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Focusing on the murals painted on the walls, I take a moment to admire my surroundings rather than think about what comes next.

Hand on my arm, Sterling leans close, his breath tickling my ear. “Remember, just⁠—”

“Be myself. I know.” I mentally pat myself on the back for managing not to roll my eyes. “Easy for you to say when you were born in a court. The first time I participated in a royal setting, it was as a hostage.” The part I don’t need to add is that it was his brother’s court, that Sterling was my abductor, and that I eventually ended up a prisoner in the palace’s dungeon.

A herald announces our names and titles with elaborate flourish. I inch forward, intent on not tripping over the hem of my formal ice blue dress.

King Mihel and Queen Maeve wait at the near end of a table long enough to seat fifty but only set for about twenty. Though their smiles seem genuine enough, I’ve learned that royal smiles reveal precisely nothing.

I take a deep breath and attempt the traditional greeting again. “Beannaektee…” My tongue twists around the unfamiliar syllables. I try again. “Bea-natch-tay Teer Ree-oh-gah…”

Gods, I’m butchering this. Once again, heat floods my face.

Queen Maeve’s dark eyes crinkle at the corners. “Beannachtaí Tír Ríoga. May our hearths warm you and our walls protect you.” She makes the subtle hand gesture that accompanies the greeting. A flowing motion that mimics the spiral patterns we’ve seen throughout their kingdom.

While I attempt to copy the action, my hands feel clumsy and artificial. In response, I fall back into rigid protocol, holding my posture too straight and allowing my words to come out stiff and rehearsed. “We are most grateful for Your Majesties’ generous hospitality and look forward to fruitful discussions regarding the mutual challenges facing our kingdoms in these unprecedented times.”

If I sound like I’m reading from a diplomatic handbook, it’s because mentally, I am.

Sterling steps in smoothly, guiding me toward our assigned seats with practiced ease. Under the table, his hand rests on my thigh. The simple touch grounds me despite my embarrassment.

The breakfast spread overwhelms me.

Dishes I don’t recognize crowd the table. Vibrant fruits cut into intricate shapes, pastries arranged in spirals, and what appear to be fish gleaming with an iridescence I’ve never seen before. Crystal decanters contain liquids in improbable colors. One shifts from purple to blue as a servant pours it into goblets.

I study the others covertly, mimicking their movements with the unfamiliar utensils. There’s a spoon with holes that is used solely for the fruit, and a three-pronged fork that seems designed specifically to torture foreigners.

“The Galwaen fruit is particularly succulent this season.” Queen Maeve gestures to something akin to a star-shaped orange with blue speckles. “Though we’ve had to import it from the Southern Provinces now that our northern orchards are struggling.”

I nod even though I have no idea what a Galwaen fruit is supposed to taste like.

“It’s delicious,” I lie after taking a cautious bite. The fruit is actually bitter and slightly metallic, but I’m not about to break diplomatic breakfast rule number one. Never insult the food.

Small talk drifts around us. Weather patterns, fashion trends in our respective kingdoms, harmless gossip about nobles none of us really care about. I maintain my careful composure, responding with appropriate affirmations and brief comments.

Sterling carries much of our side of the conversation, drawing out Queen Maeve with gentle questions about Tír Ríogan architecture that actually seem to interest her.

“Our sacred temple wolves have been acting strangely, abandoning their usual posts to patrol the city walls instead.” Now Maeve has my full attention. “And our shrine eagles have been flying in bizarre patterns, making shapes in the sky we’ve never seen before.”

I straighten right out of my rigid posture. “We’ve had similar occurrences in Tirene. Birds flying in formations that look…” I hesitate, not wanting to sound foolish.

“Like written languages?” King Mihel dips his head, his pale blue eyes sharp.

“Yes!” In my excitement, I realize I’m a little too loud and quickly modulate my voice. “Exactly like that. Scripts no one recognizes.”

The Tír Ríogan royals share a meaningful glance.

“The temple guardians say it began the day we lost magic.” The queen keeps her eyes downcast.

And there it is. The massive dragon in the room. The day I torched Narc’s bones.

“I—” My practiced diplomatic apology sticks in my throat.

King Mihel raises his hand. “You need not tread carefully, Queen Lark. We understand the choice you faced. Had Narc’s power continued to grow unchecked, we might all be slaves now, magic or no magic.”

I blink, surprised by his candor. “Then you don’t blame Tirene?”

Queen Maeve offers a smile tinged with sadness. “We are grateful you burned Narc’s bones. The loss of magic is a heavy price, but to be puppets to a mad god’s whims?” She shakes her head. “That would be intolerable.”