Beatrix stared at the carpet at the centre of the hall with eyes unseeing, her focus entirely on the Queen's words.  After she had finished speaking, Beatrix lifted her gaze as she stood, and beheld the older woman before her.  Queen Alveena certainly carried herself as a woman of stature, which was to be expected, but Beatrix also glimpsed something more in her pose, something that those of less keen eye, or whom had not been trained in the martial ways of the Companions might have overlooked.<br/><br/>"Beatrix von Winterfeldt, Your Grace--" she began, almost before she realized she had spoken.  Catching herself, she took a single step forward, all of a sudden feeling that curious warm feeling on her scalp one gets when a score of important people are watching your every action and hearing your every word.  Standing quite straight and still, she cleared her throat and pressed on, knowing that she could not afford to make a poor impression.  Thankfully, she had spent the greater part of the previous hour deciding what to say.<br/><br/>"--Daughter of Count Markward von Winterfeldt.  I am capable with the blade and the quarterstaff ... I am a student of history and culture, and am well-versed in music and dance.  I have served in our Sisterhood for five years, and should you give me the honour, I pledge to do my utmost to provide for the Prince's happiness and well-being, and guard him with my life if it should come to that."  The prickling on her scalp intensified.  She matched the Queen's gaze for a long moment, and waited.