She lifts her head after respectfully bowing.
He's grown taller and broader—a man now. If she cares to look him in the eye, she must tip her head back.
He greets them formally, his manner reserved and polite. He acts like the Fire Lord now.
Wearing stately robes, the crown in his hair is a golden flame glinting off a shaft of sunlight.
He escorts them back to the palace, bowing briefly with an invitation to dine with him this evening. He leaves them—his duties immense.
This is very unsettling.
He's a stranger to her.
She hates it.