The next morning, I learned something very important about the kingdom of Valeria.
When the capital decides to celebrate something, it does not celebrate quietly.
It celebrates with drums.
And bells.
And several thousand extremely excited citizens who apparently woke up at sunrise just to watch me suffer.
Because suffer I did.
The palace servants had woken me before dawn, bathed me in scented oils, dressed me in flowing white robes that were far too ceremonial for my liking, and then—this was the worst part—covered my shoulders and hair in soft flower petals like I was some kind of walking spring altar.
I stared at myself in the mirror.
"You cannot be serious," I said.
A maid smiled proudly.
"You look divine."
I looked like a decorative cake.
Before I could protest further, the palace gates opened and the parade began.
