Three days passed in a blur because of the intense preparation, and the morning of the summit mandate had finally arrived.

The high, vaulted stone chamber of the armory looms was filled with buzzing energy. Nila stood on a low wooden pedestal in the center of the room, her arms held out to her sides. Iris paced around her, while Head Chef Ana sat on a sturdy stool nearby, a critical gleam in her dark eyes.

"The Southern delegates will wear silk," Iris said, her fingers snapping as an omega tailor rushed forward with a heavy roll of dark charcoal wool. "They wear silk because they live in a valley...