The sun next morning seemed determined to be cheerful as if the whole city had agreed on a single mood. In Dahlia's kitchen the light landed on copper pans and a shelf of stacked teacups, and the whole room smelled of cinnamon and frying onions — homely, noisy, and impossible to be solemn in.
Solis sat on a low stool, knees pulled up like a child, while Dahlia fussed with a handkerchief around his collar and Ada directed operations like an impatient general.
"You're doing it all wrong," Ada said, squinting. She shoved a comb at him. "Hold still. You can't go to court with that day-walker look."
Solis blinked. "Huh? A day-walker?"
Dahlia slapped a dab of pomade onto his hair with more force than was probably needed. "She means you look like someone who spends too much time on the road and not enough time with a mirror."
Solis tried to sit straighter. "I don't usually—"
"You don't usually get proper clothes either," Dahlia cut in, bustling about. "But today is special. You are going to royal court. You will look like someone who might actually be invited back for tea."
Ada hummed. "And you'll stop trying to hide that sword under your cloak like it's a guilty secret."
Solis's fingers tightened on the cloth wrap at his back. "Are you serious? I never hide it under my cloak."
"Then don't make it a mystery," Ada replied. "Loose the sword's wrappings a little. Show the crest. They like respectable things at ceremonies."
Dahlia produced a small tin from under the counter and opened it with a flourish. Inside were smoothing stones, a tiny brass comb, and a strip of cloth polished with some secret potion. She dabbed the cloth over Solis's badge until it gleamed. "See? A glint in the sun and people make instant judgments of nobility."
Solis watched himself in the spoon that Dahlia held up like a mirror. He recognized the face — sleep lines, a smudge of travel at the jaw — but the badge at his chest suddenly made the whole picture different. He tried to smile and felt Ada's elbow in his ribs.
"You don't have to be fancy," she said softly. "You just have to look like you belong there for five minutes. At least try that."
Solis nodded.
Dahlia straightened and tossed him a half-roll of warm bread. "If you faint, eat. If you sweat, dab. If they stare, blink slowly — look like you're thinking about a tasteful proverb. And remember — don't bow so low you unbutton your helmet. Manners are best when they don't make you lose your dignity."
Ada tied a neat navy scarf at Solis's throat, the color matching the Postknight trim. "Now stand up straight. Imagine Devon's face if you slouch."
Solis corrected his posture until he felt every vertebrae like a stack of coins realigned. He breathed in, and for a second the world narrowed to the kitchen: a woman polishing badges, a girl fussing over her friend, and the smell of warm bread.
Dahlia reached into a drawer and handed Solis a small knitted handkerchief. "For the ceremony, if you get nervous, breathe into this and think about home."
He took it, the fabric soft between his fingers.
"Aunt Dahlia," Ada said, looking suddenly uncharacteristically serious, "thank you for all this."
Dahlia puckered, as if she'd swallowed a lemon and then smiled. "You're part of the family, girl. Don't look so surprised."
When they left, the street outside was already filled with knights and messengers. Carriages rolled like polite thunder. The road to the palace had the neatness of a procession being choreographed by invisible hands.
---
On the other side of the city, in a drawing room that preferred carved mahogany to anything that might smell of labor, Commander Orsic of the K.P.P. sat back like a man confident of his place in the world. He was a large man in a large room, and everything around him had been arranged to make him think of his own importance — tapestries that showed triumphs, a couch that required a small lever to tilt, servants who knew when to enter and when to leave.
A subordinate hovered by the hearth, looking like someone rehearsing a long speech.
"Commander," the subordinate began, handing over a folded note, "the palace requests our presence. The princess will be leaving today — an official tour. It is expected that the upper ring will host a proper send-off."
Orsic read the paper without raising his eyebrows. "Is that all?"
"For now, sir. There will be other units present too — Postknight, Borderknight, Octaknight, Airknights. The palace expects decorum from all involved."
Orsic's lips thinned. He set the letter down with a pointed calm. "Postknights," he said, taste in his voice as if the word had been coated in ash. "They always find a way into the sunlight."
His subordinate swallowed. "Do you think they will perform their duties well, sir?"
"I have to admit... they are useful," Orsic said slowly. "But they are visible in ways that complicate the image I maintain. But those Postknights... they are just nothing but a bunch of gypsies. But king MacLinny trusts them more than us. I just don't get it. A public ceremony full of folk and favors is not a place for the disorder they bring."
"So…?"
"So I will ensure the K.P.P. stands at the right place," Orsic said. "We will show strength, order, and the appropriate distance between noble duty and reckless heroics. Keep a watch on their captain, Seraphine. And if any Postknight raises their head in a way that steals the crowd's gaze, I want them politely, but firmly reminded of their place."
The subordinate nodded. "Understood."
Orsic's hand found a half-sipped cup of tea and tapped the rim twice, a small percussion of displeasure. "Ceremonies are for images, show-off. We will control ours."
---
By mid-morning the Postknight contingent assembled, polished in a way that made the sun look ordinary. Seraphine moved through the group with the ease of someone carrying a map in her head, and Almond hovered nearby like a small comet, brightness and heat in his wake.
Seraphine introduced Almond to the other officials with that efficient cordiality. "This is Almond, recently promoted to Rank B. He will represent the Postknight unit today," she said, making sure the right people heard the rank before the name. Almond puffed up like a lantern expecting applause, offering a practiced bow that suggested he'd been practicing at home.
Solis and Ada arrived hand in hand with the rest, Solis still slightly stiff from Dahlia's making and Ada radiant with the kind of energy only the confident and slightly exhausted possess.
Seraphine caught sight of them and inclinated her head just enough. Seraphine said to them. "We're pleased you could join."
Solis blinked, then bowed — an awkward, earnest motion that didn't quite match the polished gestures around him. "Yes, ma'am. It is an honor."
Ada flashed a grin. "Solis insisted on looking like he belongs. He almost swallowed a pastry to keep the look authentic."
A gentleman from the Borderknight unit — broad-shouldered, with a beard that might have been intended to make him look like a mountain — stepped forward to greet them. "Postknight," he said, hands broad, "good to see you on the field." His tone carried the welcome of someone who appreciated practical comrades.
An Octaknight officer, slight and quick-eyed, nodded curtly. "Keep your young ones safe. The road is a messy thing."
Nearby, an Airknight sheathed in light gear smiled at Solis with the easy tolerance of someone who respected mid-level courage. "You've travelled far then. Welcome."
Almond moved between groups, name-dropping and offering the small shows of deference that balanced on the edge of arrogance. He paused beside Solis with a look that tried very hard to be companionable and failed. "We'll see who shines today, Solis," he said, loud enough for half the Postknight unit to hear.
Solis met him with the small, patient smile of someone sure of his own work. "I'll be there in the front row for a good show," he said.
Ada snorted. "Try not to hog the limelight if you're planning to eat the princess's tarts later."
Almond laughed, a brief and brittle sound, and moved on. Seraphine's sharp glance followed him until he was swallowed by other officers.
As the minutes trickled toward ceremony, the courtyard filled with a hum of polite conversation and the discreet clink of armor. Banners snapped in the faint breeze. Solis stood between Ada and the rest of his unit, feeling surprisingly calm despite the elegance he'd been forced into.