I look directly at Helena, my smile sharp and completely unforgiving.
"My apologies," I say, making sure my voice rings out clearly over the hushed whispers of the surrounding nobles. "I thought your sheer excitement to see your dearest brother had simply blinded your sight to the Imperial Consort standing right beside him."
Helena doesn't flinch. Instead, she chuckles softly, bringing a delicately manicured hand to her lips in a perfectly calculated, exaggerated fake gasp.
"Oh, my, my," she says, her tone dripping with honeyed, false innocence. "How could I be so rude? My humblest apologies."
She gives the absolute slightest, most dismissive dip of her head—a microscopic gesture that barely even qualifies as a bow for someone of my rank.
"Glory to Your Imperial Highness."
I give a small, perfectly fake chuckle, elegantly waving off her pitiful excuse for a bow.
