The music poured through the hall like warm wine — thick, golden, and meant to dull the senses. Strings shimmered, drums pulsed low beneath our feet, and a dozen dancers spun in embroidered arcs across the floor like petals caught in a breeze.

It was a celebration, after all.

The queen’s triumph, or so the story went. More than two decades of peace under her rule, and now the whole court gathered in her name. But peace was a slippery thing. If you listened carefully, you could hear it cracking at the edges.

I sat beside Diana on the raised platform, my parents flanking us, all dressed like royalty —...