Royal Consort Leyla rose gracefully from her seat, her gown whispering as she moved. Her smile was radiant, eager, as she advanced to greet the one figure who had unsettled the entire court simply by accepting an invitation.
"I cannot believe I have the honor of meeting the legendary Jade Master in person," she exclaimed, her voice laced with admiration. "How thoughtful of you to grace my summons!" Her eyes gleamed with anticipation, like a child presented with a forbidden treasure.
Ambrosia did not rush to respond. She stood in the threshold of the grand hall, her slender frame draped in the black and silver robes of her sect, her veil shadowing a face rumored to have launched both devotion and dread in equal measure. Her eyes, however—dark, obsidian pools rimmed with ice—swept over Leyla with something far colder than courtesy.
