We follow Marco out into the hall, our guards shadowing us. At least they are allowed to carry holstered weapons. I’ve seen most of them in action, so I trust their skills.

We move to the other end of the king’s mansion, where the negotiations are to take place. I fist my hands in the black folds of my dress. I’ve learned a lot about diplomacy from my father, but I’ve never been able to apply any of my lessons. I know how negotiations with an enemy state work in theory, but not in practice, and I fear that something I say or do might cause irreversible damage.

I can identify the conference room from all the way down the hall. Cameramen and film crews cluster around the door. Flashes of light are already going off, which makes me think that the king must have arrived before us.

My heart pounds a little faster at the thought. Last night felt like we danced on the edge of a knife. One wrong move and I’d cut myself.

Despite the obvious danger that comes from dealing with the king, yesterday he hadn’t struck me as particularly … evil. Nor, for that matter, did he seem immortal, though he did appear to be younger than his true age. If I had to guess, I’d say the king is in his mid thirties. King Lazuli, however, has been conquering countries for nearly thirty years.

My thoughts are interrupted by a flash of light, and then the camera crews are on us, snapping shots and filming our entrance.

Unlike the conference room back in the bunker, this one is full of light and gilded surfaces. It is a room that a king does business in, and the sight of it reminds me all over again just why I despise the man who rules over half the world.

King Lazuli waits for us inside the room. His eyes find mine almost immediately. Once they do, they don’t bother looking away.

In that moment I can feel in my bones that my father and I are merely toys here for the king’s entertainment. Nothing more. We have no real power, so the king is allowed the luxury of gazing at the emissary’s daughter and ignoring everyone else in the room.

I can still see flashes of light from my peripherals, but my attention focuses on the table. Someone’s set placards in front of each seat. I look for my name, not surprised to find it placed next to the king’s chair.

“How … convenient,” I murmur quietly as I pass him.

King Lazuli pulls out my chair and leans in. “Convenient—yes, I do believe that word sums up our relationship.”

I didn’t notice it last night, but there’s a subtle lilt to his words. English is not his first language. I wonder what is.