“How is it this cold?”

Frances shivered. Even with multiple layers, the cold air infiltrated and attacked. Snow covered the fields, save for the paved path. The travel on this road warranted the best quality money could buy.

Scattered and buried beneath the dirt, stones with a red rune inscribed on them radiated heat. Not too hot so as to burn the horses or feet of anyone travelling, but warm enough. It was a shame though, that the travelling merchant they encountered on the way was selling those same stones at a ten thousand percent markup.

In due time, they arrived. Truly, the culture there was worlds different. A man would not be called insane for calling Loyra and Varexia relatively close, as different as those were. Without a care for titles or status, it was both a utopia and a dystopia.

A pure might based meritocracy. A decade ago, an assassin that tried to take the king’s life— and came close enough for concern— was given a job as his personal assassin. Perhaps it was a dream nation-state for the strong, and hell for the weak. Certainly, her family would have ascended to the throne ages ago if they were in Friaren. But herself? Reduced to a slave, most probably.

“Well, if it isn’t the Rayleighs.”

Even the king himself greeted them. Dressed like one, he was not. In a suit of armour, and wielding a broadsword, he was impressive. A black eyepatch covered his left eye. It hid a portion of the long scar that dragged along his face. Even then, it was only one of many.

“Just to make things clear, I’m the youngest daughter of the Rayleighs. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“Yeah yeah. Whatever.”

His words did not match up with his mouth. Like a live dubbing. It was probably the magic of the runes at work.

“So which one of the sisters is stronger?” He scratched his face with those gloved hands.

“First, let's get to our lodgings.”

“Urg! Fine.”

His own private staff guided them to their temporary residence. Neither extravagant nor excessive. Just a quiet house on the outskirts of the capital city.

Lined up in jackets, servants bowed their heads. The men bore muscular sizes, squarish and hard. Even the women were toned. The opulent, and hedonistic behaviour that was so often found south was nowhere to be seen. Snow hid the grass of the gardens, but the stone paths stayed shovelled. Though, there was a group that stood out from the others.

Slender, and very obviously touched up. They looked more like tribute offerings, rather than residents of this city. There were 4 of them, all lined up at the end. Servants? Or something else?

“Well. We’re tired, so please give us some time for rest.”

They settled down. Servants milled in and out, preparing food and refreshments. It was a fine establishment, quite a bit like a nice hotel.

She collapsed onto her bed. Her body ached all over, a symptom of the long carriage ride. For the time period, they were surprisingly technologically advanced. Heating systems dotted the rooms. Smooth stone, with an inscribed rune. Somehow, it radiated heat. Hye-Sung inspected it with careful fingers.

“When are we going to Limβurs?” she asked.

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“Are you that excited?”

“Of course.”

“But I don’t understand. Why is the city of magic here, instead of the Atlas or something.”

“Silicon Valley isn’t near MIT.”

“Huh. Never thought to make that comparison. We’ll leave in 3 hours. I need some time to rest before going on another journey.”

Frances hopped off from the bed. She headed back downstairs, and the various servants greeted her. The weird bunch sought her out, though. With bowed heads, they requested for a private audience.

“Well. What do you guys want?”

The few of them gripped their metal trays. Empress Rayleigh sat on her bed, with her legs crossed. With a quivering lip, one of them stepped forward.

“Bahamut...”

“Ha? That useless dragon sent you?”

“Um. You see, he said that you’ll help us.”

“Uh-huh. And why?”

“Uhm. He also said that it's ideal for Lady Hye-Sung to be here as well.”

“Rather demanding, isn’t he?”

“Are you sure you should be badmouthing the True Dragon like that?”

“He can’t do anything to me.”

“Hye-Sung, could you please come up here? Fucking scaly ass useless dragon wants you here.”

Footsteps echoed outside. Hye-Sung nearly kicked down the door. With a sharp gaze, Hye-Sung walked towards Frances and sat beside.

“Well, she’s here. So what do you want?”

“Aah, are you not in a good mood, Lady Frances?”

“For one, my entire body hurts. So get to your point.”

“Ahem! Alright. Um, Bahamut answered our prayers and told us to approach you for help.”

“And if I refuse?”

“He said that you’ll refuse. Uhh. ‘Thorn Queen,’ I believe.”

“Hoh? Oh my. Hye-Sung, could you put up an anti-sound barrier around me, if you would?”

“Do you want me in it or out?”

“If you want, you can stay.”

“Then I will. This sounds interesting.”

She snapped her fingers. A translucent barrier propped up around them. Cylindrical, and about 5 centimetres thick.

“Alright Bahamut, you scaly bitch. I know you’re listening, fucker. You’re thinking of threatening me?”

“Wait, what does that nickname have to do with you?”

“That’s the nickname that some people call my girlfriend.”

“Huh? Wait, ‘Thorn Queen?’”

“Yeah. Cause apparently you can rhyme it with horny and scorn.”

“And you went out with her?”

“Your point being?”

“Are you... Hm. ‘Thorn Queen’s Trophy?’ Ring a bell?”

“That’s what they call me.”

“No way! From the Russian Mob?”

“What? No. Did someone lie to you?”

“Oh. Guess it's true then. We’re from different parallels.”

“Not surprised. But let's talk about that later. For now, I want to scold a certain oversized lizard.” She cleared her throat. “You fucking worthless bald dragon!”

She took a deep breath. Switching into a mocking voice, she bellowed out. Though, her words would never get out of the barrier.

“Oh look at me! I’m the True Dragon! I’m literally a god! Oh yeah, let me just send a group to my fucking pawn for help! Hmmm! Guess I’ll try to pick up Godzilla now!”

“Hah.” Hye-Sung covered her mouth as she chuckled. “Got everything out?”

“Yeah, and a sore throat on the way. By the way, Mr Bahamut. I’m not doing this for free.”

“I’ll treat you to some honey later.”

“You’re treating the empress? For the sore throat, or in place of Bahamut? Well, why not.”

And with another snap of her fingers, the barrier dropped. Fresh air swirled around them as she sat on the bed once again. The soft stuffings warped beneath her weight.