Or so Xannirin had explained at least.

I wouldn’t call my presence in Uzhhorod a ‘commitment’ but rather an ‘abandonment’ of where I truly needed to be.

“House Nuul will also attend, though Kormánzó Ergad won’t remain through the entire evening as his wife is due to deliver their fourth child anytime,” Xannirin finished.

So, not as many houses as I had anticipated, which pleased me.

“Four children for the Kral, you must be pleased,” Rapp commented.

“Indeed, perhaps he will earn himself a title of Nayúr after all,” Xannirin replied, coming to a halt in front of a set of dark wood doors. They muffled the sound of mixed voices beyond, and when the two servants reached for the fine metal handles and tugged, they unleashed the true volume of the dinner’s attendees.

While only a handful of houses were in the space, it seems they arrived in droves to compensate for the lack of representation. Table after table, laden with polished metal centerpieces, dining ware, and serving platters, greeted us, some already seated, while others mingled among the crowd. Males and females, from younglings to matrons and cousins as distant as they could be filled the space, laughing and carrying on like there wasn’t a fucking army camped outside the city walls to defend against an equally large and fervent one pushing down from the north.

A hush fell over them as the three of us entered, and then an eruption of applause assaulted my ears, many prostrating themselves as we sauntered toward the head table.

“The Fates-given conquerors of Keleti!”

“Glory to the Kral! Glory to the Halálhívó!”

On and on they went with their fawning, Xannirin soaking up every moment, while I pointedly ignored it. With the rare, powerful magic Xannirin and I possessed, it was hard to believe that the Giver had blessed us with these gifts at random. Add Kiira’s direct connection to the three into the mix, and our path was certain. The thought had taken root so deeply within the Demons that it was easy for Kiira and Xannirin’s propaganda to compel the entire population into making sacrifices to ensure their Kral sat on both thrones.

Our cousin, dressed in a delicate black silk dress that dipped low between her breasts, waited at the high table for us. Around her brow, a golden circlet perched, securing a thin, sheer veil over her face and down her back. Rounding it, I approached her, and she lifted out of her seat to plant a kiss on either cheek. “Halálhívó, it’s been too long,” she trilled, lifting her dining cloth and placing it in her lap again as she settled.

“Yes, High Priestess, it truly has been,” I replied, pausing for a moment to allow Rapp to greet her. The two of them were close, and they exchanged countless letters while we were way. Sometimes, she wrote to Rapp more than me. After a chaste kiss on her cheek, he continued to the head of the table with Xannirin. I lingered, needing to speak with Kiira, though any real conversation here was impossible. My seat was always at the right hand of the Kral, we’d be too far apart for an extensive conversation regardless.

“Is everything okay between us?” I lowered my voice, and she nodded.

“I’ll be free in a few more days, then I can meet,” she whispered back, her long lashes brushing against the ebony veil.

“Is Vardbad keeping you that busy?” I asked, cocking my head.

She lifted her goblet and maneuvered it to her lips. “Like you wouldn’t believe. So many newcomers arrive on our doorsteps by the day. I’ll tell you more when we meet again.” She slashed her eyes at the females around her, most of which were wives, daughters, and cousins to the males that headed the noble houses.

It wasn’t something she wanted to say in front of them.

“What about the drawings? Why do you continue to send them to Xannirin?” I pressed. Every night since I’d seen them, those burgundy eyes had followed me into what little sleep I managed. The parchment I’d taken from Xannirin lived on my bedside table now.

Her thin brows dipped together over her round eyes. “What drawings?”

Before I could question her further, Xannirin pointedly cleared his throat.

“We’ll speak later, Kiira.” Squeezing her shoulder, I departed, finding my seat at the opposite end of the table with Rapp on my right. Across from me, Kormánzó Sorn Turrokar looked exhausted, with heavy purple bags under his eyes, and cheeks gaunt. Even his normally well-kept hair was a mess, as if he’d been tugging on the strands endlessly and couldn’t smooth them down again.

I couldn’t blame him. After all, his home had been destroyed not even four months prior, and most of the people in his vidék were slaughtered like cattle. Those who couldn’t escape would always die at the hands of the Angels, since their sole mission was to eradicate Demons from this world. Their Goddess had deemed it so, according to Koron Stadiel, which was why he had won out over the others to become their monarch.

“Kormánzó,” I greeted him, settling into my seat and draping the dining cloth across my lap. With an annoyed flick, I cleared the ridiculous cape from my shoulder, freeing up my left arm.

“Halálhívó,” he greeted me in turn, sounding just as tired as he looked.

More males plopped into their seats down the table and across the room now that their Kral had arrived, and the females took their respective positions, separated from their counterparts.

“How are you enjoying your time in the capital?” I asked, attempting to be courtly.

He grunted, then swigged from his goblet. “It’s not home.”

“We’re pleased you’re still with us,” Xannirin butted in, shooting me a pointed look. “Grateful, in fact. With the Halálhívó’s new plan, you should be able to return to your vidék within the year.” He chuckled, lifting his glass of scale and letting it hover in midair. “Fates, you’ll have twice the vidék to manage after we rout the Angels.”

I raised my own and clinked it against his. “Aye, as the Weaver has spun us a great path to victory. This new wave of volunteers will turn the tide and allow us to overwhelm them.”

“I sincerely hope so, My Kral,” Sorn sighed, taking a sip as well.

Beside Sorn, Nayúr Ollmond Varrir chimed in. “And then, you’ll both be able to settle down, put your focus on building families of your own.”

The scale nearly killed me where it lodged in my throat. Rapp smothered a laugh as I leveled a hard gaze on Orith’s father, choking down the last of the burning liquid. That didn’t stop the harsh words from crawling up my throat. “Did your daughter tell you of our last encounter, Nayúr?” I evoked his title with a much derision as I could muster, wanting him to feel just how beneath me he was. The fucker couldn’t wait for the first course to be served before pushing his agenda, for Fates’ sake.

Xannirin’s head whipped to the side, and I shrugged. It wasn’t my fault that the male couldn’t understand the word never.

“She did.” The words slipped out casually, like they meant nothing, and I almost pitied the female for being little more than a tool to be used by her father. Almost.

My neck heated, and a tremble of rage built in my chest. “And my words to her didn’t deter either of you?”

“You’ll come around once this war is finished. After all, if you want House Varrir’s continued support, Orith does need a match–”

A hand clamped down on either arm as Xannirin and Rapp sensed my infamous temper about to explode. How dare he insinuate that he’d pull what little support he offered for the sake of his own ambition. We didn’t need him if that was how he decided to play this political game.

“You know, Nayúr, if you’re looking for a Hadvezér to wed your daughter, I am available,” Rapp said from beside me, sporting a wicked grin. He made a show of looking down the table for the female, licking his lips appreciatively when he found her. As if she sensed our attention on her—or rather that she’d had her attention on us, waiting for this moment—she batted her lashes in our direction, the flimsy fabric covering her shoulders dropping away and revealing more skin than necessary.