“Your Majesty, the southern merchants complain again,” said one of the bronze-scaled stewards, shifting nervously under Merenrys’s gaze. “They claim your tariffs are too high for trade across the Dunes of Maret.”

Merenrys didn’t look up from the map glowing before her. “They said the same thing last moon. And the moon before that.”

“Yes, my queen, but they...”

“They’ll keep saying it,” she interrupted calmly, tracing one glowing rune over the parchment. The sigil ...