No one told me that welcoming envoys was this tiring.
I'd been on my feet since dawn, bowing until my lower back screamed in protest, smiling so long my cheeks felt like they might split open, and listening to alphas, omegas, and betas ramble for what felt like hours on end. My throat was parched from endless strings of polite "yes, of course" and "thank you for coming," and my feet throbbed inside the sleek black loafers Soren had insisted were "non-negotiable for protocol."
Every time I thought the line might finally thin out, another delegation would materialize at the gate—flags snapping in the breeze, security details sweeping the perimeter with efficiency, aides clutching tablets and murmuring into earpieces like the world might end if they missed a single word.
