Location: Armathane, Capital of Midgard Time: Day 49
Arrival
Armathane was not what Alec had expected.
It wasn't the scale — though it was vast, easily four times the size of any city Branhal's traders had mentioned. Nor was it the splendor — although the golden spires that crowned the ducal palace gleamed in the afternoon sun like sharpened promises.
No, it was the precision.
Every gatehouse had dual guards in matching livery. Every market row had measured spacing between stalls. Every cart was inspected, logged, and waved through by scribes with seals. Even the smoke rising from the city's chimneys rose in disciplined vertical columns, as if trained not to drift.
It was a city not of freedom.
But of arranged motion.
Midgard didn't pulse. It ticked.
Through the Outer Walls
Alec and his escort passed through three levels of gate security — each more formal than the last.
First, the Outerward Arch, where a herald recorded his name, time of entry, and listed companions.
Then the Gilded Bastion, a circular checkpoint flanked by metal-capped pikes where a pair of soldiers examined his travel pouch and asked three questions in ritual form:
Name.
Purpose.
Allegiance.
Alec gave answers without flourish.
The third was the Iron Cord, the final barrier before the palace district — here, Kaelyn presented a seal given by the duchess herself. The guards stepped aside without speaking. That silence, Alec noted, was as telling as a salute.
Even within the capital, access was tiered.
The Holding Villa
They didn't bring him to the palace, he had expected it though.
Instead, Alec was led to a guest villa on the western edge of the palace gardens — elegant, but not opulent. Stone walls. Iron-grated windows. No overt guards, but clearly watched. There were four floors, but he was given a single chamber on the second — large, sparsely decorated, with a writing desk, a clean hearth, and high lattice windows.
Not confinement.
But containment.
Kaelyn didn't enter the room. She passed the reins to a chamberlain in silver-trimmed robes, bowed once without expression, and departed without farewell.
"Sir Alec," the chamberlain said. "You are to rest. Your audience with Her Grace will be arranged shortly. A bath has been drawn, and food prepared. Should you require quills or parchment, we have provided a scribe."
Alec arched a brow. "Why would I need a scribe?"
The chamberlain smiled faintly. "For letters you may wish others to read."
And just like that, he was left alone.
Observation and Stillness
Alec stood at the window for a long while.
The gardens of Armathane stretched below — perfectly geometric hedgerows, fountains carved like phoenixes, gravel paths designed with radial balance. There were servants moving in set loops, gardeners with knee pads and clippers, palace guards at exact fifteen-step intervals.
Nothing here grew wild.
Every leaf was permitted. Every stone, chosen.
This city was a reflection of its ruler — and Alec hadn't even seen her face yet.
Which meant that, for now, she had the advantage.
And she knew it.
The Encounter
He met the girl the next morning.
It wasn't dramatic.
He had risen early — earlier than the palace breakfast hour — and requested permission to walk the lower garden paths. A servant trailed him, pretending not to observe. Alec didn't mind.
He studied the irrigation, the tree placement, the drainage systems beneath the gravel. The palace had been designed by engineers who understood water as well as symmetry — another mark in the duchess's favor.
Then he heard laughter.
A soft, spiraling sound — too unstructured to belong to a courtier, too bright to be protocol.
He followed it.
She was seated on a stone bench beneath a copper-blossomed tree — sunlight dappled her hair into streaks of burnished gold. She wore no crown. No visible jewelry. Just a simple blue silk dress and a book in her lap.
When she saw Alec, she did not rise.
her eyes was more sky-blue than deep which seem to look straight through him.
But she did smile.
"I know who you are," she said, before he could speak.
Alec paused then stood still. "Do you."
"I saw your name in the household roster. It's a boring name. But people seem to say it like it matters."
He approached slowly. "You don't speak like a servant."
"I'm not."
"I gathered."
She closed her book — a compendium of herbal lore — and looked up at him. Her eyes were lighter than her mother's, more green than amber, but sharp. Not innocent, but still free of cynicism.
"You're Alec," she said. "The man from nowhere."
"And you are?"
"I'm Serina," she said, matter-of-fact. "Daughter of the duchess. In training to be the next person no one dares to contradict."
Alec tilted his head. "A useful education."
"It's exhausting."
He smirked, just slightly.
She patted the bench beside her. "Sit. You're more interesting than herbs."
Alec sat, slow and cautious.
She didn't move away.
Conversation
They sat in silence for a moment, listening to the birds. Alec didn't initiate conversation — he knew better than to guess what this was. A trap? A test? Or something more mundane — curiosity?
"I've read the reports," she said at last. "About Branhal."
"There are reports?"
She gave him a look. "Everything gets reported."
"Of course."
"You repaired a mill with scrap parts. Redirected a stream. Taught peasants to read numbers. Built crop rotation into three fields. That's impressive."
Alec nodded. "It worked."
"Did you plan it all at once?"
"No. I watched. Then moved pieces."
"Like a game?"
"Like an equation," Alec said. "Variables. Constraints. Adjustments."
She gave him a long look. "You're strange."
"I know."
"You don't even try to charm me."
"I didn't know I was supposed to."
That made her laugh — not a delicate court giggle, but a genuine sound of amusement. "You really don't belong here."
"No."
"And yet here you are."
"I was invited."
"And you said yes?"
"I was curious."
She leaned back, gazing at the fountain. "So was I."
Alec studied her profile for a moment. The way her shoulders tensed slightly when she wasn't speaking. The way she scanned him without blinking. Not a girl to be underestimated.
"Why are you here?" he asked.
She blinked. "This is my garden."
"No," Alec said. "Why are you here — talking to me?"
Serina looked at him. "Because I wanted to see what kind of man could make my mother call council at midnight and summon riders before the next sunrise."
Alec said nothing.
"She doesn't panic," Serina added. "She plans. If she brought you here, it's because she's either afraid of you… or wants to own you."
Alec nodded slowly. "And which do you think it is?"
"I think she hasn't decided yet."
"And you?"
Serina stood, brushing off her dress. "I think you're the first interesting thing to walk into this palace since my father died."
She turned, her long braid catching the light.
"Don't disappoint us," she said.
Then she was gone.
Aftermath
Alec remained seated for a while longer, watching the place where she'd stood.
Not a chance meeting.
Not an accident.
But also not a ploy.
She'd come of her own accord. Because she could. Because she was testing him, not with power, but with presence.
And like her mother, she watched the world like a chessboard — only she was still deciding whether she wanted to play the game or flip the board.
Alec stood, adjusted his sleeves, and walked back to the villa.
He had not met the duchess yet.
But the pieces were already moving.