Isobel hardly knew what to do with herself. She dressed no less than four times before finally deciding on a gown of the palest lilac, piped in silver. It was ethereal and insubstantial and the essence of House Dayne. It might be poor taste, dressing herself in the trappings of a house half in exile, but she had nothing finer for an afternoon with another woman of her station.
She blushed furiously as the ladies let her into Elia of Martell's chambers and marveled silently at the beauty. It was like Dorne again, in a way, even if the chambers had been decorated by the queen and not by Elia herself. It reminded Isobel of home, in a way.
She curtsied lightly and folded her hands as she sat across from the Martell girl, wondering what exactly it was that she should say at this point.
"My Lady of Mar...Martell," she managed. "Well met?"