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We played chess until it was time for dinner. The welcoming banquet seemed to overwhelm each and every one of my senses. The smells emanating from the food were intoxicating. The bard, in his eccentric costume, danced among the tables, singing funny tunes so rapidly that I could only understand a fraction of his words. Small children darted between the rows of tables, snatching at bowls of food then scampering off again.

Father and I sat at a table reserved just for our company. Servants appeared and offered us dish after dish of food. Pineapple glazed in honey, a variety of creamy soups, soft yellow cheese bread, portions of meat still sizzling in pans, and a number of colorful vegetables I didn’t recognize. I ate daintily at first, trying to maintain a prim and proper image. But then I noticed that the other Islandrians were eating with gusto, packing their mouths and asking for thirds and fourths.

I glanced quizzically at Father, who whispered, “Avivians find it a compliment to their cooking and culture when their food is greatly desired. The more you eat, the happier they are.” He then returned to ravenously attacking his food. My manners instructor would faint.

So I ate. And ate. And ate. My stomach was nearly bursting when I finally refused to consume another bite. Everyone else in the hall seemed to have slowed down too.

It was at this point that the bard sat and musicians brought their instruments onto a raised platform. They began to play. Some instruments I had never seen before. Others were variations of instruments back home. The melodies flowed throughout the room. Some bouncy and peppy, others slow and dramatic. No one danced, which is what would have happened in Islandria. Instead, people swayed, bobbing their heads rhythmically in time to the music.

Instrumentalists played, singers warbled their songs, and I began to nod off. Father put his arm around my shoulders, and I woke up enough to hear Aria playing a beautiful piece on her harp before it was time for bed.

On the way back to our chambers, Father smiled at me. “Well Truly, you ate a lot and started to doze during their music. You will fit right in.”

I felt embarrassed. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

“It is alright,” Father reassured me. “Just as eating an inordinate amount of food is a compliment to their cooking, and they consider the ability to play someone to sleep a compliment to their music.”

“Well, I like these customs,” I said sincerely.

“Good night, my dear.” Father said as we arrived at my door. I barely had time to undress before I collapsed into my bed, fast asleep.

CHAPTER 4

The following day was nothing like our relaxed arrival. From dawn until dusk, we were kept busy with meetings and negotiations. I barely had time to shovel down breakfast before I was swept along to a lengthy conference regarding trade prices of grain between our countries. The negotiations were drawn out and moved forward at infinitesimally small increments. Sweat beaded my forehead as I continued to sit rigidly straight and speak as fluently as I could, translating our delegate’s offer into Avivian. The sun, which felt so warm and balmy the day before, now beat down incessantly, burning my exposed arms and face as I sat directly under an open window.

After hours, the trade delegation finished their negotiations. I wished I could have told them that they would have saved themselves an immense amount of trouble and time if they had both put their offers on the table then met in the middle first off, instead of moving up or down in price a fraction at a time, only to meet in the middle at the end. But it wasn’t my place.

I hoped for an afternoon break so I could eat and maybe take a walk to stretch my legs, but my hopes were squashed when a serving girl deposited a plate of food in front of me, and it was announced that we had ten minutes to eat before the next meeting would begin. I wolfed down my meal, not even noticing what I was eating, before the next meeting began.

It continued all day, with me sitting perfectly still and translating the best I could for whichever delegate I was assigned. I was so intent on focusing every fiber of my being into understanding and translating the ongoing dialogue that by the end of the day, I was utterly exhausted. Even though I had done nothing physical, my body was more fatigued than I could ever remember feeling before.

The following days were the same. Constant meetings, negotiations, and conferences. But once I began feeling a little more confident and at ease, I started paying attention to the other people in the room with me and picking up on little mannerisms that they had. It helped to pass the time during meetings when my assigned delegate wasn’t a primary speaker.

There was a man with an abnormally large nose who would dig into his ear with his quill when he was thinking. I made a mental note to inspect any parchment he wrote on for residual earwax. There was a plump, dark-skinned Avivian woman with elaborately set hair, braided and twisted into an elegant knot shaped like a blooming rose. She always paid the utmost attention to anyone speaking and had eyes that never blinked and seemed to stare straight into the speaker’s soul.

Another interesting person to watch was a mousey looking boy about Curtis’ age, with buck teeth and a nervous, twitchy manner about him. I had no idea how such a young man was a courtier, but then again, here I was as well.

It wasn’t until the last evening of our journey that I spoke to Princess Aria. Father and I were sitting in the dining area after supper, and listening to the bard reenact a comical story about a fisherman who was trying to capture a whale. A touch on my shoulder made me turn, and Aria stood there, regal as ever. “I wish you to accompany me on a walk,” she said to me, and immediately strode off. I rose to hurry after her.

“Tell me how it ends,” I whispered to Father as I nodded toward the bard, then scurried after Aria.

Aria and I walked out of the castle, down the front steps, and out into the courtyard. Neither of us spoke at first. I was unsure of what to say. I knew the proper term to address her would be Crown Princess Aria but had no idea what to say after that. She was the one who had asked me to accompany her, so I felt it only fair to let her start the conversation.

“You live with the royal family in Islandria?” Aria queried finally. She surprised me by speaking in Islandrian.

“Yes, Your Highness,” I replied.

We continued to walk. The silence was awkward. Was the question supposed to be a conversation starter? If so, it wasn’t working. Should I begin to recount childhood memories to her? Surely not; I couldn’t imagine the future queen of Avivia would be interested in tales of Curtis and I sneaking honey buns out of the castle kitchens.

“Have you visited Islandria?” I asked, hoping she would pick up the cue to talk. “I beg your forgiveness, but I do not recall having seen you in our homeland before, Crown Princess Aria.”

Aria continued to glide forward as though she had wheels. “No, my duties require me to stay here. My older brother tends to foreign affairs.”

Her Islandrian was perfect. I supposed she would be required to be fluent in multiple languages, just as our royalty was required to be. Again, we lapsed into silence.

“Are you familiar with Crown Prince Hubert and Prince Curtis?” Aria asked.

Finally, an easy topic! “Yes, Your Highness, I know them both very well.”