Duja could hear from the murmurs echoing across the quiet library that Aki wasn’t alone. She craned her neck. Curled up on one of the window benches next to a stack of books was Bulan, their eldest. A faint smile spread across Duja’s face when she peered at the title in Bulan’s hands: The Art of Maynaran Swordsmanship. Even when Bulan wasn’t in the courtyard sparring with General Ojas, she was busy training.

The queen watched as Aki leaned over their daughter’s shoulder. He pointed at the page she was reading, whispering something that made Bulan laugh⁠—a rare sound, like crinkling paper. It filled Duja with a tenderness she often didn’t feel for her other daughters. Beneath those sturdy muscles built up from hours and hours of sword training, Bulan suffered from the sting of comparison. She tried to drown it in sweat and sacrifice and duty, but Duja saw the envy in Bulan’s eyes when she gazed at her younger, more powerful sisters. Over the years, Duja tried to console her. The power of Mulayri may not flow through Bulan’s veins, but that did not make Duja love her any less.

Those words meant more coming from the king, a normal man who drew from a deeper source of strength. Aki understood Bulan’s insecurities more than anyone else in their family. Duja’s heart swelled when he planted a kiss on Bulan’s forehead.

Duja cleared her throat. Aki and Bulan looked up in surprise. Before the queen could speak, Bulan clapped her book shut and shot to her feet.

“Mother, about the ship⁠—I can explain,” Bulan began, worry creasing her brow.

Duja raised her hand to silence her. Her heart had nearly stopped when Laya had told her about the ship. At the moment, however, she had more pressing worries to address. “Never mind that, darling,” she said. “Would you mind if I spoke to your father alone?”

Bulan nodded and gathered her books in her arms. She cast a curious glance at the king on her way out of the library. Duja didn’t speak until she heard the door creak shut behind her daughter.

“You’ve been awfully busy, my love,” she said.

Aki was an observant man. He picked up on the sadness laced in her tone. “I take it you don’t mean with feast-day preparations?” he said.

Duja took Bulan’s place on the window bench. Her hands quivered when she rested them in her lap. “I’m worried, Aki.”

“About the tremors?” Aki sat down across from her. He laid a hand on her arm and lowered his voice. “I promise you, darling, we will find a solution.”

“It appears you already have,” she said.

Duja pulled the letter out of her pocket. Her brother’s distinctive scrawl glowed in the afternoon light. She thought of Pangil’s words⁠—old friend⁠—intimate enough to make her question her husband’s intentions.