I can’t imagine how the palace can be any more exquisite than the rest of the city, but it is. Instead of the single towers spread throughout the city, here there is a cluster of at least two dozen spindly towers of various heights and colors, each with a conical roof topped with its own flag. The tallest tower is at the very center, painted a rich red, and it has a flag that is crisp white with an orange sun.
I don’t have to ask anyone to understand that the flags are the sigils of different families who live in those towers and that the largest therefore must belong to the royal family.
“It really is something,” I murmur to Richard. Our earlier fight lingers distantly in my mind, though neither of us has acknowledged it since. I don’t think either of us wants to acknowledge it. Try as
