The sunset light softly bathed the room. It was the same room in which they’ve met almost sixteen years before and the same room where, a few months later, both had chosen him as Consort.

Istaìnn looked at the twin queens, feeling the luckiest man alive. Their skin's softness was the same; the auburn hair – curly and cut at the shoulders for one and straight and very long for the other - had the same brilliance. The magic that tied them together and the Realm’s blessing made them look like they had not aged a day. The difference was in the eyes; they carried much more experience and steel. Their evening dresses were simple, the jewels few; their beauty was the most striking feature they wore.

„I love you so much!” he stated.

„We do too!” replied Heyra, the Queen of Left. „Me neither,” replied Feyra, the Queen of Right.

“S..s...sorry?” he stuttered.

„What’s all that nonsense that you’ll serve at the table tonight?”

„Only the deserts, my love. My waiter license expires in a few days, and I have to take my annual exam, or I'll lose it. A commission from the Rhits will attend.”

„You agree with this, sister?” asked Feyra.

„I even encouraged him. It will make some guests very uncomfortable. You know, having the magician who destroyed half of the second moon – a third, intervened Istaìnn – serving coffee and ice cream while some aged sommeliers take notes looks quite nuts. Will keep them on their toes.”

„Why?” he asked. „All is well, all the things you did, all those reforms, bore fruit. Everything goes on just so smooth...”

„Gosh!” exclaimed Heyra. „Are you for real? It’s exactly because all goes well we have to keep them on their toes. The old system had a perfect balance. The First King was a genius... well, he or his first minister, The Fiddler, but never mind. Every faction had different interests than the others: the Ministries, the Merchants, the Nobles, and they were never a challenge for the state or the Royal Family because they always squabbled among themselves. The only weakness was external threats. The First King didn’t think of those because he had just crushed them all back then, but we felt that weakness on our skin sixteen years ago. Now we’re tougher. We have a better army and Dora’s special troops, the rails, and the best technology, but we still have many debts and tons of things to do. Some people might think: maybe we don’t need the Royal family, after all, maybe we’re better off with some Republic. Dynasties are the most vulnerable when they enact reforms. So, if some ill-willed journalist starts ranting about the power of the demos, Dora will discreetly drop some crane weight on him, and if the nobles or the high bourgeoisie think they can do things behind our back, let's remind them that we have on our side a wizard who can turn them into ashes with a snap of his fingers. The more crazy and unstable you look, the more they’ll fear you. Meaning us.”

He sighed.

„They can think whatever they want; I just miss the old days. The feeling of balancing all those plates and glasses, the feat of memorizing every order at ten tables, the...”

„But you were a spy, after all, darling. The waiter thing was just your cover. Why don’t you go spy something, instead of removing earth and sky to pour a beer with a perfect one-inch foam?” asked Feyra.

„Being a waiter is more fun,” he admitted, embarrassed. „Spying was like a few minutes of eavesdropping once in two blue moons and a lot of boredom. And if by some hazard some Republic would replace us, I could earn a living for our family in any five-star restaurant on the Realm. I was in the top ten waiters for five years in a row.”

„I rest assured, now, our future is secured,” sighed Feyra. „Let’s welcome our guests.”

Downstairs, in the ballroom, a cohort of people waited, and as soon as they arrived, champagne was served. The glass flutes were afterward thrown in the chimney and broken to bring good luck. After the Queens declared the Festival open, they all went on the terrace to see the fireworks, then ate in the dining room, where the Prince-Consort did his thing serving the desserts and took an almost perfect grade. When the meal finished, they went to the ballroom, and the dance started.

Before he had the chance to ask one or both of his wives to dance, a stunning brunette put her hand on his arm, the Ambassadrice of Balirbar.

„Let’s salsa.”

She pulled him off without waiting for a yes or a no. After the salsa, a tango hit immediately.

„Perfect...” she purred a whisper in his ear, keeping him in her arms between he had the chance to go away. Her hair was caressing his face, her breast was tightly pressed on his chest and his left arm. She had sunkissed skin, deep blue eyes, and an enticing smile promising pleasures beyond imagination.

„You dance well!” she complimented him, letting her head back so he could have a perfect view of the line of her decolletage.

„Thank you,” he replied coldly while trying his best to keep his body far from hers. „I’ve taken ballroom dance classes long ago. I was supposed to go to your country to spy, but the Others struck, and life carried me on another path.”

„On two paths at the same time, I’d say,” she replied with a smile. „I wonder if there are more paths left in your life... and if I could be on one of them?”

„Absolutely not!” he replied abruptly. „I’m perfectly happy with my marriage, thank you very much!”

„Splendid,” she whispered in his year. „This scandalized face is perfect. Everybody will think I’m hitting on you.”

„And are you not?”

„Not really. Depends... do you want me to?”

„No!”

„I very much like it this way too. I do many things for my country, but I prefer to keep my own love life separate. Look, this tango will end in under a minute. The point is: the armistice you brokered between Media and us will not hold. Our country is broke, while Media not. They are a tick on your trade routes, and they bleed your money, money they use against us. Meanwhile, our ruling class is deeply incompetent. Take us. Occupy us, find a pretext, something. We don’t hate you; we hate just the Medians. I beg you, consider it. We have thousands of war orphans on the streets, and most people have not seen the sight of bread in months. We’ll get rid of the Sultan for you if you want...”

„Are you with the Resistance?”

„I’m with whomever my country needs me to be. Will you consider it?”

„I’ll speak to the girls. We’ll keep in touch.”

The dance ended, he kissed her hand, and she curtsied. The queens had razor-sharp gazes when he got back.

„She was all over you, the pretty Balirbarian,” said Heyra with poison in her voice. „Did you enjoyed it?”

He waved off her accusations with his hand.

„It was an act. She’s Resistance. Proposed we occupy them before Media does, says they’ll not respect the armistice. Even offered to assassinate their Sultan. She sounded desperate.”

„Maybe the situation is worse than we thought,” said Feyra. „Do you think the Medians will attack while the Festival is still on?”

„I doubt they’d dare,” replied Heyra. „This gives us some time to think. But I’ll consider it only if she stops dancing like that with our husband.”

The mentioned husband was thoughtful.

„This is a tricky problem. I’d bet Media will attack sooner. They’re one of those you talked about, those who think they can go behind our back. Yet, we cannot break the old treatises just for Balirbar’s sake. If we occupy them, we could end into an open war with Media. Tricky stuff...”

„Let us worry later,” suggested Feyra. „Go talk with our dwarven friend, Ulfsen; I can see he’s sulking in his corner. Tell him to invite some lady to dance; there are plenty who like his type.”

„Bald, short, and bulky?” wondered Istainn.

„I would have said bearded, strong, and rich, but it depends on the perspective. Now go.”