Beside her sat Anastasia Velthorne, her younger sister, who listened quietly, her golden blonde hair neatly braided and her gray eyes calm.
Though she rarely spoke, her thoughtful gaze occasionally darted around the room, taking in every argument, every jab, with a quiet intensity.
In the far corner, Benedict Velthorne, the fiery-haired, green-eyed son of the second prince, was focused on his own passion.
A sketchbook was open before him, and he was absorbed in sketching the scene of his cousins' squabbles, capturing each expression with remarkable precision.
He glanced up only occasionally, his lean frame hunched over his art, seemingly removed from the chaos around him.