Jude: "Bryonie. Bryonie Smith, your grace,"
"Bryonie Smith," Francesca repeated affirmatively, contrasting the warmth and invitation in her voice by giving the woman a lingering, evaluative look. At first, the obvious signs that she was a commoner, but a lovely one at that, pleased Francesca - mostly because she knew this one would make a satisfying meal for one of her vampires, when the sun set and they took to the floor with her.
The accent wasn't quite that easy to place. Francesca had been a rebellious youth who brushed up alongside many of the common folk - hell, her head of security, Antonio, had been little but the son of a thief and a barroom brawler before she had brought him up the ranks - but still… where was that lilt from?
"Smith," Francesca said again, as if it was dawning on her. The West had its smiths, of course, but most of Eventyr's metalworkers resided in that unique region on the border of the North, which supplied the metal, and the East, that supplied ample wood for their fires. The thought of drawing someone from that region excited the vindictive new Queen, who hated both the Duchess of the former and, even more, the Duke of the latter.
Because it was pleasant to look upon, few bothered to try to see past Francesca's beauty. But for those who bothered, the boniness in her throat and chest were obvious and the paleness of her skin spoke of a telling anemia, and the peculiar glee that lit up her sharp features could be just a bit unsettling. "Have you travelled far to join us tonight?"