Despite her origins, Orleasian, of course--here in Ferelden where they still regarded Imperials with such distaste and hatred, even, what, a hundred years and more after their occupation had ended? Lucressia understood the impetus for hatred, she just sometimes needed to remember that it existed here, that it was blood-deep in so many Fereldens.
"I'm almost jealous," she said, going back towards the actual conversation, as opposed to the commentary running in her head; "Maybe the chance to learn more about the Wardens, and the people behind their legend," she smiled, and tried to make it as clear as she could without saying it, that she meant their guards as well, "will give me reason to keep my stock here after the tournament, and spend a little more time in Amaranthine." She strode ahead a few paces. "But I should leave you to your rounds, Guardsman." After that, there was a sweet smile, a little flourish and a hint of a curtsy with her skirts, a gesture she had practiced many times over the years. And then she'd leave, while she was still mysterious––a status she hoped to capitalize on later. This had gone, in her mind, far better than she expected these little feasts had had any right to.