between her and her father. Vincent Kasper, however, took after him heavily to the point their resemblance was remarked on frequently.

"I was hoping you might regale me with the story of your rescue of the duke." Her countenance, while still warm and inviting, had a soft intensity. Her request was not a flippant attempt at casual conversation. No matter how he answered, Silke would pay rapt attention to every word, every description, every detail, and analyze it thoroughly. She had her suspicions about this man. Perhaps if she asked a direct enough question, she might be led to a response that would tell her whether or not he was worthy of her cause.