If I were to draw the Throne Room, it would look like a narrow rectangle. At the top of the rectangle was the massive door through which everyone had entered. Sean stood by it, wearing his innkeeper robe and holding his spear. At the bottom of the rectangle was the throne platform, where I now waited.

Large screens ran along the perimeter of the room, placed where the walls met the ceiling and tilted toward the audience. A swarm of small mobile cameras, ranging in size between a walnut and a plum, zipped above the crowd. The event would be broadcast across the Dominion. The Sovereign’s PR chief had installed a tight beam transmitter that actually shot the data from the inn through the portal to the Dominion to avoid any delay. I had no idea that kind of technology even existed. The cost had to be staggering.

The Dominion’s etiquette dictated that nobody could sit higher than the Sovereign. We solved that problem by raising the throne platform to six feet high and making two seating galleries, one on each side of it. I filled the galleries with cushy ornate seats arranged in three rows, packed the observers into the gallery on my right, and stationed Gaston there to keep things calm.

I spared the Observer Gallery a glance. Karat and Dagorkun sat in the front row, with Cookie between them. They left a seat open for Caldenia on Karat’s left. Her Grace was taking her time. I wished she would hurry up.

The gallery on my left remained empty. It was reserved for the Holy Ecclesiarch and his retinue and the Sovereign’s attendants, except for Resven and Miralitt, who had their own designated places.

I looked across the room, searching for Sean. He was still at his post by the far wall. Between us, the 12 delegations waited. We had arranged them in two columns, 6 delegations per column, each group segregated from others by a short decorative wall. We put the four most volatile delegations in the first and last row, so both Sean and I could keep a close eye on them, and sandwiched the less troublesome delegates between them.

The row directly in front of me held the otrokars and House Meer.

The otrokar delegation was on my right, decked out in traditional otrokar green and Southern red. Otrokars biologically adjusted their bodies for their chosen role starting at puberty. For example, Dagorkun was a general and a strategist. He had aimed for versatility and a balance between speed, strength, size, and durability. The majority of the otrokar diplomats were strategists as well. One would expect most of the members of the otrokar delegation to look like Dagorkun. Only two of them did.