Her attention went to the table itself. Its legs did not end but rather melted into the stone below. It appeared as though the piece of granite had never moved from its place in the mountain’s heart but simply been reshaped for a flat, polished surface. The table curved inward so the legs of those who sat here would find space beneath its lip before it rejoined the immovable rock below. She was unfamiliar with dining rooms, but even as someone with little exposure, she knew she was witnessing something peculiar.

No windows graced the innermost room of the fortress. A fireplace three times the size of the one in her room, accompanied by rows of vibrantly glowing torches running the length of the room, chased away any shadows and eliminated the need for the white light of day. The high, vaulted ceiling sparkled as its slate curved upward, making her think of a large, stone bell. She couldn’t tell if she found this place beautiful or terrible. Perhaps her feelings toward the room would be contingent on the result of this meeting.

She felt completely alone.

Several empty seats ran on either side of her, isolating her at the far side of the stone table that was meant to sit thirty or forty. She wished she could have remained standing for the sake of her own comfort, but she knew enough of politics and courtliness to know it would win her no favors if she stayed poised to run. Amaris needed to prove herself strong enough to be in their presence. Surely, the first test would be their initial impressions of having a young woman at their dinner table.

She wasn’t sure if they would speak first, or if she was meant to, but the silence must have been as uncomfortable for the men as it was for her.

In the spirit of first impressions, she could only imagine what a sight she was for them to take in. Not only was a young female in their keep but a silver-haired, purple-eyed anomaly with a scabbing slash marring her otherwise ghost-white face. Her clean tunic covered most of what she’d done to her chest, but the top of the wound she’d inflicted on her collarbone undoubtedly protruded above the neckline of her shirt. She was no ordinary child of the southern kingdom.

On the far end of the table directly across from her sat a too beautiful, dark-haired man in his late twenties. Though he wore the tactful face of a diplomat, she was surprised to see someone so young in the most prominent seat. Irrespective of her lack of exposure to men, this person did not seem like any natural-born male. Something was strange, striking, and intimidating about his face all at once.