Chapter 221 - Half-Baked Sunrise

As dawn's first pale smear bled into the courtyard sky, I found myself wondering exactly how many revolutions in recorded history have ended with powdered sugar on every available surface. Probably none; I intended to set the precedent. The Treaty Festival's "Cakes at Sunrise" proclamation had begun as Mara's delirious brainwave, but somewhere between midnight and morning it metastasized into a logistical testament to folly and optimism. We had trestle tables groaning beneath towers of pastries, cauldrons of chocolate, and, inexplicably, a cheese wheel carved into the likeness of the phoenix crest Arion's contribution after three uninterrupted hours alone with the palace sculptor.