There’s a commotion out on the streets. People gather in the sunshine as carriages and litters from Taja rumble past on their way to the palace. Cheers and exclamations go up as the ambassador and his retinue pass by. A few weeks had passed since the day the prince gave plans to the blacksmith, and I had assisted in the completion of the projects. It feels like years have passed.

I follow behind the blacksmith, shoving my way through the teeming crowd. I carry the bundle in my arms, the thick fabric scratching my arms. The parcel holds a pair of silver daggers. Each hilt is etched with filigree, one blade emblazoned with a shining sun, the other with a luminous crescent moon. The daggers are birthday gifts to the twin princes, commissioned by the king himself.

Though I am not inclined to give gifts to the bastards, the blades are beautiful. The blacksmith lives up to his reputation; they are finely made, sharp enough to slice a man off his shadow. If my circumstances were different, I would steal them for myself.

“Keep up, girl!” the blacksmith barks, looking over his shoulder at me. I bare my teeth at him when he turns his back, but clutch the blades to my chest as I hurry along.

I follow him across a sloping bridge to the palace grounds. We skirt around the crowd gathered at the gates. The Tajan ambassador parks his carriages and litters just inside the gates, about to enter the palace on foot.

The main hall is sunny and bustling with people. Servants dart back and forth, carrying trays of elaborate food and jugs of wine. The pale marble stretches in arching pillars above my head. Golden banners drape across the hall overhead, intercrossed with the red silks of Taja.

I have never been to the large continent to the north, but I know the desert and plains there stretch for thousands of miles. Not like the mild forests and grasslands that make up most of Odrend and Astria.

The king enters with a trumpet of fanfare. The servants cower to either side of the hall. The blacksmith grabs my arm and hauls me toward the front of the hall where the king and his sons stand. They wear their gold and white finery; bright red cactus flowers adorn their lapels. The princes, both wearing their golden antler circlets, lean close to whisper to each other. The long-haired one grins at something his brother says.

If I remember right from the blacksmith’s tirades, his name his Alix. He is the younger of the two. His hair is the brown of honey, shoulder-length and tied half-up under his crown. The dagger marked with the moon is meant for him.

The sun dagger will go to the older twin. He is the one that dropped off the plans weeks ago. Jasper is his name. His hair and skin are golden, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he grins to his brother.

Drums beat a lilting rhythm as the Tajan ambassador enters the hall. He is brown-skinned, with a shiny bald skull and a full, trimmed black beard. His robes flutter behind him, a red as deep as blood.

Following him are two women, their dark skin and hair gleaming. They wear gowns and elaborate jeweled headdresses that wink in the light. Their retinue of servants carries embroidered banners of Taja and carved wooden boxes. Gifts, I assume, for their hosts.

“King Haris,” the Tajan booms, his voice heavily accented. He spreads his arms in greeting. The Odrendi king steps down from his dais and embraces the ambassador. The men chuckle. “It is good to see you, my friend.”

Haris steps back. “And you, as always, Al-Amir,” he says. “My sons and I welcome you on this glorious day.” He turns and gestures for the princes to step forward. They and the ambassador exchange low bows.

“To see what fine young men you have grown into is a blessing,” Al-Amir says, his smile bright white against his dark complexion. “We wish you the happiest of celebrations for your twentieth year.” He gestures to a servant holding a pair of wood boxes the size of bricks. He comes forward and hands the boxes to Al-Amir.

“I bring gifts for the princes,” he says proudly. He presents a box to each prince. Despite myself, I lean up on my tiptoes with the rest of the crowd to watch as they open their respective boxes.

“We mine this quartz only in Taja,” Al-Amir says. “I hope you will treasure these gifts.” Alix holds a cuff bracelet of milky white crystal, carved with intricate spirals and whorls. Jasper slips a pale ring onto his finger, made of solid quartz inlaid with gold.

The princes gush as they thank the ambassador for the gifts. Their father smiles warmly at the scene.

“Thank you, my friend,” he says.

Al-Amir gestures to the beautiful pair of women behind him. “These are the princesses Safiyyah and Zinat, of Taja.” The princesses curtsy low. Their jewels glint in the sunlight. The princes come forward, bowing to the ladies and pressing a kiss to the knuckles of their right hands.

They exchange quick pleasantries. I roll my eyes at them.

“I have gifts for you too, my boys. Mister Barnard,” The king says. He scans the crowd for the blacksmith, and the man pushes me forward. I follow him as he proudly hurries before the royals and their visitors.

“For you, Highnesses,” Barnard says. He nudges me, and I unwrap the daggers from their bundle. He takes one in each hand, presenting them to the princes. I clutch the thick fabric in my hands, not knowing what to do with myself. I stare down at my feet. My face grows hot; I feel the eyes of the entire court on me.

But when I raise my eyes, no one is looking at me. No one but Jasper.