Under Benedict's vivisecting stare, Tavi self-consciously straightens his robes. His parents wouldn't have let him into the gala without ensuring his look was on pointe; still, he can barely be more than thirteen or fourteen, and his life in Qarinus has insulated him from much of what society in Minrathous has to offer. Namely, viper-like company like Benedict's.

Graceful, Ophelia rests a hand against her son's shoulder. Her gaze on Benedict grows crystalline and cold, but her smile doesn't fade. Still, one might suggest not provoking her temper; she will be the lady of the house when Benedict has occasion to visit Qarinus with his new mentor.

Atticus's eyes are well beyond the exchange, instead following Calpurnia as she makes her poised, shark-like progress through the room. She has a target in her sights; Atticus just can't discern who it is yet. "I wasn't clear," he begins in a deceptively mild tone of voice, "who our hosts were this evening."

"I gave you the invitation," Ophelia notes quietly. "Didn't you read it?"

In response, Atticus drains a liberal amount of wine from his goblet. Clearly not.