introduces herself as Representative Shiren, and apologizes for the premier’s late meeting, I try to remember the quickest way to Carmadon’s kitchen.
Servants begin showing our delegation to their rooms, leading them away in very specific groups. I frown when I realize the Reds and Silvers are being separated, and obviously so. A foolish maneuver, in my opinion. If reconstruction is to work, if blood equality is going to stick in Norta, we have to do everything we can to make it the norm among ourselves. Perhaps the Montfortans think this separation will be less jarring to my nobles, but I couldn’t disagree more. I swallow the urge to object. It’s been too long a day. I’ll find someone to argue with later.
“Officer Calore, ma’am.” One of the servants nods at my grandmother and me. The title, new as it is, doesn’t bother me at all. I’ve been called far worse. Tiberias, for example. And it has a nice ring to it. It suits me better than Your Majesty ever did.
I nod in acknowledgment to the servant. He responds in kind. “I’d be happy to show you to your rooms.”
I duck my head to the older man in his neat gray-green uniform. “If you tell me where, I can manage. I was hoping to find something to eat—”
“That won’t be necessary,” he says, smoothly cutting me off in a way that is skillfully polite. “The premier and his husband have arranged for dinner to be brought up when you’re settled. Mr. Carmadon isn’t one to let his fine meals go to waste.”
“Ah, of course.” Of course they don’t want any of us snooping around. Even me.
Nanabel stiffens next to me, raising her chin. I half expect her to refuse. No one orders around a queen, former or otherwise. Instead she presses her lips together into a grim, lined smile. “Thank you. Lead on, then.”
The servant nods his thanks and gestures for us to follow, looping Julian and Sara along. I expect my uncle to protest as I did, wanting to visit the vast library instead of the kitchens. To my surprise, he hesitates only a second before following in step with the rest of us, Sara’s arm tucked into his own. Her eyes dart, taking in the vast mansion around her. This is her first visit, and she keeps her opinions to herself, perhaps to share with Julian later. Long years of silence are a hard habit to break.
Though my grandmother and I are no longer royals of another nation, and I’m barely more than a soldier, the premier houses us all in the main structure of the estate, in a proud suite of green-and-gold rooms branching off a private salon. I expect he means to charm Nanabel with finery, and keep her happy over the next few days. Like me, she’s integral to maintaining a relationship with the Silver nobles tentatively helping the reconstruction. If a nice view and silk-upholstered couches help her along, so be it.
Truthfully, I’d rather be housed down in the barracks, tucked into a bunk with a mess hall nearby. But I won’t say no to a feather bed either.
“Dinner will be served in a few minutes’ time,” the servant says before shutting the door behind him, leaving us to our own devices.
I cross to the window and draw aside the curtains to find that we face out over a terrace and up the mountainside, into the pitch-black forest of pine trees. The roar of transports whines in my ears as the memory of climbing up and over the peak rushes through me.
Nanabel looks approvingly at the decor, and especially at the neat, well-stocked bar set along the far wall beneath a gilt-framed mirror. Wasting no time, she sets to pouring herself a heavy dram of caramel-colored whiskey. She takes a drink before preparing three more glasses.
“I’m surprised your friend wasn’t here to greet us,” she says, handing the first glass to Sara and the next to Julian. Her gaze lingers on the latter. “You two exchanged so many letters, I thought he’d at least take the time to say hello.”
My uncle is difficult to bait, and he just smiles into his drink. He takes a seat on the long sofa, folding himself in next to Sara. “Premier Davidson is a busy man. Besides, there will be plenty of time for scholar talk after the gala.”
I turn from the window, brow furrowed. My stomach swoops at the prospect of leaving Julian behind, even for a short