Bulan knelt beside her, brow furrowed in concern. “Are you all right?” she asked, resting a tentative hand on her sister’s shoulder.

An old memory flickered in Laya’s mind. Another sunny morning, over a decade earlier, they had been racing in the palace courtyard. Their youngest sister hadn’t been born yet, and it was just the two of them. Laya, desperate to keep up with Bulan’s longer legs, had tripped on a loose tile and skinned her knees. Bulan forgot about winning. She rushed to Laya’s side and wiped the tears from her cheeks.

Don’t cry, Bulan had told her. I’m right here.

They were children then. They hadn’t known that their fates had already been decided. Had been before their mother, Hara Duja, named her heir. Before Laya discovered she could summon the wrath of the skies at her fingertips.

“I’m fine,” Laya said, her throat tight. She stood, brushing Bulan’s hand and the memory aside.

They walked back to the carriage in silence. This time, Laya accepted the guardsman’s arm as she climbed inside. She collapsed against the cushioned bench, feeling like her muscles had dissolved into gelatin. Bulan slid into the seat across from her. At the front of the carriage, the driver gave the command. The wheels shuddered into motion, rolling over the creaking planks as they pulled away from the harbor.

Laya gazed sleepily out the window as the towering walls of Mariit came into view. Members of the Royal Maynaran Guard stood in straight, unbroken lines before the great wooden doors that led to the heart of the capital. Laya recognized a few of their faces, and if she cared enough, she could ask Bulan about the name of their regiment. With their chain-linked armor and menacing lances, they looked ready for war. Much of their presence was ceremonial, as no one had dared attack Mariit in decades. These days, the guardsmen mainly served to stamp travel papers and keep all suspicious elements at bay. Laya Gatdula had brought no travel papers with her. She needed only show her face at the checkpoint⁠—Maynara’s highest-ranked princess required no further explanation.

At the sight of her, the guard at the front of the line snapped to attention. He barked an order up the ramparts, and the gates groaned as they opened. The carriage rolled through the rusting gates, continuing alongside the long, narrow canal that flowed from the harbor all the way to the bustling center of Mariit. It wasn’t long before the royal banners, strips of Gatdula green fluttering from the roof of the carriage, caught the city’s full attention.