At least I remembered not to wear my hair in a warrior’s style as I usually did. For this meeting, I left it completely down, save for twin pins on their side of my brow. The metal wings curl back and around my head, perched high enough to scrape the back of my chair if I lean too far back. I adjust my posture just as the ambassadors enter.

The embassy of the Sea Queen is first, the hush that they bring with their presence only emphasizing the silent grace with which they move.

Alys and Rhys are brother and sister, and identical in nearly every gesture. As children of the Sea Queen—as all the sea-folk referred to themselves, regardless of bloodlines—they are gifted with impossibly long lives, but they look like they are in their midtwenties like I am. Alys wears a long dress of pale blue silk, the fabric skimming the slight curves of her frame. Despite being ambassador for over two years, she forewent any trace of Leonodai culture. No earrings hang from her ears, no sash ties her waist. Her long silver hair is pulled back into a high ponytail, emphasizing her prominent cheekbones and soft eyes that give little trace of any emotion.

Her brother has the same look—an unreadable expression like ocean water trapped in glass. His hair is nearly as long as his sister’s, and he wears it down and unadorned. His robes are secured with a large brooch on the left side bearing the emblem of the Sea Queen: two three-point crowns, one above and the other mirrored below, with a curved oval-shaped space between them. When we were kids, Rowan told me many times she thought it looked like an eyeball with pointed lashes, and despite all the years, that’s still the first thing I think of when I see it.

The pair take their seats. Alys tucks her feet daintily beneath her dress, something I’ve noticed she does religiously, as if ashamed of their presence. Unlike Leonodai, the sea-folk do not transform at will. Their magic only comes to them when they are in the sea.

“Early, as always,” Hammond notes with a nod of respect to each of them. “I’m sure the king will appreciate your prudence in this matter.”

“Our second abrupt summons in as many weeks. It’s exciting,” says Rhys.

“Quite exciting,” his sister echoes.

I bristle at their lighthearted tone. This meeting is not a party—we are in a crisis. But who am I to judge what is interesting to beings whose lifetimes are measured in centuries and not years?

A sharp laugh breaks the quiet, and into the hall strides the embassy of the bearkings.

“Apologies, my lords and ladies,” the princess says. “You again neglected to consider the thousand and a half stairs my poor, earthbound body would have to climb to get here.”