Keith

An envelope sits on the table, the king’s seal glaring back at us. Thick parchment, formal as death, but it smells like opportunity. Clinton reads it aloud, voice calm but I can hear the edge of excitement.

“A royal ball,” he says, lifting his eyes. “In the capital.”

Hope’s eyes widen, and for a moment I can sense a small flicker of fear.

Tessa grins.

Ben stays silent, though I catch the twitch at the corner of his mouth.

I lean back in my chair, arms crossed.

“A celebration,” Clinton continues, “what a perfect excuse for a visit.”

“The goddess shines down on us,” I agree.

I called my...