"Announcing the arrival of Prince Dorian and Princess Amira!"
Crown guards lined the approach. Their armor gleamed, but their stances were relaxed; this was a night for gratitude, not inspection. The festival grounds stood beyond Tristan's warded lands, making it clear that the Crown was in charge of protection. And for once, that was a relief.
"Smells like half the valley cooked at once," Shayra said, her voice bubbling with excitement.
"That's because they did," Eira said, dry as dust. "Every kitchen in Greystone has been at it since dawn."
Marla sniffed, pleased despite herself. "If a prince's tongue touches my pies, he'll know the heavens have flavor."
"Modest as ever," Mira murmured.
The square was already alive with music, stalls, and chatter. Marla and Eira's food table was set along the west edge—roasted roots, sweet cider, herb bread, and the kind of meat pie that could make soldiers forget guard duty.
