Tanalasta bustled down the Family Hall of House Marliir, one hand tugging at her gown’s brandelle straps, the other holding her skirts off the floor. The corridor seemed a mile long, with an endless procession of white pillars supporting its corbeled arches and a hundred oaken doors lining its walls. On the way down from High Heath, she had stopped so often to restore blighted fields that the journey had taken an extra day, and she had arrived just that morning to discover that the ball gown she’d had sent up from Suzail was a size too large. There had been no chance to see to her father’s birthday gift. She could only trust that Harvestmaster Foley had been able to arrange things on his own.

At last, Tanalasta came to a door with two Purple Dragon guards standing outside. They snapped to attention, clicking their feet and bringing their halberds to their shoulders. Tanalasta stopped and raised her arms over her head.

“Anything out of place, gentlemen?” she asked, executing a slow twirl. “Loose threads, anything showing that shouldn’t?”

The guards glanced at each other nervously and said nothing.

“What’s wrong?” Tanalasta looked down. The gown was an amethyst silk with a tapered bodice and a scooped neckline, and she could imagine something peeking out that a modest princess would prefer to keep hidden. “Tell me.”

The youngest guard extended his arm, shifting his halberd to the stand ready position. “Nothing’s wrong, Princess.” The glimmer of a smile flashed across his lips. “You look… well, stunning. I’d be careful about, showing up the queen.”

Tanalasta’s jaw went slack. “What?”

The older guard shifted his halberd to the stand ready, then stammered, “B-beg your pardon, princess. Lundan meant no offense. It’s just that we haven’t seen you in Suzail for quite some time, and a lot has, er, changed.”

“Truly?” Tanalasta broke into a broad smile, then kissed both men on their cheeks. “Chauntea bless you!”