We make the journey to Delsar for the Forum of Royals in four days—one to travel by horseback from Arberly to the port town of Echosa, and three to travel by sea to the arid and mountainous kingdom of Delsar. The trip would normally take closer to eight days to complete, but with six water channelers, our ship was propelled through the water quickly.

The night we spent at my favorite tavern in Echosa, The Emerald Shell, highlighted for me how much the rebellion has impacted the rural regions of my kingdom. When I’d entered the tavern common room, very few citizens had stood to bow to me—most had instead looked on with skepticism and even loathing. Not that I require my people to fall on their knees in front of me. In fact, I’d prefer they don’t. But this was a reminder that I need to deal with the rebels soon.

Yalla, the shining white capital city of Delsar, gleams as we approach the port. Nemesia sidles up beside me, tension rolling off her body in waves so thick I can sense each time she clenches and unclenches her jaw. Words of comfort won’t help, so I simply point out landmarks I remember from previous visits to help ease her nerves. The white stucco buildings, distinguished by their harsh lines and angular features, are so different from the architecture of Thayaria, where we build into and around the environment. All of Delsar is a desert, and the red cliffs and soil make the city and its white skyline stand out brightly. By the time we dock in the massive port, the smell of fish and brine thick in the air, Nemesia has relaxed and is back to ordering the guards and speaking in hushed murmurs with Admon.

As we disembark from the ship, dock workers all stop and stare. “The Witch Queen,” they whisper as I pass, pointing to me with fear in their gaze. “Stay back.” “Don’t let her look directly in your eyes.” “Hide the children.” I’ve heard them all, and after three hundred years of whispers, I can ignore the barbs, even if they still sting in a place I keep buried beneath my icy exterior.

A tall, bronze woman clad in strips of flowing gossamer fabric in varying shades of pink awaits us. Her eyes are mahogany, with midnight black curly hair framing her face and stopping just above her shoulders. She’s beautiful and severe, the epitome of the fierce warrior the Delsar people are known for. As I approach, she bows respectfully, though her muscles are clenched tightly.