She sighed—her younger sister Lyonnette was barely eighteen and a brat, the 6th [Princess] out of Calanfer’s eight. After the two [Princes]—the heir and the spare—the [Queen], Seraphel’s mother, had fulfilled her role and sired six more children for political marriages. That expedience was how Calanfer, the ‘Eternal Kingdom,’ survived. Political allies cemented by marriages to Calanfer’s royal children.

“How much longer to Noelictus, Meriel?”

“It’s Mariel, Milady—”

“Just answer the question.”

The [Handmaiden] stiffened. She was one of Seraphel’s mother’s attendants, but still a commoner, and Seraphel had no time for airs, or spying. Soon, they would be rid of each other.

“We passed the border two hours ago, milady. We are now riding through the realm of Afiele, in service to the Barony of Ovela.”

The [Princess] didn’t blink. Borders were like that.

“I meant the capital. Obviously.”

“Three days, milady. First-Knight Ser Dalimont intends for us to rest in Afiele’s lands for a brief spell in the next hour before making for the city of Vrest.”

Three more days. Seraphel wanted to grind her teeth. Could no one spare a faster, enchanted carriage?

A teleportation spell was asking a lot, as was a Pegasus—but even so!

“No need to delay on my account. Who am I marrying again?”

Mariel exchanged a worried glance with her fellow maidservant before she put on a bright smile.

“Milady Seraphel, surely you remember your father, His Majesty, has invested much time in this marriage! When we reach the capital, you must remember the dignity of Calanfer rests upon your knowledge of the royal family—”

Seraphel looked at her, and the servant flinched. The [Princess] adjusted the tiara on her hair, red as a rose, a symbol of royal blood as much as her peerless skin, her strong nose, and magical gift. She sat up, gave Mariel a disconcertingly warm smile, and leaned forward.

“My goodness! His Majesty, King Nicte III of Noelictus, by sovereign right Tombking and Ruler of the Ancient Barrows, the hero of the Battle of Sel not nineteen years back! How is your third wife? Queen Cathiel, my deepest apologies for not asking about your son, Gedal, four years old—I heard he had a touch of the ague last month. Has that cleared up?”

She half-shouted the entire greeting at the two [Handmaidens], who clapped their hands over their ears and shrank back. Seraphel sat back, fanned her face, and sipped a bit of fruit juice.

“I know my job. I asked you who I’m marrying. Tell me and I will remember it perfectly by the time we arrive. Which is why I did not bother to ask until now.”