As promised, Brisena brought Rogg to meet the first prince of Whiteheaven, Prince Xaverius. Their journey took them to the Imperial Garden, at Xaverius's own request. It was a grand garden, a reflection of the glory of the Whiteheaven Empire. Surrounded by towering statues and intricate carvings of history, the garden lay at the northern edge of the palace grounds, close to Prince Xaverius's private castle.
It was Rogg's first time setting foot in the imperial palace, and he couldn't hide his confusion. His eyes scanned the grandeur of the architecture and the monumental statues rising above him, each one a silent witness to the empire's long and storied past.
"Brisena, where are we headed now? And how many more checkpoints do we have to go through?" Rogg asked warily.
Brisena smiled gently. "Relax, brother. Everyone in the palace knows me. They'll assume you're one of my personal guards."
Rogg exhaled and smirked. "If you say so, Your Highness," he said with a mocking bow.
Brisena chuckled. "We're going to the Imperial Garden. It's about seven kilometers east from here, but we'll take the grand imperial road first." She pointed toward the expansive garden visible in the distance.
Rogg still looked puzzled, uncertain about all the directions Brisena was giving him. "Who exactly are we meeting? You haven't told me anything since this morning."
"My other brother," Brisena replied cryptically. "You'll meet him soon. If I can't escort you myself, I'll have someone else take you there—to avoid suspicion."
They continued riding down the empire's main avenue, a vast road stretching five hundred meters long and nearly two hundred meters wide. It was adorned with statues of the empire's legendary generals and war leaders. On either side stood guard posts and soldier barracks, standing tall and formidable. In the distance, the palace's main gate loomed, surrounded by majestic marble pillars.
As they rode along the avenue, the sound of marching footsteps grew louder—coming from the direction of the main gate. A formation of soldiers clad in silver armor, bearing the Whiteheaven emblem on their chests, advanced in perfect unison. Rogg's eyes quickly scanned the unit, instinctively looking for any signs of danger.
"Stop for a moment," Brisena said, gently pulling the reins of her horse.
Rogg complied, halting beside her. The column of soldiers approached, and from the front line, a broad-shouldered man with piercing eyes and a commanding presence steered his horse toward them.
"Brisena? Why are you just standing there?" asked Prince Dorges, the commander of the unit, clearly surprised. He veered closer, guiding his horse next to hers.
Brisena smiled. "I just wanted to pay you some respect, brother. You look so dashing leading the imperial army."
Dorges shook his head and returned her smile warmly. "You don't need to flatter me, sister."
Then his gaze shifted toward Rogg. His eyes narrowed as he studied the masked man beside Brisena.
"You look... different, dear sister. Are you finally embracing the fact that you're a beautiful woman?" he teased. "I hope no foolish man dares lay a hand on you—or I'll gouge his eyes out."
Brisena let out a soft laugh. "Brother, I'm a princess. No one would dare cross the line with me."
Still eyeing Rogg intently, Dorges asked, "And who is this? Your new guard?"
Brisena nodded. "He's a new Doliex assassin."
Dorges gave a nod, though it was clear he wasn't entirely convinced. "Very well." He turned back to his troops. "I'll dismiss the unit first, then we can head to the ministry together."
But Brisena interjected quickly, "Brother, I'd like my new guard to familiarize himself with the palace grounds first. Could one of your men escort him to the southern part of the Imperial Garden?"
Rogg remained silent, observing how the situation unfolded. He understood Brisena had a plan, and he chose not to reveal his identity in front of Dorges.
Dorges nodded. "All right." He turned to one of his top men. "Valdor, see to the princess's request."
Valdor Torne, a high-ranking officer renowned for his strategic mind and combat skill, stepped forward and saluted. "At your command, Your Highness."
Brisena turned to Valdor. "Valdor, please take my guard to the southern section of the Imperial Garden. Have him wait there. I'll go straight there once I'm done at the palace."
Valdor looked unsure. "Your Highness, aren't your guards usually stationed at Vanguard Keep?"
Brisena shook her head. "It's fine, Valdor. He's new—let him get to know the area."
Valdor nodded respectfully. "If necessary, I can wait with him until you arrive."
"No need, Valdor. Let him go alone."
"But—" Valdor began, though Brisena cut him off firmly. "Just do as I say."
Valdor lowered his head. "As you command, Princess."
He gestured for Rogg to follow. Rogg gave a subtle nod, then rode off with Valdor, leaving Brisena and Dorges behind.
Throughout the journey to the garden, Valdor kept a discreet eye on Rogg. There was something unusual about this man. His movements were too composed for someone supposedly new to the role of a bodyguard. And although his face was covered, Valdor could sense a strange familiarity in his presence.
"You don't seem like an ordinary man," Valdor remarked suddenly.
Rogg glanced at him briefly but said nothing.
Valdor offered a faint smile. "I've served in this palace for a long time. I know how to recognize someone hiding their true identity."
Rogg remained silent, his eyes fixed straight ahead.
Valdor finally sighed. "Very well. It doesn't matter who you truly are. If Princess Brisena trusts you, I won't pry any further."
Eventually, they arrived at the southern part of the Imperial Garden. Valdor turned to Rogg. "This is the place. I'll leave you here, as instructed by the Princess."
Rogg nodded slightly. "Thank you."
Valdor studied him one last time before turning away and departing.
Now, Rogg stood alone in the vast garden, waiting for his meeting with Prince Xaverius. He knew this meeting would be the beginning of something far greater—something that could change his destiny, and perhaps the fate of the Whiteheaven Empire itself.
There was a subtle tension in the air when a figure cloaked in black approached silently, like a drifting shadow.
"Lord Rogg? My master requests your presence in his castle. Please, come with me," the cloaked figure said calmly, yet with an unmistakable tone of authority.
Rogg nodded slowly. "Very well." His voice was steady, but his eyes remained sharp, scanning the surroundings with instinctive alertness. A fighter's instinct never allowed him to let his guard down.
They walked down a quiet path that twisted like a labyrinth, with stone corridors designed to confuse anyone unfamiliar with them. Towering stone buildings loomed on either side, casting long shadows that danced with their footsteps. A gentle breeze carried the scent of damp leaves and the lingering trace of history embedded in every corner.
At last, they arrived behind a grand castle that stood with elegance—its strong stone walls and towering spires bathed in torchlight. The flames lining the entrance path cast dramatic silhouettes upon the heavy stones that made up its foundation.
"My lord, allow me to take your horse to the stables. Continue straight through that door, then climb the great staircase until you reach an open balcony," the cloaked man said, bowing slightly as he took the reins from Rogg.
Rogg gave a final nod and proceeded toward the door. Each step echoed through the wide stone corridor, adorned with intricate carvings of the empire's triumphs and legendary battles. Massive pillars flanked the hallway, standing tall like ancient witnesses of time.
After what felt like an endless passage, Rogg reached the base of a colossal spiral staircase. Every step he climbed felt weighted—as if the stones themselves bore the burden of history, demanding reverence from all who tread upon them.
When he finally reached the top, an open balcony awaited him. A cool breeze swept through the air, carrying the fragrance of night-blooming flowers from the gardens below. Sunlight spilled across the balcony, illuminating the man who had been waiting there—Prince Xaverius.
The prince sat calmly in his wheelchair, a faint smile playing on his lips. His eyes locked onto Rogg with a gaze that was hard to read. There was serenity in those eyes, but also something deeper, something hidden—like the unspoken wisdom of a leader who had seen and endured more than most.
"Welcome, Rogg," he said in a calm yet commanding voice. "At last, we meet."