From the edge of the crowd, a cloaked figure watched. His eyes gleamed with crimson light, his smile sharp as a blade. A Vampyre lord, long opposed to any union with the Ayacqueans, leaned toward his Daimph companion.

“They speak of peace,” he hissed, “but peace is a chain. Do you not see? The Ayacqueans will rule us all.”

The Daimph’s song faltered, the wind shifting uneasily.

The bazaar was still alive with laughter weaving through the crowd like music. For once, the festival’s tension eased, and the beings of the two Kingdoms gathered at rather long tables running across the field, beneath lanterns strung high.

Platters of roasted lamb,...