As the King entered the antechamber, Genevieve and her attendants curtsied or bowed accompanied with a variation of greetings befitting his status. She met his smile with her own and took his arm when offered. Noting her breakfast and delicate porcelain, Genevieve stood until the King sat, in which she sat herself while smoothing her skirts to keep from speaking. "It does, My Lord. Thank you for asking." Her inner monologue was rolling it's eyes while her smile brightened. She hoped that this wasn't the only type of conversations she could expect from her future husband. Well, if he wasn't bright, at least he<span style="font-style: italic">seemed</span>kind and was very handsome. Genevieve inwardly sighed. There were worse flaws, she supposed.<br/><br/>"Do you have a favorite instrument, My Lord?" She could keep up with this small talk. Although she found small talk abhorred, she was relatively decent at keeping such a conversation going. She lowered her gaze as she took a sip of her morning tea and began buttering a slice of bread. It spread easily. Genevieve was unsure why she noticed such a thing, but she did. After taking a bite and placing her buttered bread back on the plate before her, Genevieve took her napkin and gently patted her lips, picking up any crumbs that might have been left behind. Her gaze returned to the King and her brow furrowed.<br/><br/>"Are you alright, my Lord?" He seemed flushed, but it could easily have been the ambiance of the room. The rising sun's rays left the room in a golden glow. The white tablecloth kept the reflection from being too harsh, but the porcelain plates sent lights dancing on the high ceilings. The entire room had a very romantic air and, if Genevieve was being honest with herself, made her more than a little uncomfortable.