The fifth day of next week arrived cold and clear.
Nora dressed carefully — not to impress, but because certain situations required a specific kind of preparation. Her best dress, dark blue wool with silver buttons at the cuff. Her hair pinned simply. The small pearl earrings that had been her mother's.
Her aunt Sera had spent forty-five minutes getting ready and emerged in a dress appropriate for a wedding.
Sera was a small, sharp-faced woman in her mid-fifties with her brother's broad shoulders and her own formidable opinions. She had spent the previous two days alternating between horror and excitement about the summons with the energy of someone who considered both emotions equally useful.
"It could be anything," Sera said, for the fourteenth time, as they walked toward the palace district. "A trade license. An advisory role for Thomas. He might want to discuss—" She paused meaningfully. "You, Nora."
"He might," Nora said.
"And how do you feel about that?"
Nora considered this honestly. "Curious," she said.
Sera made a sound. "Curious. The Dragon King may have his eye on my niece and she's curious."
"What else would I be?"
"Terrified," Sera said. "Flattered. Overwhelmed. Any number of normal human responses."
"I'll try to work on those," Nora said.
The palace gates rose thirty feet above the approach road — black iron with gold detailing, flanked by towers with guards at regular intervals. The road leading to them was paved with smooth white stone that reflected the afternoon light upward, so that approaching the gates felt like walking toward something generating its own illumination.
Nora walked up it at her normal pace.
They were expected. The gate guards simply bowed and opened a smaller door within the great gate. A steward in palace livery met them and led them through courtyards and corridors that were as beautiful and cold as everything else in this kingdom.
The palace was enormous.
Nora catalogued it as she walked — ceiling heights, stone composition, placement of torches, the artwork on the walls. Not paintings but reliefs. Carved dragons in various postures. One with its wings fully spread across a span of wall that must have been forty feet. The workmanship was extraordinary.
She paused in front of it for two seconds, studying the detail.
The steward waited with professional patience.
"Remarkable craftsmanship," she said, to no one in particular, and continued walking.
They were brought to a dining room — not the grand state hall she had vaguely expected, but a smaller private space. A table set for five. A fireplace already burning. Candles lit.
Her aunt made a small sound that communicated approximately fifteen different things simultaneously.
They waited perhaps ten minutes. Then the door at the far end opened and Malik entered.
He crossed the room to greet them. Her father shook his hand with the careful composure of a man operating at the very edge of his composure. Sera dipped into a perfect curtsy.
Then his eyes moved to Nora.
"Nora," he said. With that same quality she had first noticed in the marketplace — her name in his mouth, weighted with something that was not quite warmth but was its closest neighbor.
"Your Majesty," she said, and dipped her head the same fractional amount she had in the marketplace.
He looked at her for one moment.
Then he said: "Sit down, please. I've been looking forward to this."