Elsa led the countess to the dance floor. Lady Charlotte laid her hands lightly on Elsa, her red painted lips smirking slightly. "You don’t look entirely pleased, your majesty," Lady Charlotte remarked as the music started. "I beg your pardon," Elsa said politely. She attempted to arrange her features into more neutral lines. She thought she already looked appropriately social. "It’s been a long day." "You did look more energized with your bride," the countess continued. "She’s lovely. The princess consort, that is." Elsa’s gaze sharpened on the other woman’s face. Elsa supposed she could be described as comely—chestnut hair, golden skin, large green eyes, a pert nose and full lips. She certainly wasn’t unattractive, but Elsa had never really looked at other ladies, or men, for that matter. The interest had never been there and Lady Charlotte certainly wasn’t going to initiate it for her—Anna had rather settled that for Elsa. It occurred to her that Anna had probably unknowingly ruined her for anyone else. It was just as well; she’d long known that Anna was the constant that would always guide her. "Thank you," she said evenly. The countess wanted something. It was in the way she was watching her—far more intently than a dance partner would. "You’re quite the talk of the evening as well," Lady Charlotte said. "The whole men’s dress. I don’t think I’ve seen so many women sighing over the clothes on another woman. They’re usually… ripping apart the attire of whoever outshines them." Elsa didn’t answer immediately, weighing her response. This was precisely why she avoided social functions; comments like what just came out of the countess’s mouth, constructed to probably get a rise out of her. She decided on raw honesty: "Lady Charlotte, I don’t particularly care what other women think." "No, of course not," the countess said amiably. "You only care what your wife thinks."