Laya’s nostrils flared in annoyance. “I came, didn’t I?” she said, waving Bulan’s attention back to the port.

The port was the gateway to the capital of Maynara. Over half the goods traveling in and out of the kingdom went through these very docks. No matter the hour, the murky harbor was teeming with activity. Dozens of ships with hulls large enough to transport entire villages squeezed into the crowded channels. Gauging by the flock of sails billowing on the horizon, dozens more were on their way. But, according to Bulan’s messenger, those ships wouldn’t get anywhere without Laya’s help.

“Now,” Laya said, “tell me about this emergency.”

Bulan’s brow furrowed, and Laya couldn’t help but bite back a smug grin. Her sister wouldn’t have summoned her here if she’d had any other choice. Whatever the problem may be, Laya was the sole person who could fix it. Her talents were as useful as they were rare. Yet she was seldom given an opportunity to use them.

“Follow me.” Without another word, Bulan turned on her heel and hurried Laya away from the carriage.

Laya struggled to keep up with her sister’s long, steady strides. Bulan marched them over to the other end of the main pier, her boots striking the planks at an even staccato. No matter the task, Bulan moved with manic precision. Much of that stemmed from her sword training. Bulan awoke before sunrise every morning to perfect her form. Laya would have gone mad if she’d had to rehearse the same slash sequences and foot patterns for the rest of her life. For whatever reason, her sister found pleasure in it, in the sweat and drills that were part of her relentless quest for self-mastery.

As Bulan pressed forward, she didn’t notice the number of heads turning in their direction⁠—but Laya did. She held her head higher, slowing her pace to an elegant glide, as uniformed guardsmen and wind-battered sailors froze where they stood to stare after the princesses in awe.

Bulan glared at her over her shoulder. “Laya, keep up, will you?”

Laya scowled and slowed down further just out of spite. “You’re my sister, not my handler,” she called back.

“According to Mother, I am both,” Bulan said curtly. “I’m to be your high counselor.”

Laya bit back a retort. Though Bulan was only fulfilling her duties as counselor to the future queen, Laya wanted nothing more in that moment than to smack her sister across the face.

Thankfully, Bulan didn’t give her another order until they reached the water’s edge. Laya leaned against the brass railing. Her nose filled with the scents of rusted metal and crusty salt. Under the uneven slits between planks, coral-tinged waves splashed up against the wooden beams holding up the pier.