I smile, ready to toss him another witty quip, but the doors swing open, and even my jokes get lost in the frenzy. The festival has begun.

The ladies are sorted into a separate palanquin. Four stout men carry Theodore and Idalia ahead of us through the crowds lining Senlow’s streets, parading them like gorgeous birds perched inside a luxurious cage. The masses cheer when they see Theodore, and many citizens throw tiny, wrapped scrolls her way. I scan the rabble, a small part of me hoping their familiar faces will appear. That I’ll see Torrent towering above the rest, a grin plastered across his face. But the reality is, he won’t be there. The reality is, they probably didn’t even…

“So that you know,” Lachlan drops a hand on my shoulder and interrupts my thoughts. I sway as Aeradian warriors lift us into the air and onto their shoulders. “This is an excited group. Keep your eyes peeled; they’ll be throwing a lot of items.”

I blink a few times and swivel my head. “Has there ever been an assassination attempt?”

Lachlan shrugs, removes a small flask from his robe, and takes a generous swig. “Probably. But my guards are well trained. Plus, Aeradians have lived in prosperity for a long time. There wouldn’t really be a reason for that.” He hands me the flask. “Besides, it’s well known that the Baellilean Prince is a looker. If anything, we should be more concerned about naked women trying to climb in.” His lips quiver, and he rubs his earlobe. “Lady pray none of their husbands mind.”

I laugh, take a pull from the flask, and then we’re off. We bounce atop the thin cushions as the warriors carry us down the stone streets. Lachlan was right about objects flying at us. At one point, a bottle of spirits tied with maroon ribbons is launched into our cart.

Every so often, Lachlan digs his hand deep into a purple pouch and pulls out gold coins that he throws into the crowd. His people cheer. A twinge of guilt swarms my gut. Tawdrey Lannex. Perhaps I should tell him.

“Now, the real fun begins,” Lachlan’s tone is light, but his face betrays nervousness. Our palanquin is lowered to the ground, and the beastly men help us exit. We’re on a large stage built in the middle of Senlow’s main square, looking over a sea of Aeradians, all thrusting celebratory fists into the air.

“Long live the generous King!” The crowd chants in unison.

Baellileans have never known such unity in their lifetimes. Not even on the battlefield. When Theodore exits her craft, the crowd's roars grow even louder.

“Nosis Magis! Nosis Magis!” She bows to them and walks slowly across the platform, gliding her cupped palm through the gentle breeze. When she nears me, she leans in.

“Wave,” she says sternly.

I oblige, which sends the horde into near hysteria.