{Third Person}
The conversation in the pavilion continued, light on the surface, but layered beneath.
Servants moved gracefully between them, pouring tea, offering delicacies, adjusting placements. Then, something happened.
A servant approached Amara from the side, carrying a teapot. Her movements were careful until they weren't.
Her hand slipped, and the tea tipped. And before anyone could react, a stream of warm liquid spilled across the front of Amara's dress.
The sound of it—soft, but unmistakable, drew immediate attention.
The servant gasped. "My lady—I—"
Amara froze for the briefest second as the warmth soaked into the fabric. Then she looked up calmly.
"It's alright. It was an accident," she said, before the servant could spiral further.
The servant looked stunned, even relieved, but still terrified, knowing how things could have turned out differently for her if it had been another woman she had accidentally hurt.
Around them, the reactions came quickly.
"Oh dear…"
