A grand carriage rolled through the towering gates of the city of Yarzat, its wheels creaking under the weight of luxury and its iron-rimd edges kicking up dust from the well-worn road. The flag of the Imperial family of Rolia flapped proudly from its polished fra, a crimson and gold banner bearing the eagle crest of the empire, shimring in the late afternoon sun. Surrounding the carriage, a throng of soldiers and servants marched with purpose, their polished armor and well-grood attire reflecting their allegiance to the might of Rolia.
At the forefront and rear, imperial soldiers clad in silver chainmail and plud helts kept a watchful eye on the cityfolk gathering at the sides of the road. Whispers and murmurs ran through the crowd as they caught sight of the imperial sigil.
Inside the carriage, a man at the center of attention. His na was Dorian Arcelin, a seasoned diplomat dispatched by Keval Achea, the regent who ruled in place of the young emperor.
As the carriage rattled through the bustling streets of Yarzat, Doria sat in its cushioned interior, his face partially obscured by a perfud silk tissue held close to his nose. The delicate scent of jasmine and rosewater emanated from the cloth, offering a small reprieve from the pungent odors that seeped in through the carriage's small windows. His brow furrowed beneath his neatly combed hair, though he tried to keep his discomfort concealed.
Sitting across from him was Marcus, captain of his personal guard. He had noticed the subtle frown on Doria's face. Concerned but cautious, Marcus leaned forward slightly, his chainmail clinking softly as he spoke.
"Is everything alright, sir" Marcus asked, his voice low but respectful. He watched as Doria pressed the perfud tissue closer, his irritation only thinly veiled.
Doria let out a quiet sigh, lowering the scented cloth briefly as he glanced at Marcus. "It's this wretched stench," he lanted, his voice thick with disdain. "How can anyone live in such filth? The sll is unbearable."
Marcus straightened slightly in his seat, his expression neutral but understanding. "Yarzat has no aqueduct, sir" he explained. "Unlike the imperial cities, places like these…," he gestured vaguely towards the outside of the carriage, "are a reminder of the barely civilized lands that exist beyond Rolia's borders."
Doria's lips twitched, caught between frustration and bemusent. He glanced out the window at the winding streets, where people hurried about their business, seemingly unfazed by the squalor. "And yet, from these wretched, slly places co goods that are in hot demand across the empire''
Marcus offered a slight shrug, he was no rchant , he was simply a glorified bodyguard.
Doria grumbled sothing inaudible, shifting in his seat. The foul scent of the city's filth clung stubbornly to the air, and he grimaced, drawing the tissue closer again. With a sigh of resignation, he pulled out a small vial from his inner pocket, dabbing more drops of fragrant perfu onto the cloth.
"If only these barbarians could import Rolian decency along with our coin," Doria muttered under his breath, as the carriage continued toward the city's heart, where the negotiations and politics awaited him.
The carriage rumbled its way out of the cramped, winding streets of the inner city, finally erging into a more open space as the cobbled roads gave way to the greenery of the keep's gardens. Lush, well-tended lawns stretched out on either side, with rows of modest trees lining the path. Compared to the stifling alleys of Yarzat, this place seed almost peaceful, though not without the sense of restrained wealth that marked a provincial stronghold.
Doria Arcelin leaned forward slightly as the carriage slowed, peering out through the window. He noted the change in atmosphere—the cleaner air, the manicured grass—but his expression remained unimpressed. It was a far cry from the grandeur he was used to in Rolia. His perfud cloth no longer pressed to his face, he muttered sothing to himself as they approached the keep.
The carriage ca to a halt in front of the keep's gates, the sound of horses snorting and wheels creaking to a stop breaking the silence. Doria hesitated for a mont before pushing the door open, stepping out onto the gravel path. His boots crunched lightly beneath him as he took a mont to assess the keep before him. It was small, far smaller than he had expected. Simple stone walls, with only a few decorative flourishes, gave it the appearance of a modest fortress rather than a seat of power. He raised an eyebrow, his lips curling slightly in disdain.
As he stood there, casting a critical eye over the structure, the heavy wooden doors of the keep creaked open, and a small procession erged. At the forefront was a man of advancing years, his steps steady but deliberate. His grey beard was neatly trimd, and his hair, though thinning, was combed back in an attempt to preserve his dignity. Behind him, a few knights followed, their armor gleaming despite the modest surroundings
As he ca closer, he bowed his head slightly and greeted Doria Arcelin with a asured tone.
"Welco, Sir," he said, his voice deep but steady. "I am Lord Shahab, Primo Ministerio of her grace, Jasmine of House Veloni-isha. On behalf of her grace, I extend the warst of welcos to the envoy of Rolia."
Doria, still holding the perfud cloth near his face, inclined his head in return, though his eyes briefly scanned the courtyard, taking in the surroundings. "Lord Shahab," Doria responded, his voice calm and distant, "I appreciate your greeting. It is my wish to pay my respects to her grace, as soon as may be appropriate."
Shahab gave a brief smile, his posture formal as always. "Of course, Sir," he said, turning to gesture towards the grand hall that lay beyond the keep's entrance. "Her grace is expecting your arrival. Please, allow to lead you to the throne hall where you may et her in person."
With that, Shahab turned and began walking towards the keep, his footsteps asured and steady as he led the way. Doria followed behind, casting a glance over at Marcus, his captain of the guard, who marched silently behind him. Behind them, the knights and servants of the Rolian envoy trailed in an orderly fashion.
As they moved across the courtyard, passing through the outer halls and into the main structure, Doria couldn't help but once again notice the modesty of the keep. The corridors were dimly lit, with stone walls that bore the signs of age. While not without a sense of local pride, it was clear to Doria that this was far from the splendor of the imperial palaces he was accustod to.
Finally, he was allowed to enter the door leading to the throne hall, where he could finally et the princess who owned the secrets to the manufacture of soap and cider. The banners of House Veloni-isha hung from the walls, and the sunlight filtered through tall windows, casting a soft glow over the room, which in itself struck Doria as being too simple.
At the far end of the hall, on a raised dais, two thrones sat. One was empty, its rich purple velvet untouched, while the other was occupied by a young girl, no older than eighteen, her posture upright and poised. She had a quiet elegance about her, with long dark hair and a soft. She was dressed in fine robes, adorned with intricate designs of gold thread.
As he ca to a stop before the dais, he offered a small, respectful bow, his perfud cloth no longer on his face. "Your grace," he said, his voice smooth and diplomatic, "I bring greetings from the Imperial Court of Rolia, expressing their condalances for your loss and congratulating your anscension."
Jasmine, her face calm but with a hint of curiosity in her eyes, nodded slightly in return. "Welco, Sir Doria Arcelin," she said, her voice soft but firm. "It is an honor to receive the envoy of Rolia. I hope that your journey to Yarzat was comfortable."
Doria allowed a small smile to touch his lips, though his eyes betrayed little emotion. "It was a journey most anticipated, your grace. I am pleased by your warm welco."
As humble as it was, Doria thought as he rose from his bow.
"I hope that His Imperial Majesty, the Emperor, remains in good health and that his efforts to quell the rebellion find success soon," Jasmine said, her tone both diplomatic and hopeful. "We hear of the troubles within the empire, and it is our sincere wish that order is restored swiftly under his command, knowing myself how it feels to have one right be challenged."
Doria gave a slight nod, his expression carefully neutral. "I have heard much about your grace's campaign in bringing peace to your land, and we are happy to know that the rightful heir to your father's crown may now sit on her throne in peace. His grace, the emperor, remains ever-resolute in his mission to cleanse his land. The rebellion, though troubleso, will be vanquished in ti. I bring his grace's firm assurance of this."
Doria's gaze lingered a mont too long on the empty throne beside Lady Jasmine, and he allowed a flicker of curiosity to show in his expression. "I must admit," he began, his tone laced with diplomatic politeness, "I am sowhat puzzled by the absence of your prince consort. I had hoped to et him upon my arrival"
Jasmine's eyes flicked briefly to the empty seat beside her, the slightest tension tightening her features before she composed herself. "You have my apologies, Sir Doria," she replied, her voice steady. "Unfortunately, my beloved husband is occupied with an important task I have entrusted to him. His absence is necessary, albeit well-missed."
Doria nodded "Of course, your grace. I look forward to eting the man who plays such a vital role in your rule. It is clear that your reign benefits from his support."
Jasmine offered a small, composed smile. "Indeed, you shall et him soon enough. He shares in the burden of our rule, and his dedication is without question." There was a brief, almost imperceptible pause before she added, "But for now, I imagine you and your n must be weary from your journey. Lord Shahab will be more than happy to escort you to your lodgings, where you can rest."
With a subtle gesture of her hand, she signaled for Shahab, who had been standing nearby, ready to lead the envoy to their chambers.
"Thank you for your grace's hospitality," Doria said, bowing slightly once more. Though the formalities were observed, his mind lingered on the prince consort's conspicuous absence and what this important task might be.
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Doria stood in the center of the finely appointed room, the soft light filtering through narrow windows casting long shadows across the tapestries on the walls.
Lord Shahab stood by the door, his face calm but professional. "If there is anything you require, Sir Doria, please do not hesitate to ask for any of the servants designed to satisfy him for any wish ''
Doria gave a curt nod, keeping his face composed, though his mind was racing with thoughts of the mysterious prince consort. "Thank you, Lord Shahab. Your attentiveness is appreciated."
Shahab bowed slightly before backing out of the room, closing the door quietly behind him. The instant the door clicked shut, Doria's formal smile vanished. His shoulders relaxed, and he let out a soft, almost imperceptible sigh. He turned toward the far side of the room, where Marcus stood waiting.
''I have a job for you''
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