The sprawling city of Il Allad surrounds me, now. I sit in the back of a carriage, as though I were a noble scion, while two members of the royal guard sit in front, one instructing the horses with a small whip. Mikhail and Wulfhard, their names. Wulfhard a Hondari man, who stands taller than myself, and Mikhail a human.

Though I am a noble scion, in a way, these men are not members of the royal guard. This carriage is not property of the Emperor. The green robes I wear now are not the ones which I abandoned aboard the ship in the room my sister and I had stayed on our journey here from Isma, they are robes pulled from the storage of the Ring, the old robes of a mage who had traveled with the Goldhawks.

Children run about in the streets playing, mothers corralling them and making sure they don’t step in front of the carriage. Fruit stalls, filled with delicacies, and happy merchants trading don’t tell the full story of Il Allad.

Having ascended among its peers, the nation, under the command of Prince Daurellian, absorbed the title of Empire, with Daurellian taking the title of Emperor alongside being the descendant of eleven of the Holy Bloodlines. I suppose that’s part of why he’s such an important figure. Daurellian, having been the result of a strategic marriage between the Houses of Diremis and Nobilis, was always slated to be important. The two Houses controlled large swathes of land between them, and were direct descendants of Diremis and Nobilis themselves. In comparison, Samir Amar, riding in a carriage to meet his father, a mere servant of the Emperor, is hardly noble. In fact, I’m nothing but a street thug to Daurellian, seeing as my own father can’t even ensure that I’m the only heir to my family, not that it matters at this point.

“Something occupying your mind, Ilban?” Wulfhard says back to me.

“Not particularly. I don’t suppose the truth would be believable, anyways. I’m more hung up about my sister than I am about my father right now, anyways.” I look down at the dagger, seeing through my robe as though it were transparent. Sheathed, but I can grab it quickly through the holes in my robe which I had Wulfhard cut before we set out.

My sister. That’s right. I’m concerned about her, too. She ran off, and seemingly vanished into the fold of the city. I wonder how she’s doing currently? Damn it, if only she weren’t so brash.

“We’ll find her next.” Wulfhard says in reply.

I suppose there’s a bit of encouragement to be found in those words.

The carriage slows to a stop as a stone bridge that extends across a wide gap comes into vision. The canals which run through Il Allad, the water flowing so clear. It’s a shame this city had to be property of a despot who wishes to take over the continent, it would make an excellent city to have a summer home in, were it not.

“Bridge up ahead. We will go slowly.” Mikhail brings the horses to a slow trot. “The Envoy Palace is up ahead, do look at it in awe.” He’s right. It’s a tall building, about four or five stories above most of the surrounding buildings. Made of hewn marble, it extends into the sky. The roof is not steep, and, rather, is quite flat, and balconies riddle both visible sides of it, with different rooms for diplomats and other important individuals to stay in. “We will be arriving at the foot in minutes. Prepare yourself.”

The horse begins to speed up again as we cross the bridge, and soon, the individuals in the street shift from merchants and children to soldiers, politicians, and the occasional vagrant. The royal guard seems to have individuals stationed on every corner, supplemented by the policing forces of the city. Very few non-elven people reside in this section of the city. It takes a certain kind of self hatred to support Daurellian as a non-elf, seeing as he has been forcing the many other races under the boot of Il Allad for years now. However, I occasionally see an Aesid slave in chains, being prodded on by a few Pale Elves, and a few Drayven soldiers are in the royal guard, likely conscripted from mercenary companies.

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Before I’m able to acknowledge the fact, the carriage takes a sharp right, and we’re at the base of the Envoy Palace. It’s a beautiful building, made to impress diplomats, though it likely won’t be seeing many in the days to come.

“Samir Amar, this is your leave.” Wulfhard says in his best city accent, though he struggles to imitate an Elven voice perfectly.

“I shall help you down.” Mikhail begins, stepping out of his seat and raising a hand to me in order to allow me to step out of the carriage. “Should you have any problems, send word to the Emperor’s men, and we will have it sorted quickly.” Two royal guards approach me, and look me up and down.

“Thank you for the transportation, sirs. The young Master Amar is an hour later than expected.” One of them begins to run his hands up and down my sides, to check for weapons, but does so lazily, to the point where his hand passes over my dagger and he ignores it.

“Indeed. The fool slept in late aboard the ship he arrived on. We must go quickly, now, though, as pleasant as this has been.” Mikhail says. Wulfhard seems to stand out too much to act as a convincing royal guard beyond wearing the armor.

“Well, off with you, then. We’ll take the boy from here. Right this way, sir.” The guards both remove their helmets as they escort me through the doors of the lower level of the Palace. “Your esteemed father is staying in a room at the highest level of the Palace. We will climb it with you, in order to ensure that you arrive without incident.” Great.

Both guards are Pale Elves, with one having light, platinum blonde hair slicked back over his scalp, and the other with his hair cut down short to his scalp with a thick beard obscuring the lower half of his face. Both are roughly the same height as me, though each is more muscular as well.

“Master Amar, we have arrived.” I stand before a heavy wooden door. On it, a written note reads,

Samir,

Seeing as you have finally arrived late, once again, I should inform you that your inability to arrive on time infuriates me to no end. I have already left for the Glass Palace, and will likely have arrived before you even read this note. I am in town for the celebration of monumental achievement, as you know. What you do not know, however, is what this achievement is. I have discovered the location of the final Holy Bloodline, those descended from the goddess, Merminae. The Merminis Bloodline. I have found both traces of life and civilization in the Under, entered through one of the many Entrances which dot this continent of Daeniya. Daurellian has promised me riches and reward for my discovery, and the Emperor will be certain to find a suitable wife shortly. Upon consummation, he will be Ascendant, and his wife will bear a Golden Child. As the man who discovers the key to Daurellian’s immortality and godhood, I will certainly be rewarded beyond anything my pitiful family can provide me anymore. You, my only son, are not my only child. I have already spoken with your sister, Lucille, of this. She wept, and called me a fool. Both you and her are failures of children. I’ve had you summoned to the Envoy Palace to put you under arrest by the royal guard within it to ensure that you cannot make a fool of me at my ceremony. I would have preferred to tell you this face-to-face, but you manage to disappoint me even when I expect such. Perhaps one day, you will understand what it means to be a true man, but until that day, you will find yourself withering away in a prison cell until the news of Daurellian’s Ascendance reaches you.

With Disappointment,

Your Father, Count Amar, Count of Isma, the Human Envoy under Daurellian.

It’s stamped with the Imperial Seal of Approval. As I turn to face away from the note, I see eight members of the royal guard, all surrounding me. Behind one of them, I see the face of Deora, crouched silently on a windowsill, crossbow in hand. A dead body of a member of the royal guard is draped over the windowsill, blood still flowing from his neck. She makes eye contact with me, then mouths the words, "On Three."

I suppose it wasn’t as simple as the Ring made it out to be. Was it ever going to be?