Nobody else comes to the baths this early. Most of the men in the castle aren't even awake this early. Instead, my only company is the gauzy fabric hanging from bare branches and flowing in the gentle breeze. In the warmer seasons, thick foliage screens the princes' and high noblemen's bathing pool. Now, though, there are enough flowing cloths to block any passing courtier's view of my naked form as I slip off my clothes and slide into the pool.

The warm water is a nice respite from the bite of the approaching winter, and it laps at my skin as I wash. Reyan ridiculed me for thinking helpful Amarris's warning that the Kadranians were following something else. I can't shake the feeling that even when we drive the savages from our land, there's a larger problem, something darker, lurking underneath. If I were to mention that to him, though, he would tell me I just let her get in my head.

Do you believe the old stories?

The Lady Jacqueline—merciful to Astraeus, betrayed by him, then victorious over him. Xíeme helped her lock him away. To live, Astraeus had to focus all his energy on healing from Snare's Gift, the potion they poisoned him with, and stay imprisoned. To escape, he would have had to let the poison kill him. And that was centuries and centuries ago, nearly as long as Morineaux has been a country. No one can live that long. Not even Stellries.

I allow myself to sink beneath the surface of the gently flowing pool, the warm water comforting against the chaos of the rest of the world. The weak current embraces my face, and for a minute, I pretend today is going to be just like any from before I left. I know it's unfounded, but I can't help but feel as if leaving started all of this. As if had I just stayed here, nothing would have changed.

My lungs starting to make themselves known, I come up, gasping softly, and push my hair back from my brow. I reach over my shoulder to work the water over the lines of puckered scar tissue on my back. I wonder if Agraund's mind stayed in the Meadow after his body died or if it went to Antium with all the other lost souls. There's something quiet and sad about the idea of him there alone, but if all the stories about Antium are true, then I hope he's alone and peaceful.

I finish washing and step up onto the cobblestone, drying myself with the towel I brought. Reyan can mock the old stories as much as he likes, but I know there's more to them than pretty words. Uncertainty chills me, and I grab up my clothes.

They're following something. Something dark. Something powerful.

There's something I'm missing. I wonder how much damage it'll cause if I don't figure it out until it's too late.

As I start to dress, a young woman's voice calls through the trees. "Prince Aster?"

"Just a moment," I call back. It must be a page. A Lady wouldn't walk around looking for me. I finish pulling on my clothes, wondering who could be needing me this early, and wind down the path through the trees. About halfway through, a thin metal fence reminds people not to wander beyond it, and I push through the gate.

"Yes?" I ask, emerging from the foliage.

The girl offers a folded piece of paper, and I take it. She waits for me to read.

You're going to take over the tea about the coronation. Come talk to me if you need more information. Reyan and I are in Mother's study. — Crown Princesse Sela

I frown. She does well to use his regnal name, but if she's going to send me an unsealed note—or even if it is sealed, for that does not shield from all prying eyes—she ought to include his title. Otherwise, she might as well proclaim that the Ladies aren't the only ones who disrespect him.

I look back up to the girl. "No response, thank you." Of course I'll have to go talk to her. I don't have any idea what tea she's referring to.

The girl nods and hurries off.

I walk across the courtyard. On this side, a fence dominates the edge, providing a view of the two courtyards below. On another, the beautiful, reaching Tower stands, creating the highest point in all N'veauvia. I follow the cobblestone path to the exit. The courtyard door shuts softly behind me.

I had been planning to gather my dirty clothes into my living room for a maid to pick up, but I doubt Sela expects to have to wait much longer. I drop the towel and clothes off in my bedroom; I suppose I'll take care of it tomorrow. I grimace at the pile growing in the corner. If I keep this up, I'm going to run out of things to wear. Perhaps I really do need to hire a new manservant. Maybe I can convince Sela to let me steal one of the groundsworkers.

But right now, there are bigger things to worry about than my pile of dirty clothes.

* * *

Social tea. The polite way to con and connive into other people's favor, or at least to bargain for favors. Politics and polite company, my mother likes to say.

I scoff as I stride down the hall. "More like veiled knives and vipers."

The Ladies called the tea to discuss a new proposal, and Sela was hoping to use the time to corral them into arranging my coronation. Instead, Reyan needed her assistance wrangling the Lieutenants—women not particularly intent on listening to the orders of a rough-spoken man less than twenty years old—so now it's up to me to convince these women that I'm worth listening to. Without, of course, sounding demanding, whiny, power-hungry, or insolent in the process.

This would go over so much more easily with Sela. They might not think barely-adults are worth listening to, but at least Sela isn't the one needing coronated. Or male.

When I walk into the room, servants startle to attention. Two are paused, bent halfway over the low tea table, setting places. The other three are frozen in the middle of settling the last details of the room—straightening the pulled-back curtains of the window wall, double-checking the cushions on the seats, adjusting the edges of the area rug.

One of the maids handling the tea straightens, pushing white-blonde hair out of her face. "Sorry, milord. We'll finish up in just a moment. We didn't realize you were starting so early."

I smile easily. "No matter, Tallí. You all aren't late; I'm simply early." Arriving later than the Ladies to events gives them room to bribe the maids into things. "Forgive me for intruding. Please." My hand waves. "Continue as if I'm not here."

Tallí blushes and nods, straightening a cup on its saucer. To reduce their discomfort, I wander to one of the side walls and admire the tapestries. Many meeting areas are decorated with hangings such as these, their vivid, complex images detailing important historical events and the most pivotal moment from each queen's reign.

My lips tip down softly. If Mother doesn't make it through the siege, will they choose this moment to immortalize her, pictured victorious over the war that claimed her? I shudder to imagine the crown seamstresses toiling over the tapestry, readying it to hang darkly over some future tea. My jaw clenches. And that's presuming we win.

"We're done, milord," one of the girls says, startling me out of my macabre musings.

I muster a smile. "Thank you." I approach the armchair at one end of the tea table. The servants slip backward against the walls, already prepared for when the other attendees arrive and notice them as much as a person notices the glow crystal in the hall. Helpful when you want it, invisible when you don't, and more luxury than necessity—though many of the more spoiled castle residents would probably argue that both are absolutely necessary.

Settling in the chair, I study the view out the windows to my left. Grey, early winter clouds blanket the sky in that way that makes me forget it's supposed to be blue. From this angle, I cannot see the castle gate but rather the thick, forested area that covers one corner of the grounds. Between the bare branches, blackbirds hop to and fro, and beneath that, sleepy brambles hold on to their last vestiges of warmth before the winter whips them with icy air. It doesn't get as cold here as it did in Niv, but even so, the season can still be biting.

The Kadranians wait just outside the wall.

It was clever of the northerners to come during winter. Catch us at our worst time of year, let them escape the harshest part of their torturous weather, and allow them to feel perfectly at home in the climate. Too bad the savages didn't come in summer. They would surely melt.

The door clicks open, and I turn to face it. Her caramel hair carefully twisted up and pinned to sophisticated precision, Lady Irrianet, one of my mother's favored Inner Council members, swishes into the room. She's followed by a woman whose mousy features have been carefully covered with layers of makeup, surely attempting to transform her into the picture of delicacy. High Lady Riletta.

Their bubbled conversation trails to a surprised stop when they see me already seated. I smile and rise to greet them properly. "Lady Irrianet, High Lady Riletta." For each, I lift their left hand to the air near my right cheek, politely grasping only their fingertips. It's a much warmer greeting than the customary fingers-over-palm salutation, one I hope will set the tone for this meeting.

For their part, they dip their heads but make no move to formally recognize me, leaving out the customary curtsy.

"Prince Aster."

"Prince."

Considering their station, it wouldn't take anything but a small dip to be respectful, but no. Nothing but a tipped head and a smile.

I continue as if it makes no difference and return to my seat. "It's so dreary out today, isn't it?"

Irrianet sits on the far end of the loveseat to my left, and Riletta settles in the middle of the loveseat on my right. Neither Irrianet nor I comment on how odd it is to sit on both cushions, but I suppose she's trying not to affiliate herself any more with me than with our yet-to-show fourth guest. Irrianet's decision to sit closer to the person that hasn't yet arrived than to me, though, is clear.

"Absolutely smothering," Riletta says. "But I dare say it should clear up tomorrow."

"Should it?" Irrianet says. "What makes you say that?" The serious lilt to her voice often leaves me wondering whether she speaks in earnest or in quiet, sarcastic amusement.

Riletta waves her hand. "Oh, the servant that does my hair in the mornings says her fingers hurt if it will rain, and she said it will rain today."

Irrianet nods severely. "I always trust my maids when they make predictions." Riletta's eyes narrow minorly, as if noticing that Irrianet may not be serious, but before she speaks, Irrianet looks to me. "Shall we have this tea?" She gestures at the unfilled cups.

"Should not we wait until the High Lady Aselle arrives?" I reply. "We are all early after all." If we drank early, the social faux pas could easily be blamed on me, the one with, technically, the highest rank. It would be natural for the Ladies to decide to respect my title only when it benefits them.

Irrianet laughs. "Yes, of course. It is easy to forget earliness when most of us are here." She settles back. "Well, Prince." She smiles. "Why the change in attendance? I don't know about High Ladies Aselle and Riletta, but I was surprised to hear that the Princesse could no longer come."

Internally, I translate. I respect Aselle more than Riletta—because she's not even here yet but I put her name first—and I was surprised to hear that we would have to deal directly with you. So. What juicy information can you give us about the Princesse's business that distracted her from this meeting?

I smile easily. I can play their game. "She simply thought it more appropriate for you to speak to your Second Son directly since the changes you three proposed would have major impacts on the Wizard Corps."

"Ah, of course. So she accepts unless you have objections?"

I try not to laugh when I realize the trap in that question. Simply agreeing would imply both that Sela already thinks the proposal is a good idea and that she can be too easily swayed by my opinion. Disagreeing says that she dislikes the proposal and that my opinion holds no weight.

"She is withholding her verdict until she has had time to more closely examine the papers. She was interested in my input, though."

The door swings open before Irrianet can respond, and Aselle enters. "Input on what, dear Prince?" Her light hair shows streaks of silver, and she has it pinned to tumble over one shoulder.

"High Ladí Aselle," I exclaim as I stand, adopting a faux-reprimanding tone. "We were beginning to wonder if you'd make it." I smile.

She laughs. "I'm exactly on time! It's hardly my fault you all are so early." Her eyes flick to the chair I rose from, no doubt noting that I have the head of the table. She should be happy, though—the other Ladies appropriately left her the other end to sit at.

"Fair, fair," I return, lifting her fingers to the air by my cheek. She inclines her head, knees bending faintly in respectful curtsy. Considering the lack of action of her compatriots earlier, I'm surprised by the respect, but I try not to let it please me much. Perhaps she's simply showing that she doesn't feel the need to boost her position any. That none of us are threats to her. The thought makes my insides itch with discomfort. So I suppose the move worked.

The other Ladies have also stood and incline their heads to her in turn as she greets them by name—Irrianet first. Though Riletta is part of their proposal, they don't seem to like her much.

We all settle into our seats again, and I gesture at the maids. Tallí comes forward and starts pouring the tea. Silently, I rejoice that I managed to call for it before Aselle. With someone at either end, it would be awkward for Irrianet or Riletta to tell the servants to pour, but, especially with her light, confident air, Aselle could easily assume control of the meeting.

Tallí slides to my left, Irrianet, and hands her a cup and saucer. Then she gives to me and proceeds around to my right. If I were female, then Irrianet would have been served last, being on my left, but if Aselle had managed to call for the tea, then Irrianet would have been on the host's right and consequently served second. Irrianet must have been betting on me and Aselle taking the ends, knowing she would either be served first or second by taking the seat she did. Perhaps there's more cunning to her than just sarcastic comments.

"Please," I say, gesturing to the two cream-cups in the center. "Serve yourselves first."

Riletta and Irrianet reach forward and pour their preferred amounts. When they're done, Aselle and I follow suit.

But perhaps Irrianet just didn't want to face the window. Frustration taps at the back of my mind like a tree branch on a window in the windy night. I'm not going to be able to unravel everything these women do. Maybe I'm overthinking it all. Maybe the slights and positioning that I'm catching are nothing but my imagination attributing more importance to actions than there should be.

I resist the urge to run my hand through my hair, and I disguise my deep, steadying breath as the leadup to blowing gently on my tea. It doesn't matter. It's not like I should ever act as if I have noticed a slight, against me or someone else. I just need to be careful, watch my actions, tone, and never underestimate anyone.

I can get through a tea.