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We pass through what looks like a sitting chamber with reclining couches made of jewel-toned fabric, our footsteps echoing around us.

“The palace has no servants, so any needs you have require magic to accomplish.” As she speaks, we enter a dining hall. A single table made of polished wood occupies the space, running the long length of the room and decorated down its center with green glass leaves and flowers and candles.

“However, we have some clever spells in place.” She lifts her hand and snaps her fingers. Fire bursts to life along the row of candles. “Wine,” Eislyn commands, folding a bit of power into her voice.

Delicate blown-glass cups shaped like flowers slide off the boughs of a nearby marble tree, where they had discreetly hung, and they float down to a side table next to a beaked glass jug.

“There is an underground chamber where we keep wines and beer,” Eislyn says as the jug lifts into the air, “but there is almost always something to drink here in the kitchens and dining hall.”

The glass jug pours its contents into first one flower glass, then the other, before it resettles on the table. The glasses, however, continue on, rising from the side table and drifting along the air until one lands in my waiting palm.

I’m trying not to gape—at the cups, the magic, the room itself—though I am overwhelmed.

Eislyn raises her glass to me. “A toast: from lowly seamstress to lofty queen. May all such ambition be duly rewarded.”

Her words cause an uncomfortable lump to form in my belly. I lower my glass.

“I did not marry Memnon to be queen,” I say softly.

“Oh?” Eislyn arches a pale eyebrow. “Then I overestimated your ambition. Shame, I do appreciate a determined woman.”

I frown into my glass. That definitely seemed like an insult.

Eislyn clucks her tongue. “Stop acting like your wine is poisoned anddrink. You deserve it. In fact, I think we should have another toast since I botched the first one.” Once again, she lifts her glass. Guarded, I follow.

There’s a glimmer in her clear blue eyes. “To being a beloved first wife,” she says, giving me a closed-lip smile. “Enjoy the exalted position.”

My eyes widen at her words and my glass trembles a little as I lower it once more.

Eislyn’s expression turns distressed. “Have I made a mess of this toast too?”

I give my head a shake if only to knock away the thoughts now cluttering it. “What do you mean, ‘first wife’?” I ask hoarsely.

Her distress turns to surprise. “Warriors are allowed multiple spouses,” she says. “Most do it—especially kings. It is nearly expected of them.” She tilts her head, that pale-blond hair spilling over her shoulder. “Did you not know?”

I shake my head again, stunned into silence. In the distance, I can hear Memnon and his father talking, their voices drawing closer.

I move to the long table and set my glass down, its delicate base clattering against the polished surface.

Memnon and Ilyapa enter then, Ilyapa looking jovial. Memnon, however, seeks me out with his eyes, his expression somber.

Roxi, is everything all right?he asks.I can sense your distress.

Another shake of my head.No, I don’t think I’m all right.

“Memnon, you made me look bad,” Eislyn accuses.

Without meaning to, one hand goes to my stomach, the other to the table.

It will be all right, I tell myself.It all has a reasonable explanation.

What has a reasonable explanation?Memnon asks, crossing the room. He cups my face, his eyes searching mine. He dips his head, trying to better peer at me. “Have I done something?”

“No.” But I can feel my lower lip trembling. Gods, I do not want to lose my composure.

“She had to learn from me that you will undoubtedly take more wives,” Eislyn says.

Across from me, Memnon goes rigid. “What?” he growls, slowly looking over at her.