The door is swiftly opened for us, and the dining room holds the same wainscoting, though the wallpaper in here is deep green, spliced by tall, pointed windows. My eyes immediately lift to the wooden chandelier hanging in the center of the room. It stretches at least ten feet across, looking like the crown of a tree was cut off and flipped upside-down. A polished stump is suspended from the ceiling, its branches perched out like the perfect canopy. Every inch of the wood has been smoothed, long since stripped of its leaves and bark, leaving the raw wood beneath with its rings and knots. Hanging from the branches are little lanterns no bigger than my hand, at least four dozen of them hanging at different lengths, casting warm light on the table below.
Seated at the dining table are three people whose voices dim at our arrival, but then when their heads lift and they see who’s come in, chairs are pushed out, smiles spreading over their faces.
“You’re back,” a deep baritone voice greets.
Slade grins as a man stands up to meet us. He has dark brown skin and rich sepia eyes that are crinkled at the sides with his smile. There’s a dusting of silver strands in his shortly shorn hair, and he’s wearing a similar outfit to Slade.
“Good to see you, Warken.”
The man claps Slade on the shoulder. “You too. We’d started to think you finally decided to duck out and hang up your crown for good.”
“Don’t tempt me,” Slade replies with a grin. “You know you’d all do a far better job than me.”
“For politics, yes, but your threat of rot is effective,” a feminine voice says.
The woman who was sitting next to Warken strides over, the warm undertones of her dark complexion glowing beautifully in the lantern light, her ruby red dress cinched over her full-figured body and swishing at her feet. The tresses of her hair are coils of curls that brush against her shoulders, silver and black blended together.
“We heard you already decided to sneak off into the city before you’d even come to say hello,” she says with affectionate reprimand, just before she gives Slade a hug.
“Wanted to drag it out a little bit longer,” he replies.
The third person from the table comes over too, but this woman is much younger, her face the spitting image of the older woman, though perfectly smoothed with youth, the apples of her cheeks filled with a vibrant bronzed glow. She’s curvaceous and beautiful, with the same kind of warmth about her as the other woman.
“It’s about time,” she teases as she comes up, just as her umber eyes flick to me with curiosity.
Slade turns back to face me. “Everyone, this is Auren, as I told you in my letters. Auren, this is Warken and Isalee Streah, and their daughter, Barley. Warken and Isalee are my Premiers. They’re always in charge of the kingdom while I’m away. They act as the sole guardians of Fourth and ensure everything is taken care of in my absence...and in my presence,” he adds with a smirk. “They’re far better rulers than I am. I may sit on the throne, but they do all the leg work.”
“Only because he hates it,” Warken says with a chuckle. “Doesn’t have the knack for politics and proper procedures. That’s where we come in.”
Slade shrugs, not denying it in the least.
“It’s very nice to meet you all,” I tell them with a smile.
“Great Divine, you’re even more beautiful than he described,” Isalee, the older woman, says as she comes forward. Her delicate hands grip mine as she beams at me.
“Described?” I ask, flicking my eyes over at him.
“He said gold was his new favorite color,” she says with a grin. “I can see why.”
My cheeks heat.
“It’s a nice shift from rot brown and mold green,” Barley quips.
A snort escapes me, and then Isalee moves over for Warken to take my hand. “If you get sick of this one, we have two sons,” he tells me with a mischievous sparkle in his eye.
“Father,” Barley says with a roll of her eyes. “You can’t keep trying to marry my brothers off every time you meet someone new.”
Warken sighs. “I’m going to be dead in a grave before any of you have babies.”
“You’re only fifty. You’re fine,” she retorts. “Besides, Dis prefers men most of the time, and he’s always busy at the brewery.”
My eyes widen. “Wait a minute...” I look between them, thoughts clicking into place as I remember something.
My family owns a brewery back in Fourth. But I got off easy. My older brother is named Distill. Unlucky, that. But we’re both a bit jealous of our sister, Barley. She’s got the best name of the lot.
“You’re related to Keg!” I blurt out with excitement. Now that it’s clicked, I can see the family resemblance, though he takes more after his father—I can see it in their eyes.
“You know our son?” Isalee asks, affection clear in her tone.
