The planes of his face immediately put her in the mindset of the noble Elves in the court of Princess Amanda. Not the ones that she chose to surround herself with, but the ones who had been there for generations. Old money. Old titles. Old bloodlines.

Albeit a little more practical than some of the dukes and earls she'd known, since he deigned to wear some form of protection.

On instinct, she dipped into a curtsy, even though she was wearing her leathers, not a gown. The grace was the same, either. "Ariadne of Valeria," she said. "Although no one calls me that. Just 'Airy' is fine."

Before it could be called an afterthought--although it kind of was--she turned to give Cypher a little bow as well. "Sir Weasel."