"These rooms are reserved for visiting nobility and members of state," The steward begins, backing up to plant himself defensively against the wall.

Wren looks to Yngvi. Her gaze slowly tracks to the trashed room just beyond.

"Quite." A pause, as she presses a hand over her heart in exaggerated shame. Dryly: "Please forgive our intrusion, your highness."

The poor steward presses a hand to his temple, looking a little wistfully as though he’d like to murder everyone in the room.

"Obviously that is not what I meant —"

"No, of course not. No rudeness was intended, milord." She's just ignoring him now, in favour of Yngvi.