In the audience seats, an eighteen-year-old girl sat quietly, her posture composed yet unassuming.
Her dark auburn hair was braided neatly to one side, the simple style fastened with a plain ivory pin, tasteful, but unremarkable enough for a merchant's daughter.
She wore a modest teal dress, tailored well enough to suggest wealth, yet not so ornate as to invite questions.
A thin veil of lace rested around her shoulders, softening her features without hiding them. But it was her eyes, a clear shade of sapphire blue, calm yet discerning, that made those around her glance twice. She was simply called Rachel, a name that was quite normal.
Sitting beside her was a man wearing rather shabby clothes with a short sword at his waist and a shield on his back. When people saw them together, the first thing that came to mind was that the person was her bodyguard.
