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I pulled myself together. This was no time to be a gaping child. I was an official ambassador of Islandria. And I would honor my country by being dignified and proper.

It was a long wait, and I began to get a little antsy. Glancing around surreptitiously, I supposed it must be the typical routine—to wait for extended periods of time. I saw that several delegates had extracted papers to review, or lengthy scrolls to read, as they waited. I wished I had thought to bring along something for myself too, but all my books were locked in my luggage, on their way to be placed in our quarters by a servant, no doubt. I watched clouds slowly cover then uncover the sun through the window opposite my spot on the sofa. A bead of sweat rolled down my cheek as I sat waiting, anticipating the arrival, but the time stretched longer and longer with no sign of being allowed in.

Just as I was beginning to doze off, a voice wheezed, “The Crown Princess awaits.”

I snapped to attention. Curse those soft-soled slippers all the servants wore here. I hadn’t heard his arrival at all. Delegates were standing, and I leapt to my feet as well, trying my best to compose myself and look just as official as all the people around me.

We were led down the hall with the thin fluttering drapes, down another hall that had long stretches of windows open to the spectacular view of the ocean. Palm trees bent gracefully in the breeze, and tropical birds flew from branch to branch, calling to each other. I couldn’t tear my eyes away.

I mentally shook myself. What a simple bumpkin I was, gawping out the window. Surely, I looked like a foolish young girl to everyone else. I fixed my eyes forward. There would be time later to go and explore. But right now, my only concern was making my country proud as the youngest delegate from Islandria.

The servant, silent as ever, halted our procession and padded noiselessly forward, passing a man in an ostentatious robe with a matching hat, all a deep violet spangled with orange diamond shapes. He wore skintight yellow leggings. What would have looked ludicrous in our own halls back home seemed to merely add to the fascinating culture here.

I was proud that I didn’t stare, and Father leaned down next to me. “He is the bard,” Father whispered in my ear. Of course. Much to chagrin of other members in the castle, Prince Hubert had dismissed our own bard years before, saying that he was the cause of too much frivolity, and that such levity was not appreciated. But I still remember sitting, enthralled, listening to legendary tales of long ago and songs passed down through the generations. I couldn’t recollect our bard wearing such flamboyant colors, but I did remember with great fondness the hours Curtis and I had spent enchanted by the bard’s stories and ballads. I hoped the bard would be performing during our stay.

The soft-soled servant had come to large doors, also painted that shimmering gold color and this time studded with jewels. This could only be the throne room. He stood outside and clapped. Once, twice, then an additional two times in rapid procession. This must have been a signal, because just after he had clapped, the doors swung inward.

“Announcing the delegates from Islandria,” an unseen, stately voice boomed out.

CHAPTER 3

The spacious room was the only area so far that didn’t have multiple windows on every wall. Instead, the entire domed ceiling seemed to be made of glass. More crystal chandeliers were in this room too, and the rainbows leaping about on the wall were slightly disorienting.

Brightly colored tapestries hung on the walls, giving the illusion that they were windows opening to the world beyond, with scenes stitched onto them. A colorful parrot swooping past palm trees or a distant whale spouting on a beach, for example. Other tapestries held regal portraits of the Avivian royalty.

Ahead, I could see Princess Aria sitting atop an ornately carved throne. It was astounding to me that someone so young could radiate such a commanding presence. The Avivians had a matriarchal monarchy, meaning that the queen was the primary ruler, as opposed to the king. So even though Aria also had an older brother, she was the first one in line to rule, and Father had told me that Aria was currently in training to take over the throne.

Our group moved forward in single file. As the youngest and newest, I was last in line. I was grateful, because I had time to watch those in front of me and see what the exact greeting was to be. Even though I had learned the protocol during our culture etiquette courses required for all aristocratic children in Islandria, Father had drilled it into me again on our journey here.

The person at the head of the line would bow or curtsy deeply, then when told to rise, would clasp the princess’s hands in their own and the men would press their lips respectfully to her fingers. The women, instead of kissing the princess’s hands, would place their jaws against hers and make a slight kissing sound with their lips, but not actually placing lips against the princess’s cheek. After this customary greeting, each person would bow or curtsy again and back away to wait for the remainder of the line.

With each step I grew more anxious. I memorized where to step, when to curtsy, imagined the exact tilt of my head I would need to achieve in order to bump jaws. Just as one person remained in front of me, I realized I didn’t know where to look, and this was something I was unable to see whilst behind the entire line. Should I avert my eyes to show my humility? Meet her eyes as a friend? Was that too familiar? Should I look pointedly away, or was that too rude? My mind churned with questions.

I settled for a brief, friendly meeting of eyes and friendly smile, then looking down respectfully before I curtsied and placed my jaw next to hers. It seemed sufficient, and I moved to stand at the end of the line, the knot in my stomach loosening slightly.

“Welcome, friends,” Aria’s musical voice said in our language. Then she reverted back to Avivian. “It brings me joy to see so many old and new friends. I trust you will enjoy your stay.”

She smiled, her white teeth standing out brilliantly against her dark skin. She inclined her head, and everyone in our procession began moving off. Eager to follow suit and look like I knew the procedure, I traipsed along, but was internally confused. Was that it? We waited for well over an hour for a greeting and two sentences? I suppose I had been waiting to be chivvied immediately into meetings.

I followed our group’s guide through a maze of corridors until we came to a hallway lined with doors. One by one, the guide would gesture a person into a room and move on. Of course; these must be the guest chambers for the duration of our stay.

Again last, I was gestured into the final room in the hall. I bobbed my head in appreciation to the servant and murmured “Ethelenda” to him which was ‘Thank you’ in Avivian.

The room was small, but pleasant. My trunk had been placed at the end of the four-poster bed. A window opened onto the courtyard beyond, and the same blue silk from the entrance hall hung like curtains to the side. I sat on the bed and wondered what our schedule would be like for the rest of the day. Did I have time to rest? Was I expected to wash up and begin working?

A soft tapping on the door broke into my thoughts. “Come in!” I called. Father walked in.

“Father!” Even though we had been together almost every moment on the journey here, I was glad to see him. I always loved his company. He had a way of making me feel safe, and exuded an air of wisdom and confidence that I admired.

“What do you think?” Father asked, closing the door and sitting on the bed next to me.

“Well, I thought we would be busier,” I confessed. “It has just been sitting and a couple minutes of introductions so far.”

“Don’t worry, dear, the work will start bright and early tomorrow,” Father informed me. “Today is just a welcoming ceremony. We were greeted, shown to our rooms, and will have dinner and the recital this evening. It is customary to give travelers a day to recover. Once you are old and feeble like myself, you will understand.”

Father’s self-deprecating humor was one of the many things I loved about him. Even though he was neither old nor feeble, he was always quick to make jokes at his own expense if it would put others at ease. Prince Hubert, on the other hand, would get angry very quickly if anyone made light of any of his own characteristics. I had seen Curtis take advantage of Hubert’s over sensitive nature on a multitude of occasions.

I still wasn’t sure what I was supposed to do to fill my time between now and dinner. But Father was prepared. He pulled out a small wooden chess board and challenged me to a match.