The gesture does not go unnoticed, and Herian's brow quirks a little at contact made with the braided leather, looking to it for a moment. "I had never known red to be your colour," she observes, nodding to it. "A favour from one dear to your heart, I take it?"

She could have said one with whom you take your pleasure, but that was a step or two beyond, that was too much the dreaded Starkhaven girl that made so many Orlesians sigh. It is good, she thinks, that Adelaide has someone whose favour she would wear gladly, if she is correct in her estimation. Mages are too much isolated, and Adelaide has always held herself to a standard to which Herian aspired.

More often than not she failed, and she had never in the Spire denied herself company, but only once had she loved, and that had been—

"If they prove unworthy of you, I will make them regret it."