[She's giving the mess a critical eye, but at least it's better than last time. Once she's inside, she begins gently rubbing her hands together, and light steam sizzles from the remnants of melted snow as she warms them gently.

There. Better already.]

My brother. We fought for the crown. He won, and he committed me to a wretched asylum. It took me over a year and a half to escape.

[It sounds bitter, but after a moment, she admits-]

...he meant it to be kind.

["I've asked the palace staff to prepare your rooms."

Even then. Even after she'd-

She sighs, lowers her warm hands, and summons the neutral smirk again.]

The weak, ridiculous fool.