“It’s been a long time since someone’s gone through legitimization,” he says, his voice low and thoughtful. “I wonder if Lord Stregasi is truly up to the challenge.”
I blink, caught off guard. “‘Challenge’?” I echo, careful to keep my tone neutral. “I imagine he’s as prepared as anyone could be.”
There’s a wrinkle of his brow, but Marcos doesn’t press. The corner of his mouth tilts again in something almost contemplative. “I suppose we’ll find out soon enough.”
“Excuse us, cousin,” Princess Orida says as she approaches along with his sister, Lady Marette.
When he bows and steps aside, they glide toward their seats like a gentle breeze wrapped in silk.
Marcos steps back farther, his hand resting briefly over his heart in a silent farewell. “Enjoy your evening, Princesses,” he says, then he turns, nods to his sister, and makes his way to the men’s table, his steps even and composed.
I take my seat beside Nadya, spine straight, lips tight, and allow the mask to fall back into place. Nadya shoots me a quick look, her brows raised, having obviously listened in on my conversation with Marcos.
Taking one more glance around the dining hall, it stuns me that no one objects to the women being separated from the men. Even the king and queen do not sit together. I turn to Orida, wondering how she feelsabout the custom. “Is it always like this?” I ask, keeping my voice light. “The separate tables, I mean.”
Her pale brows lift slightly, as though the question surprises her. “Of course,” she replies, her tone as even and measured as everything else in Podrosa. “Men and women have distinct roles in our society. Each knows their place, and we do not blur those lines. It is the way it has always been.”
“And no one ever questions that?” Nadya presses, her dark eyes sparkling with barely concealed curiosity.
Princess Orida offers a serene smile that does not reach her eyes. “What is there to question? Tradition keeps our kingdom strong. In Podrosa, we do not mistake novelty for progress.”
I don’t miss the faint edge in her voice, the subtle correction lurking beneath her words. This is how things are. This is how they will remain. I bite back the urge to challenge her, reminding myself that we are here to strengthen alliances, not debate the merits of gender roles.
I glance at Marette, who runs a smoothing hand over her belly. She simply smiles at me, as if to say she accepts the tradition. I return the gesture and give her a nod. After all, she seems happy, and who am I to argue that she shouldn’t be?
As the first course arrives, my focus shifts to the food placed in front of us. The presentation is orderly and plain. Nothing decadent or excessive. No exotic spices or elaborate garnishes. Just practical, functional sustenance. A platter of roasted chicken, neatly carved and portioned. Steamed root vegetables arranged in rows of perfect symmetry. A simple barley stew, the aroma hearty but unremarkable. Even the bread is cut into identical slices—thick and sturdy rather than soft or sweet.
I glance at Nadya, who eyes her plate with the same bewilderment I feel. “At least we won’t starve,” she whispers, spearing a carrot with a deliberate jab of her fork. “Though I can’t promise I won’t die of boredom.”
A flicker of amusement warms my chest, but it fades as I lift my gaze across the aisle again. Dante is speaking with one of the Podrosan lords,his face calm, though I sense the restraint beneath it. The men surrounding him seem intent on scrutinizing every word, as if measuring his worth against some invisible standard. Another leans in, asking a question I cannot hear, and Dante answers with the smooth charm that comes so naturally to him. Yet something about the way the Podrosan nobles observe him unsettles me. It is not mere curiosity. It feels like an evaluation—an interrogation disguised as polite conversation.
I only catch snippets, especially when King Harold addresses King Silas, but I don’t dare let on that I’m listening.
“I do want to commend you on your decision to terminate refugee intake at the Delasurvian border,” King Harold says. “Uncontrolled migration leads to instability, which no realm can afford to endure. Especially when our enemies strategize against us.”
I grip the handle of my fork, my knuckles turning white from squeezing it, all while keeping the irritation out of my expression.
“Yes, these measures are necessary,” King Silas replies. “I’ve doubled our forces at the borders of both Hedera and Delasurvia.”
“Was that decision made before the recent carnoraxis attack at your castle, or the result of it?”
I sneak a glance at the king, whose jaw stiffens at King Harold’s question. “It’s an ongoing campaign,” Silas says. “We are constantly correcting any miscalculations our scouts have reported. The progression to perfection takes practice, as they say.”
I almost let out a groan, knowing the king is taking no such measures.
For a fleeting moment, my gaze lands on Dante. Our eyes lock, and he licks his lips after sipping his wine. The noise of the dining hall recedes, leaving only the heat coiling low in my stomach. I grip the edge of the table to steady myself, longing to cross the distance between us. But here, under the weight of so many watching eyes, that is impossible.
A movement beside me draws my attention back to Princess Orida, who observes my lingering gaze with an expression of cool detachment. “The future prince appears to make quite the impression,” she comments, though her tone is unreadable.
“He has a talent for that,” I reply, forcing a polite smile.
“Once he’s legitimized, he could make a good match,” Marette interjects.
My breath gets stuck in my throat. Did she see the look Dante and I shared? Will she say something to the king that might shatter the ruse we’re being forced to engage in?
But then I see that she hasn’t said it to me, but to Princess Orida. The princess gives her a hint of a smile but quickly schools her features. “It’s too soon to speculate,” Orida says. “He must first endure the tour, and for that, I wish him success.”
Nadya and I exchange a glance, and she bites her cheek before lifting her glass to hide her face. I should have guessed that the realms would see a new prince as an opportunity to unite the kingdoms through marriage. The thought pricks at my skin in an intolerable way, even though I know King Silas would never let that happen.
