She's late, she realizes as she heads down the hall, heels clicking in a confident staccato. Not very late, hopefully. But it should be worth it.

This red dress isn't much like the one she'd had before, but it's still a knockout: a deep v-neck, tailored to fit her like a glove, and a radiant shade of cherry red that fire engines would be jealous of. She swept her hair to one side, and it bounces against her shoulder in a cascade of curls.

It might not be Aunt Peggy casually stunning an entire bar of soldiers into silence, but it's just about the best she's got.

As she gets closer, she hears Shuri's excited voice and T'Challa's deeper one over the light music that drifts from the garden room – Nat King Cole, Ella Fitzgerald: the classics – and when she enters, it's with a grin.

"Hey," she says, cheerful. "I heard there was a party going on."