Ingrid was both embarrassed and proud to be seen entering the banquet hall on the arm of her betrothed. She was embarrassed because it was quite obvious from the look of both of them that they had been pretty "busy" just before dinner, but proud because she stood beside - in the place that was now hers and would be hers forever - the greatest man in Russia.<br/><br/>The low murmur of chatter and clinking of glasses as guests enjoyed an early champagne ceased as if stopped by the flipping of a switch when she and Alexei entered the room. The banquet hall, with its giant vaulted ceilings, marble walls and floors, gilded molding, tall windows and crystal chandeliers looked like a Baroque hell to Ingrid. The splendor was overwhelming for a moment.<br/><br/>But no splendor or piercing stare could derail her. She was a Princess of the Blood of Sweden, and this was her element. From infancy, she had been trained for these occasions, and she kept her expression pleasantly neutral, meeting the stares with a cool, appraising gaze of her own. With Alexei Romanov at her side, there was no one she could not face down in this room.<br/><br/>Her spirit surged and soared with this thought, and she looked up at her betrothed, the faintest glimmer of a wicked smile tugging at her lips for an instant before her features were schooled back into demure polite pleasure.<br/><br/>She looked over at Pavel and Elizabeth, and she curtsied to them as was their due as Czar and Czarina. Then, she stood and waiting with Alexei for them to come and greet them formally and bring them to the head table.