Delyria often didn't quite know what to make of her son. Despite the whole sham with the barrister and Darold and all the nonsense of keeping herself free from pretenders and greedy Dymonds, she loved her son. If she could have spared him the contract, she would have, but that would have made things very, very obvious, and one thing Delyria preferred not to be, at least in terms of her genuine scheming, was obvious.
She was just fine being obvious in other things. Obviously frivolous, obviously as substantial as the flakes of diamond on her skin, obviously not a threat to anyone. Her son, however...sometimes she truly wondered about him, and where his loyalties rested. Sometimes he was just so damned treasonous, but she preferred to blame the drink. It was only talk. They were only words, bitter words, and she couldn't blame him for being bitter. If his stupid father hadn't tried to kill her, none of this would have happened. He'd be Knave and maybe she even would have trusted him to be the Duke without trying to off her first.
She entered the establishment in a whirl of ruby red skirts threaded with metallic gold. She was wearing red to celebrate the dearly beloved Heart dynasty, of course. The King was a generous patron of her casino, and the Queen was her dear friend. Her dress was ruby red, her lips were ruby red, and a ruby the size of a fist was tied at her throat with a shimmering gold ribbon. Her hair was dusted with gold powder and ruby powder. Her eyes remained gold, but she had added tiny red hearts to her pupils. The diamond birthmark on her right cheekbone winked in the light.