“They speak a wide variety of tongues in Orfelia, including Salmantican, which I hear is rather useful in the Sunset States,” the king said, brushing off Laya’s concerns with a wave of his hand. “I invited Dr. Sauros here to teach you some of them as your language tutor. Notwithstanding, he arrived much earlier than anticipated. We plan to announce his visit after the feast days, when we shall throw Dr. Sauros the celebration he deserves.”

“So, the Orfelian is to remain a secret. At least, until the feast days are over.” Eti, who couldn’t resist a bit of intrigue, perked up in interest.

Hari Aki beamed at her. “Precisely, my dear. And until then, your mother and I are relying on your discretion.”

Laya’s eyes narrowed. “But⁠—”

“Dr. Sauros may be our secret for now. But in the meantime, I hope you will treat him with the respect he deserves,” her father said calmly. He looked back at her with his inveigling smile, and the last protest died on her lips.

Another lie. Laya knew from the thin crease in the king’s forehead⁠—the same crease that appeared each time he brushed off the myriad sycophants prowling about court. She gave the Orfelian a cold stare. He was busy pulling at his sleeves, visibly uncomfortable in his borrowed clothes. Her father was too clever. He wouldn’t reveal his hand, no matter how hard she pressed. Neither would Mother, nor Luntok. As for the foreigner⁠—Laya’s gaze hardened the longer she observed him.

The Orfelian was hiding something. However, it was not the time to pressure him for answers. Laya returned the king’s smile with one of her own. “Yes, Father,” she said, nodding. “I understand.”

Primly, Laya reached for a sweet bun from the center of the table. The Orfelian took a seat across from her. Hari Aki engaged him in cordial conversation, and she let the subject fall for the time being. Out of the corner of the eye, she watched the man. He was more than some bumbling fool, as she had assumed when he’d first appeared on the terrace. Several times over the course of their breakfast, she caught him staring back. He had an inquisitive, nonthreatening gaze, but it was constant enough to make Laya clench her teeth.

A servant swept over with a fresh pot of tea. Laya glanced at the Orfelian over the gold-encrusted rim of her cup. Notes of citrus and honey wafted from the liquid’s surface, tickling her nostrils. The Orfelian’s foreign features blurred in the hot steam⁠—with time, she might make sense of them.