A smirk tugged at the corner of Valentia's mouth as her dark eyes looked Lord Locke up and down, appraising him like a jewel for market. Silk and luxurious finery. He was quickly becoming comfortable with his new position of wealth and power. Either he was basking in the wealth or attempting to play the typical game of nobility constantly attempting to one-up each other with increasingly expensive goods. One thing that had never changed about Valentia was her choice of attire, ever modest and muted since the day she was old enough to choose her own wardrobe. The royal advisor wore a long-sleeved satin gown of muted plum accentuated by minimal silver hemming and jewelry. Pinned to her breast was the eagle broach that marked her position. Pulling back the hood of her cobalt cloak, the face of Lady Alcantara was revealed.<br/><br/>There had always been whispers that Alcantara's cold calculation was matched only by her beauty. They spoke of her heart-shaped face with its high, sharp cheekbones and the subtle bronze coloring to her complexion that implied she was initially from the southern part of the country, shapely lips ever pursed in judgement (and occasionally rumored to be slathered in poison, Zittira had been quite amused by that one and likely had played a role in spreading that little tall tale herself). On any other, more sweet and innocent woman, her eyes would have been described as doe-like, but they were far too hardened and cunning for such a flattering statement. Instead those dark eyes spoke of unfathomable depths of knowledge, unreadable yet so certain and cold as an abyss. Her jet black hair she had allowed to hang loose about her shoulders, adorned only by a simple circlet of silver. Truth be told, Valentia had never thought much of her appearance, her wit and cunning had proven capable enough bargaining tools, though Zittira often remarked it was a waste of natural assets. The spymaster could not deny that there was some value in refusing to resort to more physical persuasion, however. It gave some sort of cleanliness and an additional alien layer to the mystery that was Alcantara.<br/><br/>"If this is humble, Sir Locke, then I would hate to see your definition of luxury," she remarked coolly, not deigning to raise a brow at his offering of a handshake instead of a bow. If he was attempting to surprise her, then he had no idea who she was or her so famous rise to power. Some of the nobles liked to spit her past at her. Orphan. Commoner. Whore's brat. Bastard. Whatever her origins had been prior to the orphanage, she knew not. Nor did she care. If an orphan girl had truly been so lowly as to reach her position of power, then what did that say about little orphan girls compared to rich brats? With a curious incline of her head, she firmly clasped his hand, hers as cool and dry as the parchment of the books she read in her spare time.<br/><br/>"Will your family be joining us, or shall you be my only company?" Valentia inquired as Octavian nuzzled her leg affectionately. With her free hand, she scratched the loyal dog behind the ears.<br/><br/>Zittira had given her a few useful bits of information regarding Eder Carecian Locke. His "humble" beginnings and a first wife who had not made it to see her husband's success. Risky opportunistic behavior with this businesses that had proven lucrative. Clever manipulative tactics. How much of the money he had acquired had been obtained through honest work and how much was from ill-gotten gains? And bribing the council to obtain his current spot among the nobility? Now there were two pretty pieces of blackmail to hold onto for later. He would know not to take her lightly. They all did. Whether she became merely a thorn in his side or his worst nightmare would be up to him. She stepped past the threshold as if they were old friends instead of strangers as she waited for his reply, Octavian following.