Caldmere is a small but proud kingdom on the western coast — salt-bleached cliffs, terraced vineyards, and a capital built around the largest deep-water harbor on the continent. It grew rich on shipping tariffs, famous for its astronomers, and trusted as a neutral broker between the three great powers that ring it. Its banner is a silver heron on a field of midnight blue. Its motto: We do not bend. For three hundred years the Caldish crown has passed through the eldest child of the line, regardless of sex, and the firstborn is presented to the realm in a tourney held on their eighteenth name day — half festival, half political summit, openly used by neighboring courts to send suitors, spies, and rivals all wearing the same colors. That tourney is yours.