It doesn't appear on charts. No compass points toward it. Portals only open when the kingdom allows them to.

And yet, this morning, eleven of them tear through the air like heated seams in silk, dropping eleven princes onto the palace grounds with all the grace of a diplomatic incident waiting to happen.

The palace does not flinch. It has seen worse. Probably.

The Portal Chamber has never been subtle about its arrivals. The air snaps, folds, and releases each prince into the marble hall with a sound like a thunderclap.

By the time the last one lands, the room looks less like a diplomatic reception and more like a very expensive inter-dimensional waiting room.

Servants are already moving, eyes flicking between the newcomers. The palace recognizes each arrival by the magic in their blood, and that recognition is currently causing the chandelier to flicker.

Somewhere above, in the labyrinth of the royal wing, a princess is finishing her morning. And below, eleven princes are about to realize that the Kingdom Between Worlds doesn't care about their titles.

It only cares about the chaos they bring with them.

But first—breakfast.