With the shadow of a Demon Lord hanging over us, Me, Hana, and Shia stepped out of the portal. We arrived in a thoroughfare thick with people, market stalls with cloth canopies selling everything from fresh fish to fruit to weapons to perfume. An eclectic mix of fashion and races gathered here, including Beastmen, elves, and humans of varying skin colours.

The smell of salt was heavy in the air, the sound of bustling and shuffling and bartering washing over my ears. White stone structures, built solidly with glass windows and smooth edges, lined the pathway, some with signs declaring them as shops.

I looked around, my eyes widening at the sight of so many people in one place. A street off the thoroughfare led through clusters of buildings toward a sparkling blue ocean, barely visible in the gaps between buildings.

“All right,” I said, slightly nervous, “either of you know where we find the Duchess?”

“Please follow me, sire,” said Hana, striding away. She weaved through the crowds expertly, while I struggled, having to shove people out of the way several times. Shia, smug as she was, just fucking floated over everyone.

Show-off.

I followed Hana through a maze of grid-like streets, stone buildings giving way to wood and then to stone again, rough cobbles palpable through the soles of my shoes. A few people gawked as I passed, making my eye twitch. I should have brought my damn cloak.

As we wandered through, the atmosphere seemed relaxed, but also full of a brittle tension that felt like it could snap at any moment. When we passed merchants, I noticed their prices were higher than they should be.

An irresistible scent tickled my nostrils. My head snapped around to face a stall with a couple of customers, its canopy full of holes. However, that wasn’t important.

The important part was the sizzling sound emanating from the pot held above a fire. And the smell. It smelled like home.

Obviously, in a city where fresh fish were the main export, how could they not come up with the idea of battering and deep-frying them? I hadn’t had a haddock in so… long…

Then again, batter required eggs, milk, and flour, all of which were mainly produced by Ribera. Thinking of the inflation made me shudder.

That wouldn’t stop me, though.

I started toward the fish stall.

Hana gripped my arm, dragging me away. Staring back at the stall, I felt tears touch my eyes, and a profound emptiness invaded me when it was out of sight.

My fish and chips…

After a few more streets, we came to a beautiful promenade manor, cultivated rocks mixed with panelled glass and a magnificent garden. This was small, but well-kept, the grass even, flowerbeds cared for, and a rock pool with a fountain and jumping koi shining under the sun.

The house itself was two storeys and wide, though not ostentatious by any means. Rather, it appeared pragmatic in its decoration, keeping the visual stimulation to the gardens in front.

We approached modest iron gates, a pair of guards with mail and spears narrowing their eyes at us.

“Business?” said one, a middle-aged elf with a wisp of a beard. Come to think of it, how did elves age? What was middle-age for them? In stories, they looked a lot younger than they were, and lived for hundreds of years.

I’d have to ask Shia. His eyes were boring into me, and I had to fight not to squirm, so I’d save it for later.

“We wish for an audience with the Duchess,” said Hana, her back straight and aura overbearing.

The silent one sweated, but the other—the one talking—chortled. He said, “Aye, and I wanna have a meeting with the King, but that ain’t ever gonna happen, is it?”

I waved at him. “Actually, it already is.”

In the space of about a second, the guard’s expression cycled through a million different things, finally settling on some amalgamation of ‘you’re pulling my leg’ and ‘what the actual fuck?!’

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

“I—uh…”

“Don’t worry about it,” I said, waving it away. “Just let the Duchess know we’re here, all right?”

He nodded enthusiastically, then paused as he began running through a smaller gate. “Do you have the Royal Standard with you? Just a precaution, you understand.”

…

The fucking what? If we had one of those, why had no one ever told me? Especially if I needed it for moments like these!

My shock was compounded when Hana produced a metal emblem from within her shirt, proffering it to the guard.

“Seems right,” he said, unlocking the gates. “Please, go and wait inside—one of the staff will take care of you once you’re inside.”

“Thank you,” I said, giving him a smile. The whole ‘standard’ thing made no difference—honestly, I’d probably end up losing it.

He gulped, sticking out a trembling hand. “If it’s not too much trouble,” he said, “could I—”

I shook his hand, and his legs wobbled as he grinned. Oh, please no. Was he about to ask for my autograph?

“Nice meeting you,” I said, then made a preemptive escape.

The path wound through the gardens, and I got a noseful of pollen and the smell of freshly cut grass, as well as something sweet and flowery I didn’t recognise. If I had to give it an analogue, it would be watermelon mixed with maple syrup.

Anyway, when we reached the front door, we were met by a severe human man in a black suit, his grey moustache drooping. He was tall and skinny, his hair neatly trimmed and squared, and he had a hooked nose.

“Good afternoon, Your Highness,” he said, staring into the middle distance. Was… was that rude or polite?

Maybe I should have had someone teach me about manners before I went meeting with nobles.

But I was here now, so I’d have to push through.

“My name is Jevren,” he said. “My Lady wishes to extend an apology for being unable to greet you herself, but as you arrived so unexpectedly…”

I chuckled, shaking my head. “Please, don’t worry about it. It was an impromptu decision to come here, so I wasn’t expecting any red carpet or anything.”

He cocked his head. “Why… would we have a red carpet? Ours tend towards blue.”

“Never mind,” I said. “So, can you take us inside?”

“Indeed.”

We followed him into an elaborate but austere foyer—the walls were well-painted, in teal, but otherwise, decoration was limited to smaller artworks and plain metal sculptures, rather than golden ones.

There also wasn’t a chandelier, which instantly pushed her up my estimation.

Jevren led us down a wide corridor full of portraits of women with light blue hair and impeccable posture; even from the pictures, I could feel their regal bearing. We passed a few doors before he opened one, revealing a mid-sized sitting room with a wide bay window. This looked over the beach, where the tide was encroaching.

It was full of plush armchairs and doilies and frilly cotton tablecloths, which made me wonder how they span so much. Did they have magical spinning jennys?

It smelled of lavender and subtle notes of sea salt, the blazing sun casting our shadows tall across the walls. Grinning, Shia dumped herself in one of the armchairs—which was almost big enough to swallow her—and sank into it with a contented sigh.

Hana scoffed, shaking her head. “Must you comport yourself with such boorishness?”

“What does it matter?” said Shia, closing her eyes. “Nobody else can perceive us. It’s like the moments you believe you’re alone, and begin dancing to yourself.”

Stiffening, Hana growled. Yes, Hana Helven, the queen of stoicism, actually growled.

“That was supposed to be a secret!” she said.

Shia started, her face drooping. “Oh, that’s right. I apologise.”

They started arguing, so I turned away from them, paying more attention to the room. Aside from what I’d already noticed, a bookcase lined the right wall, full of various tomes and volumes I was surprised Shia hadn’t snatched up yet. Hana sniffed at them, but I was intrigued.

…

I really needed to put my money where my mouth was and start learning.

What really caught my eye, though, was the glass case splitting it in two. It hung on the wall, fixed by a series of screws, and held a red velvet lining with a magnificent sword atop it. This almost rivalled Shakkar in beauty; a long, thin blade stretched out from a golden handle inlaid with gems, a dangerous power vibrating around it.

I felt like, if I touched it, even just the pommel, I’d lose my arm. Just looking at the wicked blade, it felt like thousands of tiny cuts were opening up all over my body.

That wasn’t an ordinary sword. It was a blade steeped in history and magic.

Her argument completed, Hana stood in the corner, surveying the entire room at once. We were working, so it didn’t bother me as much anymore, knowing that she did, in fact, understand how to relax.

Catching my gaze, she raised an eyebrow. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” I said, raising my hands. “Just… admiring your professionalism.”

Shia giggled. “Somebody has a cru-ush~”

“Shut up!” My cheeks warmed, and I turned them away, making a mental note to find a Balrog to throw Shia to.

Before she could bite back, the door creaked, and Jevren led a woman inside.

She was around my height, with light hair tied back and piercing eyes that felt like they bared my very soul. Narrowing these, she regarded me.

“King Oliver, I presume?”

When she spoke, a shiver rattled my bones, as though the sound’s vibrations had penetrated them, an interminable aura cutting me like the jagged edges of shattered glass.

This was going to be harder than I thought.