I jolt awake as the carriage lurches to an abrupt halt and the door swings open, with General Barandir reaching in to help me down. "We have arrived in the kingdom of Cardan, Your Grace," he announces. "This is our final stop before we reach the capital. You must make the necessary preparations before meeting with His Majesty."

I frown in confusion as Orrian jumps out before a footman could pull out the steps, and goes to retrieve a trunk from the back of the carriage.

"What the general means to say is that you should wash and get dressed before seeking audience with the Summer King, Your Highness," Orrian explains, voice low enough for only me to hear.

The general clears his throat awkwardly and steps back. "An hour, Your Grace, should be sufficient." He bows as he gestures to an impressive red-brick manor house, then walks away to join the rest of the entourage.

I climb out of the carriage, and a burst of heat wafted up into my face, the dull headache I had been nursing now turning into a throbbing pain. For a moment, I stop to take in my surroundings, stunned by the sight before me.

The manor stands atop a plateau overlooking a wide desert valley surrounded by craggy mountains. Unlike the countryside, the kingdom of Cardan is denuded of vegetation. In place of meadows, grass, and trees, wind-worn rock formation, sandstone, and vibrant desert blooms dotted the landscape. So much like Ilialana, yet so much more.

And there, on the horizon, is the castle of the Phosories, sitting regally on the edge of a sheer cliff overlooking the Merlara Ocean. The Summer Court itself, its silhouette lords over the surrounding villages with an imposing gaze.

A shiver runs through me as I allow myself to gaze upon its grandeur. The Phosories itself is not what's causing this storm inside me, but rather the life I shall live within its stone walls.

I am to be the Summer Consort.

I gather my wits about me and head over to the manor house, which turned out to be one of House Cardan's many country houses strewn across the Glass Empire.

Orrian ushers me into a privy chamber. In conjunction with the chamber is a spacious dressing room opening into a private bath, where a couple of bath attendants stood waiting next to a linen-lined wooden bath tub.

My face warms at their presence. Besides Orrian, I had no such personal attendants back at home. Never had I let anyone else seen my naked body, my imperfections, my scars. But now, I allow these strangers to help me wash and do my hair, wishing that with each silent gesture, each garment and accoutrement, I can gradually acclimate to a new world, a new culture in which I find myself.

After scrubbing my body of all the dirt and dust of travel, the bath attendants quietly clear out of the room. Orrian then dresses me with all the exuberance of finery, ensuring that I represent my kingdom that fortune is to be expected proportionate to my appearance. A swathed peplos of fine red silk the color of Ossola's sky at dusk drapes over one shoulder, fastened with a brooch engraved with House Ilialana's royal insignia. Relief washes over me as the garb covers the ugly scar that marred my upper arm-a constant reminder of my ignorance, of a trust once broken.

Orrian secures the garment with a beautiful girdle of the same fabric woven with silver and bronze threads entwined, followed by a sash from my waist that trails to the floor and flows freely with the hem of the silk peplos. Under my garment, I wrap a thin strap around my waist, sliding Azuri into a knot until its sheath lay flat at my hip, putting the light weight of the dagger along my upper thigh.

Orrian's reaction to the sight of Azuri is barely a flinch. Our eyes meet fleetingly, meaning passes between us. My steward knows when not to question things.

Finally, Orrian places the diadem on my head; a delicate, beautiful piece so finely engraved it appears like crocheted lace with diamond threads. Like the choker, my consort-father had once worn the same piece during his reign. Intricate swirls of gold and precious stones form dozens of loops, each centered with teardrop-shaped sapphire. I had seen many family heirlooms, of course, but nothing quite compares to this one.

By the time we emerged from the manor, the frontline troop under General Barandir's command had already departed from a distance of a mile, slowly moving forward. During my preparation, the general had made contact with the palace, the two sides had set fire to each other to receive the signal. Fireworks were set off as I climb back into the carriage, signaling that the royal entourage is approaching.

It's almost Summer, the air boiling hot outside the carriage window. The air has a distinctive taste and aroma to it, tangy like the ocean's salty taste blown towards me. As we descend the plateau, the terrain around us became an endless stretch of flat, dry fields. On the horizon, canyons and sandstones make dark laced silhouettes against yellow strips of light from the sun that still had not set.

As we neared the castle, we meet other troops descending from the winding hill. My heart begins to pound in my chest as my carriage falls in line. I peer out the window, palms sweating as I see the familiar terracotta hue of the castle's exterior, a sight that has always fascinated me.

As we reach the outer walls of Cardan, I wait for the sense of relief, of security as I see the castle's imposing towers on the highest point of the city. But as our carriage approaches the main gates, a pall of apprehension hangs over me.

The carriage finally rolls to a stop in an inviting courtyard shaded with cedar pine, shrubs and bushes, and a running fountain at the heart of it. The palace is built solid with terracotta bricks and stones, the facade lined with rows and rows of marble pillars, latticed windows, and arched double doors.

The carriage driver hops down and swings open my door. "Welcome to Cardan, Your Grace," he says to me with a curt nod.

I climb out of the carriage and give a small bow to the driver. And then, squaring my shoulders, I follow General Barandir and a handful of manservants into the palace, Orrian walking close behind me. But before I could take another step, the double doors swing open and a flurry of gold, red, and white emerges.

A deep, cheery voice calls out my name. "Mirre!"

I look up at the tall and lean figure standing before me. He is wearing the most opulent white brocade coat I had ever seen, embroidered with golden thread, bejewelled collar and a magnificent red armband embellished with the sun crest insignia. The coat is complemented with a pair of gold-embellished white pants and freshly polished dark-brown boots made of fine leather. A sword rests on his right hip, wrapped in a silver kilt, peeking from the blood-red cape draped across one shoulder.

I pause to steady myself and take a breath at the sight of the Summer King's impressive frame. I raise my gaze to meet his cerulean eyes, a smile spreading rapidly across his youthful, brutally handsome face. His gaze never leaves mine as he strides toward me with masculine grace and a complete disregard for the roomful of eyes on him-on us.

Then he reaches for me and engulfs me in a heated embrace that lifts me right off my feet. The intensity of his eyes, the touch of his body against mine, the suddenness of it all stole my breath.

"You're here. You're finally here," Ettrian whispers in my ear, voice overflowing with unrestrained joy.

His spontaneous burst of excitement had been unexpected, but his body encircling mine is comforting, like it's the most natural thing in the world.

I wrap my arms around him, burying my face in the crook of his neck as I take in his scent and the feel of his strong body. At that moment, all my fears and uncertainties gradually melted away, replaced by a sense of happiness and hope that I wish would last forever.

Only the gods can intervene now, and in the midst of all these chaos and doubt, I pray that they too, are on my side.