Lara arrived two days ahead of the kings.
She rode into the outer courtyard at dusk. Mud still clung to her cloak and the lower edges of her boots.
She left her horse with the stable hands without a word and went straight for the private stairs that led up to the workrooms. Atlas was there, bent over the evening reports, when she pushed the door open without knocking.
"They're coming," she said. "Five of them. Formal request. Not trade. They want to come under the empire."
Atlas set the pen down and looked up. "Which five?"
She named them in order. The highland king. The coastal one. The eastern marches. The western king who had spoken first at the earlier summit. And the riverlands king who had argued the longest against any closer ties.
The rest of the independent kingdoms were still weighing their options, but these five had already crossed the border with small retinues and sealed letters.
Atlas leaned back. The chair creaked under his weight.
