I reread the letter twice. It’s still too much of a risk, even with the vague language I’ve used. Assuming any correspondence I send will make its way to Mazus’s eyes, I must be mindful of what I write. While we suspect Mazus knows about the declining thayar, we don’t know for sure. I don’t want to alert him to it, nor do I want him to guess at the rebellion in Thayaria. But if Laurel could spread rumors that the thayar flower once existed elsewhere and declined, she could curb the rebellion’s recruitment efforts. With the right framing, the information might give the people less fear of the future. I sigh. It’s too risky to send any correspondence. I’ll have to wait till I go back to Thayaria to tell Laurel and will have to hope that until then she’s able to do what she can to stop the rebellion.

A knock sounds on my door. I crumple up the letter and throw it in the trash before standing to see who’s interrupted me. When I open the door, a bored-looking courtier looks me up and down, then hands me a roll of parchment. “From His Majesty,” she says, then turns away.

I open the scroll, then internally groan at the invitation to dine with Mazus that evening. So far, he’s rarely interacted with me. In fact, the only time I’ve seen him was my first day here. There was a massive spectacle of an event to welcome me. Mazus gave a long speech about diplomacy and being the light for Thayaria. It was the first time I realized how much his people believed in his Golden King nonsense.

The letter requests my presence this evening for a private dinner with His Majesty King Mazus, Golden King of Velmara. It also specifies I’m to wear formal attire, and that His Majesty has arranged for a suitable gown to be sent to me this afternoon. I had a feeling I wouldn’t get away with leggings and tunics as a female in this country. Sighing, I decide to spend a few hours in the archives before returning to my chambers to dress and steel myself for the dinner.

“Is there anything I can help you with today?” Genevieve asks. The young librarian’s mahogany and amber eyes stare down at me from where I’m seated at my favorite workstation in the archives.