Aethelgard, Kingdom of Caelyrion, years past.
"Uncle, where are we going? Should I not proceed to the palace after my lessons?" I ask Soren, my voice imbued with the innocence peculiar to my tender age.
"Aye, but first, a brief stop we shall make. Fret not, it shall not tarry." My uncle replies, his tone oscillating betwixt lightness and a barely disguised hint of impatience.
"Whither are we bound?" I insist, anxiety yet gripping my breast.
"I have told thee already to cast aside thy worries," he retorts, the mirth in his voice now tinged with a thread of irritation.
Soren then turns to the royal knight accompanying our carriage: "How far remaineth our journey?"
"Almost there, Milord." The knight responds, his voice firm and respectful.
I gaze through the window, discerning that we are still within the capital. The road of sculpted stones, a rare luxury in Caelyrion, confirmed my deduction. Tales were told of such thoroughfares being common in other realms, yet my brothers, with their characteristic pragmatism, affirmed them to be mere fables, given the exorbitant cost their construction entailed. I know not yet whom to believe.
My attention, however, is swiftly captivated by a scene ahead: four men, chained from wrist to ankle, runes etched into their fetters, toiled under the weight of heavy barrels, depositing them into a carriage that, by its make, seemed destined for commerce. Beholding them, a bitter question ascends to my youthful mind: shall there be, in any hidden corner of this vast world, a place where suffering finds no abode?
Abruptly, the carriage halts, pausing before a building that, by its opulence, could only be a luxurious brothel.
"We have arrived, Milord," announces the knight, his voice now laden with an almost stony formality.
"Right, await me here. I shall return anon," Soren commands, his voice dry and peremptory.
"Are you certain, Milord? What if some ill befalls within? How shall we then—" the knight begins to question, concern furrowing his brow.
"THAT IS AN ORDER!" Soren cuts him off, with an aggressiveness that causes him to recoil, and he swiftly vanishes through the establishment's entrance.
I observe the guard, his face contorted in restrained fury. I wonder, with the innocence that still clothes me, how long that knight would endure without the protection of my uncle's title.
Time drags on, and Soren's absence becomes an unbearable burden. Impatience gnaws at me.
I resolve that entering and seeking him is the sole course. But how shall I do it? My uncle's knights are without. Perhaps simply to run for the entrance? "Why, what could they do? Strike me?" I chuckle at the puerile thought, adrenaline sharpening my senses.
With this childish resolution, I leap from the carriage and, almost on impulse, dart towards the brothel's portal.
"What may I do for—" the guard at the entrance inquired, when, suddenly, he is seized by an abrupt startle upon seeing the prince bolting forth.
"Damn! I bit my tongue," I hear him murmur as I cross the threshold.
Upon entering, I am immediately enveloped by a splendor bordering on excess. In the center of the vast hall, an imposing walkway stretched, flanked by richly adorned tables. Women, with graceful and provocative movements, danced semi-clad, their slender bodies and exposed breasts illuminated by golden chandeliers that made the air shimmer in hues of gold and scarlet. I averted my gaze, partly from embarrassment, partly from an almost forbidden fascination. In the corners, robust pillars supported what appeared to be a second floor, and, at the back of the walkway, two imposing staircases, each guarded by a security detail. "It seems the upper floor is reserved for persons of great import," I muse in my thoughts.
Suddenly, a murmur erupts from outside. "It seems the guards of this place have barred the entry of my uncle's knights. Why?" I ask myself, but the question soon vanishes, eclipsed by the urgency of the moment. I proceed towards what appears to be the reception. There, two women of singular beauty are seated. One of them, whom I would judge to be between twenty-three and twenty-seven years of age, displayed short, vibrant green hair, which contrasted vividly with her tight black attire and her jewels. The other, older, appearing thirty-one to thirty-five, had long dark hair and wore the same ensemble, albeit with distinct jewelry. I approach them, my voice tinged with a forced calm and notable embarrassment.
"Hello," I venture.
"Hello, welcome to Hetaira Palace, how may I assist you?" responds the woman with green hair, without even glancing up from her task.
"I am seeking my uncle, Soren, have you seen him, madam?"
Her gaze, hitherto fixed on her task, lifted to me. "Oh, forgive me, Your Majesty Lioren, I knew not it was you," she speaks, her voice now tinged with surprise.
So close, I scent the sweet aroma of her perfume, and her brown eyes gleam like cut diamonds. Her verdant hair, now covering part of one eye, made her one of Aethelgard's most beautiful; were it not for Maeve, perhaps she would be the most beautiful I have ever seen.
I return from my reveries with her question, which arises as a balm to my confused mind.
"He ascended to the second floor. Would you have me lead you to him?" she asks, a smile wide and radiant, like a 'Colgate' smile, illuminating her face.
"If it be no bother, miss," I reply, my voice reluctant, yet with a trace of joy.
"It shall be no bother at all, Your Majesty, pray, follow me," she rises and guides me towards what appears to be the second floor.
I follow her immediately. We pass the security guard at the foot of the stairs and continue the ascent. Upon reaching the upper floor, an orchestra of moans and whispers assails me, and I perceive that the murmuring from the floor below has ceased entirely. It is as if, somehow, sound cannot transgress the bounds of this floor.
"This floor is isolated by a rune, thus no one below hears," she says, as if she had read my innermost thoughts.
"Hmm, neat," I reply, my voice still somewhat confused by the surprise.
On this floor, various rooms are arrayed. My curiosity suggested they were chambers for encounters, but what else could they be? I still see no sign of my uncle.
She proceeds, and finally stops before a peculiar door: arched, approximately two cubits in height, forged from some metal that gleamed. In its center, a large bluish rune contrasted vibrantly with the door's material. Alas, my studies in combat runes had not yet unveiled its meaning to me.
I emerge from my thoughts when I see her still standing before the door.
"Alas, Your Majesty, I can accompany you no further than this. You must proceed alone from this point. I hope you find him," she speaks, with a gentle smile, as she bows to me.
"Okay, I thank you," I reply, surprised and, at the same time, anxious for what is to come.
With that, I grasp what appears to be the doorknob and pull it towards me. I see nothing on the other side, only a momentary darkness, yet still, I advance.
Suddenly, I find myself in a place of absolute contrast to what I had just left. Here, all is of an immaculate white and the floor gleams with such intensity that it almost reflects my image. The chandeliers, subtle and elegant, seem to converge with the environment, almost camouflaging themselves in the light, were it not for their unmistakable brilliance. There are fewer people than on the previous floor, but still a considerable number. A grand staircase of dark wood ascends to what appears to be a second floor, and, at its sides, various tables where men and women play cards, with round, colorful objects, numbered before them. The noise from before has given way to an almost reverent silence, broken only by occasional whispers and the melancholic sound of an instrument in the background, perhaps what they call a piano. In the center, a small stage displays something akin to a white and shining wooden box, contrasting with the locale, and someone seated plucks what appear to be keys; from there, I imagine, emanates that melancholy. The air here is laden with the aroma of various foods and drinks, mingled with exquisite perfumes. In the corners near the door, I see queues to purchase those colorful objects I saw on the tables. As I assimilate the scene, a woman approaches, bows, and speaks to me:
"Good afternoon, Your Majesty, I knew not you had an interest in games. May I have the honor of a match with you?" As I look at her, I perceive her beautiful smile and her palpable excitement.
"Good afternoon, Madam. I regret I must decline your kind offer. I am seeking my uncle. Have you seen him, madam?" I reply, embarrassed.
"Ah, what a pity!" she murmurs, pouting before breaking into an even wider smile. "Your Majesty, are you seeking Milord Soren? I saw him proceeding to the second floor," she completes, still with the smile on her face.
Now that I see her better, I perceive that she is a noblewoman, clad in a beautiful gown, adorned with jewels on her neck and hands, and diamond earrings. Her brown hair and light eyes confirm her distinction.
"Thank you, Madam." I bow and proceed towards the stairs.
"You are welcome, Your Majesty," she responds, bowing simultaneously.
I pass by the object in the center of the hall and reach the foot of the staircase. Ascending it, already on the upper floor, I see my uncle and a man seated through something transparent yet solid. Immediately, I reach the door and knock.
KNOCK
KNOCK
The door opens instantly, and I see a man approximately 1.2 cubits tall. "What is this!" I think, surprised. He has dark skin, is bald, and possesses a robust physique. At his waist, a sword in a richly ornamented scabbard. His garments appear common. Suddenly, a voice pulls me from my thoughts.
"You may let him enter." His voice was soft and grave.
Immediately, the large man steps aside from my path, and I enter, encountering my uncle and the man before him.
"I beg your pardon, sir, this is my nephew, Lioren," Soren speaks, his voice laden with astonishment and fear, bowing, now standing, before the man seated opposite him.
"Fret not. Hello, lad. I am Manhattam, a pleasure to make your acquaintance," says the man, his eyes fixed on me.