[ Standing in Radomir's imposing presence, Anahid is suddenly very aware of the layer of dried mud still coating the hem of her dress and that she's very noticeably still wearing the king's coat. Judging from the way Radomir's eyes sweep over her, he notices these things too. She draws herself up regardless, refusing to be so cowed. ]

I regret that we were unable to be properly introduced earlier, sir. The care you put into curating the library is admirable.

[ It's a bit of a dance, this showing of guileless etiquette. Fortunately, it's one Anahid can do at the drop of a hat.

Radomir isn't impressed, though. His lip curls with barely concealed distaste at her accented Ravkan. He manages a curt nod and nothing more, swinging his gaze to Nikolai and speaking in flawless Zemeni. ]

May I have a word with you, moi Tsar? [ With all the subtlety of a million zebras crashing in through the ceiling, his darkened gaze briefly skims over Anahid's head. ] In private?

[ In the face of all this, Anahid finds herself wishing for the return of Mikhail and his warm, welcoming manner. Mikhail should run the library. Mikhail should be crowned queen of Ravka. Mikhail should be given every promotion, she thinks, for the simple act of human decency of not looking at her like she's a squashed bug caught under heel. ]