“Welcome! My lords, ladies, friends! All of you are welcome here today!” The High King, Haryn Mara, addressed the crowd before him with a cheery disposition he was not normally known for. The High King stood before the Blackstone Throne, the ever-seat of those who wore the Mithrocki crown. Black, round, nearly crystalline stones made up the entirety of the throne. Even the back, standing ten feet tall, was made of the peculiar stone. None knew where the throne, or the stones themselves, came from. Though the Blackstone keep, which was not built from blackstone, had fallen a myriad of times, the throne still stood. Perpetually. Just like the kingdom of Mithrock itself.

“To see so many here, despite the initial reaction to my plans, warms the heart of this old man.” A light chuckle rang out across the audience. The High King, who had known thirty summers, was neither old nor a dominant figure. As a pacifist, he did not train in any warring arts, thus he was not very large. Skinny as a beggar with the height of a dominant bloodline, Haryn looked a stick in his emerald doublet and black slacks. Many often said, in hushed tones, that the High King looked more a scholar than the ideal ruler. His father had been a man of war, an enormous figure who only Alastor Alden had dared oppose. Even that had been done in secret. As a result, those who saw the High King often, and unfairly, compared him to his father.

Alex did not. His adoptive father had burned the man alive when he was an infant. Alex knew little of the High King, but he did know that the man had specifically requested that he be allowed to enter this program alongside the other bastards of the realm. That Haryn did not hold the sins of Eustace Alden against him told Alex everything he needed to know about the High King’s character. Though the sample size was small, Alex had every reason to believe Haryn was a good man. Who cared if he avoided battle? Warmongering industries might struggle. Was that such a bad thing? Should the smiths not be pleased that their creations won’t be ending lives? Should the merchants not be happy that they aren’t aiding one king at the expense of another and their people? Life was good when they lands lived in harmony. The lords of these lands seemed to think otherwise.

“…will be continuing our Regalian program for nobility. Little will change in the way their lives operate in here in the capital. Your noble children will share some classes and experiences with baseborn and some of the commoners. This is not a bad thing. Bastardy and commonality are not infectious. If you believe otherwise, I would recommend otherwise. I could also send you to some of our lords, high and low, as they can’t seem to stop producing bastards themselves.”

Alex laughed at the quip. Yoric and Valora, who both sat to his right, joined him. They sat hand in hand, eyes full of disbelief and wonder. To see Yoric so happy, especially after what Gwen had done to him, brought some water to Alex’s eyes. He wiped them away. When Yoric and Valora both looked over in concern, he shook his head. He was fine. More than fine, truly.

The High King continued on with his speech. His thanks, his japes, his laughs; all served to hold the crowd in the palm of his hands. Despite his lanky figure and his reputation, Haryn was a natural presenter.

Today was the Regalian Opening Ceremony, one of the most celebrated days of the year. On the first day of Attonden, the eighth month of the year, young nobility would flock from lands and cities all throughout the realm. From their fourteenth summer to their eighteenth, the nobility of Mithrock would receive an education in their kingdom’s capital. They would learn about politics, histories, music, the Arcane, the outside world, and so much more.

This tradition was new to Mithrock. Haryn had seen firsthand just how easily the High Lords had rallied to his father in defiance of Regis Pryde. In order to foster relationships with each and every nobleman under his rule, Haryn had started the program. His rule, despite his age, had been relatively peaceful. Though Alex did not understand the subtleties of nobility like Edwyn and the others, it was plain to all that Haryn was good at this. His sense of innovation toward his position and how he conducted himself was unmatched by any of his predecessors whether they were Maras or Prydes.

Alex looked around the room. The throne room itself was not lavish. Pews lined the lower floor. Alex and his company sat in the back row. Normally the space was wide open save for guards and petitioners. A tall staircase led up to the throne and the High King. Wardens, the personal guards of the High King, were strategically positioned on these stairs.

Yoric and I were supposed to be there, guarding Haryn and then Ed when the time came. Events had not panned out in a way where such an outcome was feasible. When he thought of Yoric, and the monster he had become for a time, Alex figured it was for the better. Yoric could have easily been the most prolific Warden the Blackstone Throne had ever known. The Lady Audrienne’s intervention had been dangerous, but Alex thanked her for it every time he thought of her or her son.

He looked toward Yoric and down the rest of their row. So many bastards lined the seats. Joanna the White Wyrm; daughter of the late Charles Declan, sister of the current Charles Declan who himself was the Lord of the Rapids, one of the ten provinces of the realm. Horace the Hawklet, the supposed son of Dameron Tolsen; the heir to Sothyrian, another of the ten provinces. Luciana the Banshee, the acknowledged daughter of Trinity Faelor and the late Brock Rawle. Trinity herself was the Lady of Ranidor, yet another province. The last one he recognized was Rohan Codkin, the young lord of a bastard branch of House Reagan- the Lords of the Valley.

There were others he did not know. He only really knew of these ones due to their highly prominent parents. Their ages ranged from twenty-five to thirteen. Fourteen was generally the age one came to Regalia for their studies, but Haryn had insisted on making up for lost time. His reasoning had been that leaving bastards out of the picture often resulted in tragedy. Whether it be one who lusted for power, or one who was suddenly placed in a position of power and had no idea how to bear their responsibilities. In his mind, bringing the bastards of the realm into the picture would create competent members of a family at best, or competent replacements in the worst case scenarios.

Some of the nobility hated the idea. Many hated the fact that they had been forced to acknowledge their bastards, show their shame to the realm. Haryn had reveled in it. As had Edwyn. Gwendolyn had been against the idea, though that was likely due to her grudge against Yoric more so than any political stance.

“…and that will be all, good folk of the realm. Please do remember to come to the Entrance Ball this evening. There are so many new peers among you. It would be a shame to miss out on some assured networking opportunities. Now go, and thank you for listening. Rest until the evening, for we shall spend it gloriously!”

With that, the High King descended his stairs, likely heading off to his study until the evening festivities. The study and the throne room were the only locations anyone saw the High King. He enjoyed his privacy more than most.

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The crowd began to rise from their seats as the kings and his wardens left. Many looked to one another, unsure of what to do. The king’s directions had been vague. There was little tradition to follow, as these ceremonies had never one held bastards and commoners in their audience. Were the nobility expected to leave first, seeing as their status was greater than the others in the room? Or were the commoners and bastards expected to, as they were deemed honored guests of the High King?

Whilst Alex tried to decipher the puzzle, Yoric grabbed his hand. His other still held Valora’s. “C’mon, Alex. Everyone’s gonna end up in Absolom’s Hall whether they figure out the right answer or not.”

“Aye,” Valora chuckled. “Stop thinking too hard, friend.” Valora’s laugh, like her voice, was music to the ears. Alex had thought Yoric a lovesick pup when he first explained it to him. He had only been more surprised when he learned her singing voice was absolutely horrid.

The trio stood up, leaving for Absolom’s Hall as the other nobility tried to figure themselves out. As they left, so did the other notable bastards in their row. The nobility sat down, seeming content to wait as baseborn and commoner alike left the throne room in droves.

They’ll accept an answer so long as they don’t have to think about it themselves.

“I wonder how they will rationalize it,” Valora chimed as they walked through a pair of grand, Arcwood doors into a long, decorated hallway.

“What are you talking about, Val?” Yoric asked.

“Us leaving first, my love. They will likely say it is much more painstaking to leave first when there are so many people in the crowd, so it makes sense for us bastards to thin out the crowd whilst they sit and wait.”

“They aren’t always bad, love. They could just accept it as a one-time event. Not everything is so layered.”

“They’re nobility, Yori. Everything is layered.”

Alex found himself nodding with Yoric, but they left it there and continued on down the hallway. Alex trailed behind the couple a bit. They spoke of nobility the way they did, but they looked like a young lord and lady when they walked together. Yoric wore gray breeches, a blue coat, and a white tunic to match with his mother’s house. His boots and eyes He wore his black hair long today, allowing it to fall to his shoulders. Valora wore a simple white dress with purple trims. A pearl ring sat on her left hand, contrasting well with her light brown skin while complementing her waist-length white hair. Her eyes were blue as the sea, compared to Yoric’s which reminded Alex of the Frozen Caps of the Old Commonwealth.

They looked like they ruled the castle they stood within. If not for their youth, one might mistake them for a king and queen.

Absolom’s Hall, like many places in Mithrock, were named after Absolom Ursahn; Yoric’s ancestor. Absolom had stood beside Samaryn Mara, the first of the Maran High Monarchs, as she united the ten provinces under one banner. His exploits, including a battle against a Disciple of Curiosity, had earned him a legacy that had lasted millenia. His family still survived to this day, the latest generation being Yoric and his cousin, Camilia. Alex had been sad to see she had not come to Regalia. She was of an age with Yoric, but her sickness had not abated in the least; earning her an exception from the High King himself so long as Yoric showed up.

Absolom’s Hall was the first room one saw when they entered the castle. Grand was an understatement. Beautiful golden vases of heroes, philosophers, and other prominent figures lined just one of the walls by the dozens. Known as the Wall of Heroes, one could learn all about the histories of Mithrock’s greatest. Skeletons of a Colossus and a Wyvern hung from the high ceiling, the perspective not doing justice to the size of the beasts despite how massive they appeared. Bookshelves which rose nearly to the ceiling lined another wall. Absolom had been not just a warrior, but one of the greatest scholars of his time. His hall served as a library as it did a social hub for young nobility. Couches, chairs, booths, and tables aplenty could be found throughout the hall. If one had a high enough status, they could ask a servant to bring them food or drink during their studies. The room was empty now, save for the trio and the convocation of bastards.

The four bastards kept together, roaming off to find a booth for themselves to congregate. They were led by Joanna, the oldest of the lot at twenty-six. She was said to be in possession of a white wyvern. Alex had not seen it, though she apparently kept the beast out of sight. Rightly so. Who knew how much control one could truly have over a fire breathing beast?

The trio found a booth against the wall. They watched as lords and ladies walked into the room with the grace only obtained through years of lecture and practice. Most of them were around their age. Sigils filled the seats and standing areas. The Hawks of the Tolsens, the Colossi of the Reagans, the Wyverns of the Declans, the Dreadwood Trees of the Rosamunds, and so many others. Before long, Absolom’s Hall is full of Mithrock’s young nobility.

“Have you seen Ivy?” Yoric asked. Alex had been looking for her as well. The dark blue Trident of the Brinehearts was difficult to find in the throngs of folks. His eyes scrolled over the Boars of Aldores, the Cloud and Lightning of the Stormrites, the Sun and Sword of the Unways, the Strawberries of the Faelors-

“There, Alex. Right there,” Valora exclaimed, pointing toward a small gathering of others. Ivy Brineheart stood beautifully with a few of her peers, green eyes blazing with a fierceness known to only to her, black hair rolling down her shoulders in long curls, likely talking of the latest court gossip. Alex had kept his ears open, though very little had been going on. The heir to House Horus of Horulean in Ranidor was pregnant though she was not wed. Trinoryn Mors of the Sea Drake’s Respite, Edwyn’s grandfather, was in poor health and may not live to see the grandson he plotted for on the throne. There had also been rumors of the Pryde children showing up in coastal cities, rallying forces for their inevitable return despite the death of Terra Brineheart years prior. Very little of the gossip had any substance, as per usual.

“Let’s go see her,” Alex said. Ivy had been their friend for a long while. Yoric and Alex had specifically saved her from the wrath of her mother during one unfortunate dinner. He remembered Yoric punching the Lady Violet in the face, the Lady Audrey coming to their defense, Ivy’s tears as she thanked them the next day. That had been years ago, when they were idealistic children without half an idea of the lives which awaited them nor a clue as to how their births affected their places in this world. Since that night, Ivy and the boys had been close friends.

The trio stood up, Yoric and Valora still hand in hand. Abe might normally frown upon such codependency, but he did not worry about such things with them. They deserved the comfort of one another after everything they had been through.

Sauntering off, the group made their way toward Ivy and her gathering of peers. Alex could make them out more easily the closer they got. He saw Danforth and Claudia Reagan, both wearing red doublets which matched their fiery hair. The Colossi, the sigil of their house, was embroidered all over their clothing. Damon Tolsen, the second heir to Hawkspire, stood with them, his massive stature rivaling Yoric’s friend Abraham. His sandy blonde hair matched his sandy skin. His family’s natural hatred for House Alden was worn on his gaze. Finally, Charles Declan of the Rapids met Alex’s eyes and nodded. There would be no hatred there, as the Houses Alden and Declan had married into one another rather recently.

As they approached, the Reagans and Damon snickered a bit. Nothing new. Bastards, especially adoptive ones, could expect this at any point of the day. Those who were threatened by the competence of Yoric and Valora wore the same, mocking grins. Yoric seemed to care not. Valora was already seething, but she was smart. She would stay quiet for their sake, if not for Yoric’s.

Ivy turned to the trio, her face seemingly flabbergasted. What had they been speaking of?

“Lady Ivalee, it’s good-“

“You need to go, guys. Go elsewhere.”

“Huh?” Alex asked. “Why? Is something wrong?”

“No, it’s just, you’re bastards and-“

He looked to Yoric, heartbreak plain on his face.

He looked to Valora, anger steaming from every pore.

He looked inward, feeling a long known sadness weighing down on his heart.

Valora took the hands of both boys, leading them away from the woman they had believed to be their friend.