The road turned and the hills parted. Even over the steady pounding hoofbeats, Jonnah heard the collected gasp from the Kardenel contingent at their first clear view of the Aravene Royal Palace. Jonnah couldn’t deny the little thrill that ran through him at the sight, no matter how many times he had made this approach.

Decaying and half-abandoned, the royal palace was still a splendor like nothing else in the world. From this distance, it looked delicate, fragile, but in its heyday, it had been a city all on its own, its reaching central tower and sprawling arms housing over half a million people. It spread a mile wide and climbed over two hundred stories towards the sky, shone black and silver in the afternoon sun. When the first settlers had landed on this world—thousands upon thousands of years ago—this had been their masterpiece, their monument, and nothing constructed since had come close to matching its splendor.

“Incredible,” Bastyen breathed.

And that wasn’t all.

On a hill overlooking the road just ahead, three riders waited. It was a safe assumption they’d chosen that spot just to make an impression, and from the way Bastyen’s eyes went wide as his face turned towards them, it had worked.

Genoff and Zairr were the two outside riders, done up in their fanciest dress-blacks. They sat on matching bays, towering steeds with coats the same crimson as the trim on the Guards’ uniforms. Jonnah sent a spark of energy to each of the horses, causing them to toss their heads and paw at the ground, prompting a soft, “Oh,” from Bastyen.

The rider in the center was a striking study in black. Showy black horse, showy black uniform, long black hair blowing in the wind in a way Jonnah knew would be annoying her to death—horse and rider so still they could have been a statue. “Is that Princess Alydia?” Bastyen asked, wonder in his voice.

“No.” Even at this distance, Jonnah could answer the question with confidence. “That would be Guelida.”

“How can you know? Aren’t they twins?”

Once again, Jonnah had to fight the urge to roll his eyes. “We grew up together. I’ve lived in Aravene for twenty years. Trust me, I know.” Knew that Alydia would have braided her hair, no matter what impression she was trying to make. Or that Guelida always kept a combat knife strapped to her thigh when she rode into the field, which affected how she sat on her her horse. But most of all it was a feel, a different energy between them that, especially boosted as he was, Jonnah knew. With his eyes closed in a crowded room, he would have known.

Do you have any idea how hot it is up here? Zairr’s expression didn’t change as he spoke, but Jonnah couldn’t mistake the voice in his head.

Nice entrance, though. Exactly the thing to impress Bastyen.

Sending was never exactly like conversation, especially when you’d been in and out of each others’ minds for years. At the same time Zairr sent back, That shallow, huh? Jonnah also heard the echoing thoughts of, Tense in the palace/get this over and done with/Alydia not looking forward to meeting the prince.

Jonnah chose to answer the intentional statement. Bastyen’s not what I would call smart. Or politically savvy. All morning he’s been going on and on to me about my mother and his kindly old mentor, General Erech.

Again, Zairr’s thoughts layered over each other. Erech the Eternal, the Butcher of Kardenel? Alydia won’t like dumb. Fucking dreadful.

Anison signaled a halt and Jonnah sent a wave of calm into the gestalt to help riders wrestle their horses down from their canter. He couldn’t hold back a grin. It was good to see his friends again.

And he hadn’t missed the new strength in Zairr’s mental voice. As Guelida and her Guard came down the hill in a slow, high-legged trot, Jonnah sent one word. Mindshare?

Zairr’s answer was layered with pride and a giddy excitement that he would never in his life allow to break through his external composure. We did it. All of us. Not long—still adjusting. But done and stable and no one was lost.

Which was an achievement almost as momentous as the treaty. The transition into the mindshare—the last test a Red Guard had to pass before they were fully vested and considered official—was brutal. Even with years of training, even starting with some of the best minds in the world, the sort of stretch and twist the mindshare required could be overwhelming. Jonnah couldn’t remember the last guard that hadn’t lost at least two—usually more—to that final boost.

This guard had started small. Only thirteen had passed the rigorous tests and training that whittled the large group of official candidates down to the final number. For Chandra to have pulled them through without any further losses—it was incredible. Congratulations.

Guelida gave a nod to Anison as she and her escort rode past him. Her eyes found Jonnah as she made her way towards Bastyen’s place in the column. Jonnah sketched a little wave. She couldn’t respond, of course, but he was pretty sure he saw her fighting a smile.

She pulled her horse to a stop, a few yards distant from the prince, and spoke loud enough the whole column could hear. “Crown Prince Bastyen ian Kardenel, I welcome you to Aravene in the names of King Hyresh and Queen Yinicof, and I extend my hand to you in the name of peace.”

Bastyen rode forward to meet her, taking her offered hand. He pitched his own voice to carry. “Princess Guelida ian Aravene, I come to you with the voice of my father, King Darius ian Kardenel, to say that never has there been so worthy a goal as peace between our two nations.”

Oh please, Zairr sent, a laugh in his mental voice despite his properly sober expression.

“Let our people be unified,” Bastyen continued, “and let this peace stretch forward until no one alive can remember the war that preceded it.”

Then the show was over. Guelida gave a nod to Anison, who called for the line to reform. With Guelida’s hand still in his, Bastyen smiled and said, “Ride with me?”

“It would be my pleasure,” Guelida answered, but her eyes flicked skyward when Bastyen wheeled his horse around to return to his place, Guelida eased her own horse past Jonnah. “Having a good time?” she asked him, too low for Bastyen to hear. Her face was carefully neutral, but her voice held laughter.

“I would wreck this treaty in a hot second if I though it would get me out of an afternoon with Prince Fluffwit over there.”

“Lucky thing I’m here to protect diplomatic relations.”

Come on, Zairr sent. We need to get moving. You two can flirt on the road.

A sentiment for which Guelida would have bit his head off. But all Jonnah sent was a cheerful, Bite me, as he moved back into place.

Genoff, quietly watching all this time, gave Jonnah a wink. Welcome home.

Guelida and Jonnah settled in on either side of the prince with Zairr and Genoff riding just behind. As Anison signaled the escort to move forward again, Bastyen twisted around in his saddle, staring at each of the two Guardsfolk in turn. Guelida watched this behavior, her face serene, but Jonnah could see the little wrinkles at the corners of her mouth that meant she was fighting a laugh.

Not for the first time, Jonnah wished he could send to her, that they could laugh about Bastyen together in the privacy of their minds, but Guelida was as much a blank as the prince, another empty space in his awareness as he reached out to wrap her and the Guards into the gestalt.

“Allow me to introduce your highness,” Jonnah said when Guelida seemed too occupied with trying to maintain a serious expression. “These are Guard Commanders Zairr and Genoff of Captain Chandra’s Red Guard.”

Every member of the Guard was impressive, but Zairr and Genoff had been an inspired choice to be Guelida’s escort today. They were a striking pair, even more so now the mindshare allowed them to move in perfect, synchronized unity. Genoff stood out, even among Bastyen’s impossibly attractive retinue. His dress-blacks showcased his broad, solid body, and his face looked more like it belonged on the cover of a romance novel than a soldier.

In contrast, Zairr was tall and lean with a killer’s poise—tempered steel wrapped in sun-bronzed flesh. A soldier’s soldier. While Genoff smiled and quietly flirted with the Kardenel soldiers around them, Zairr remained stern and focused, a pointed reminder of the danger that awaited anyone who threatened the royal family of Aravene.

Bastyen offered Genoff a nervous smile. “I’ve heard so many stories. Legends. The Red Guard—I never imagined I’d get to meet one of you in person.”

“I expect you’ll be meeting all of us, your highness,” Genoff answered with an easy smile. An impressive smile, given this was his first meeting with the man slated to marry the woman Genoff loved.

Reassured, Bastyen righted himself in his saddle and returned his attention to Guelida. “It’s all so amazing. The palace, the Red Guard—these were the stories I grew up on. I never dreamed…” His words trailed off with a sigh.

Guelida was just enough behind Bastyen that she and Jonnah could exchange a look behind his head. Jonnah could read the disbelief in her eyes. “Flattering of you to say so,” she said, “but really it’s not that different here than Kardenel.”

“How would you know?” Bastyen’s soft question might have sounded suspiciously lucid if not for his bland expression of genuine curiosity.

“His highness will have the chance to judge for himself once we arrive at the palace,” Jonnah said. Because the party was just getting started.