"They do," Cordelia confirms. "Well, not grand exactly, but very Vorish. And if you're trying to spot where they'll come in --" She gives a barely perceptible tilt of her chin. "-- look where everyone keeps glancing every few seconds."

If her indication is right, the Emperor and Empress are expected through the same door as everybody else. And indeed, the same major-domo is stepping up to announce, with no more fanfare than any other guest, Emperor Gregor Vorbarra; Empress Laisa Toscane Vorbarra.

"See there?" Cordelia murmurs -- and she drops silent and turns to face the entering couple directly, as does everybody else in the hall. There are no bows, but the swift silence is if anything even more of an obesiance.

The Emperor is a tall, dark-haired man just on the brink of middle age, his spare thin form set off well by the parade red-and-blue uniform; the Empress, on his arm, is a short zaftig woman in a deep teal gown, with matching flowers and gems in her elaborately upswept blonde hair. Her smile is brilliant; his is spare and understated, but no less sincere for that, as the two of them move into the hall.

Gradually, conversation begins to resume in their wake.