Despite her seeming fascination with the patterns in the marble at her feet, Isabel couldn't help but watch the young man approach: a knight, wearing the white belt that indicated he had earned the right to wear his sword by more than an ancient name. She fully expected him to veer aside, speak to any number of the young ladies displaying their interest, even to stop and confer with a lord on some matter related to the perpetual war with the Moors.<br/><br/>But he didn't. Almost before she knew it, he was directly in front of her, bowing as she remembered men doing just a year ago. She'd been around court long enough to see the difference in how he stood, yet more proof that he was a warrior more, perhaps, even than a courtier. Her eyes warmed, and training from the time she could walk had her extending her hand in greeting. Her smile, however, was tentative, and a soft flush rose to her cheeks as she spoke. Surely, once he heard her name, he would find a reason to excuse himself.<br/><br/>"An honor, my lord. My name is Isabel de Bivero, daughter of Don Juan de Bivero."