Viv sends me a small smile before heading into the bathroom. “I’ll be quick.”

I finish getting dressed and pull out my phone as I wait. Hundreds of missed notifications cover the screen. I shove the electronic device back in my pocket without replying to any of them. The only person I want to talk to right now is on the other side of the bathroom door. Anyone who has questions about our relationship can watch our interview tomorrow like the rest of the world.

I sit down on the window seat and stare out at the sea of color spread before me. Uniformed gardeners mill along the gravel paths that wind between the flowerbeds, watering and weeding.

“Two more minutes,” Viv tells me, stepping out of the bathroom in a towel and rushing into her closet.

“Take your time,” I call back. “I’m not in a rush for this inquisition.”

Viv emerges from her closet wearing a blue dress patterned with tiny white flowers a minute later. A couple of thin straps reveal the smattering of freckles across her shoulders. She yanks a hairbrush through her long hair a couple of times.

“Okay, I’m ready.” She looks at me questioningly, and I realize I’m just staring at her. “Jace?”

“Yup, let’s go.”

This meeting is going to be painful in more ways than one.

I’ve given up on learning my way around the palace. I simply follow Viv as she leads me through one decadent room after another. Finally, we emerge into a new hallway. I know I haven’t been in here before, since the sight of it almost makes me stop in my tracks.

The ceiling is arched the same way the dining hall was, but this time it’s completely white, composed of hard stone that has a diamond pattern carved into it. The floor is a gleaming pattern of white and black tiles. Arched windows run the length of the hallway on both sides, situated between white columns. To the left, an emerald carpet of green grass stretches as far as the eye can see. To the right, I see the tree-lined driveway I entered the palace through yesterday. The elaborate fountain sits right in the middle of the gravel driveway, and the imposing front gates are just visible in the distance.

“Wow,” I say. The word doesn’t do the view justice.

“This connects the residence to the rest of the palace,” Viv explains. “Where the Press Office and all the other official business takes place.”

Her heels click against the shining tiles as we pass through the hallway and back onto carpeted floor. It suddenly feels as though we’re inside an upscale office building. We pass several men and women in suits carrying stacks of paper and binders. They all stop to bow or curtsy as soon as they see Viv approaching.

Viv stops outside a nondescript wooden door. She opens it and steps inside. I follow after her, glancing around curiously. The floor is dark wood that matches the molding that frames the cream-colored walls. There’s a small oval table in the center of the room. A middle-aged woman with a sleek blonde bob is already seated at it. She rises and curtsies.