Dawn broke, and Vyarin lay awake watching the square of sun descend upon his wall. His eye darted about, catching the corners of the chamber, and in his mind he took stock of the matters ahead of him. Yes, the letter from his father. He had just about forgotten, addled as he was by the early morning. Vyarin scrambled to his feet, and winced as he struck the bedside table with his foot. Would the noise have woken anyone? He can apologize to them later. Carefully, he cracked the seal and unfolded the message. It read as follows.

"War threatens to return to the League," the message begins, without introduction or address. "Vyatka Prince of Vadai holds in his dungeon three spies resistant to torture. Suspicions say they come from Gilthan. Grazodon Prince of Perozord also reports raids coming from bandits of particular discipline and equipment. Your marriage has become more important than even before, as our retaliation would require an overwhelming force we do not possess. The heir to Astalia is Annalise of the clan Altera, distinct in her pale face and hair." By sun and moon, what a fool Vyarin had been! He nearly crushed the letter in his hand how frustrated with himself he was. She was the one princess he could not recall conversing with, not through the course of the entire night previous. He read on.

"To ensure our will is made known, I have sent your uncle Tellos Prince of Logon in command of his entire retinue to follow in your travelling path. I trust him to arrange everything goes to our favour. He will arrive in three days." Oh no. This was bad. Vyarin threw the letter on the table and sat down on the bed to think. Though Prozdy held the power, there was no denying Logon's near-comparable might. The two worked closely in their youth, his father and his uncle, expanding the sphere of the clan Kremazov; violently and remorselessly until near half the principalities in the League had some tie of blood to that name. If Tellos was being sent to Astalia, it could only mean that his father meant to declare an ultimatum. Few paths forward now will not end in blood. Quickly, Vyarin had to destroy the message! He crumpled up the letter and stuffed it in a pocket. There must be one firepit in this palace somewhere. Truly, this has become a predicament, having to keep this secret from a host who has thus far been nothing but generous. Vyarin stood up, before awkwardly sitting back down and opening up his phrasebook to review his studies. He can't be making a mistake that could cost Prozdy with his tongue.

Eventually, he made it out of the room and through the labyrinthine halls to arrive in the dining hall, where platters had been laid out for the morning. The princesses were present, as was their father, but he was the first of the suitors. He gave each of them a nod.

"I-Is good day," he said, in thickly accented Astalian. "Is my pleasure . . . to join in this morning."