Trumpets rend the sky with the first measures of the “Entrada Triunfal.” The carriage passes through a massive wooden gate into a tiled courtyard surrounded by high adobe walls. I brace myself for the inevitable thunder of cheering that always greets me on state visits.

But there is only silence.

The citizens of the castle fill the wide courtyard in neat little groups arranged by status and rank. Directly across from us, the conde and his bride-to-be stand with their stewards, servants, and extended families. Behind them are rows of craftsmen, draftsmen, farmers, and children—their faces scrubbed, wearing their finest clothes.

None of them seem happy to see us.

To our right stand two dozen knights wearing Paxón’s crest—a golden ship on an emerald green background. A hundred liveried soldiers stand behind them. To our left are a dozen armed guards wearing polished armor more in the style of Joya d’Arena, our neighbor beyond the Hinders. The small group of soldiers backing them is made up of battle-scarred veterans.

We are supposedly among allies. But I can’t help thinking that both the crown princess and the bearer of the Godstone are flanked and outnumbered.

“Elisa,” I say quietly, keeping my expression neutral. “I know you don’t feel well. You and Ximena should go to the chapel and pray. I’ll make excuses for you.” Pray that I have misread this situation.

“Don’t be afraid, dear sister,” Elisa says, and for a moment I imagine that she knows exactly what I am thinking. But no, she remains as blind to subtle—and not so subtle—social cues as ever. “I won’t embarrass you. Let’s go meet them.”

She hops down from the carriage and walks straight into the lion’s mouth.

Chapter 3

3

THE moment my feet touch ground, everyone in the courtyard kneels. Zito holds out his arm to escort me, and together we move toward the conde in what I hope is a stately and dignified manner. With his other hand, Zito uses his spear like a cane, and the tap-tap echoes throughout the courtyard.

When we reach the conde and his lady, Zito waves back the herald and announces us himself. “Her Royal Highness Juana-Alodia de Riqueza, Crown Princess of Orovalle and the Jewel of the Golden Valley. Her Royal Highness Lucero-Elisa de Riqueza.”

I offer my ring, and the conde kisses it, showing neither eagerness nor reluctance. “Rise,” I say. The conde stands, and everyone with him.

I try to ignore the sounds of armor shifting, the quiet rattle of swords.

“Your Highness,” Zito says. “I present Conde Paxón, Castellan of Khelia, Guardian of Crowborn Crossing, and a First Knight of the Crown.”