Leonidas looked up at the towering spires of the Royal Palace of Dawnhaven with a wary eye. One of the things he’d most detested in his time on Elatra had been dealing with Royalty, and even with Lyara coaching him and helping him understand the nuance and proper protocol as it pertained to the process, there was an undeniable element of discomfort that came from pretending to give a damn about whose ancestor punched another person’s ancestor hard enough to win tribal control.

Ceruviel’s carriage had pulled into the Sunset-side of the palace, as she named it, near the access point that the Duskguard used when liaising with the royal guard. A large archway with elaborate double doors sat before them under an elongated overhang.

The area their carriage pulled into seemed like more of a military access point than a formal one, and the circular courtyard that the outer bailey’s gates granted them entry within was shadowed by the spires of the castle itself. It was difficult, for a moment, to orient himself—given he’d come from the West, and his mind wanted to define his line of travel as ‘straight’ instead of what was technically a looping journey to access a heavily guarded side gate.

From what Ceruviel had told him, the Duskguard and Royal Guard both shared control of the Duskgate and Dawngate for the palace, though only the Duskgate was one hundred percent controlled by the ‘Reds’ faction.

“{Is this not all a bit overly clandestine?}” Leonidas asked while dismounting Ceruviel’s carriage at the insistence of white-and-gold attired palace staff, with subtle red adornments interwoven to what he presumed was the usual colors of their livery.

“{The political currents of Dawnhaven being what they are, the Prince would foil my plans with his unwanted interference, should he learn of our presence,}” Ceruviel explained while accepting his hand down from the carriage, much to the surprise of the Duskguard Leonidas spotted watching them.

“{I suppose that makes sense,}” Leonidas said after she had dismounted, and promptly set off for the open double doors flanked by two golden-armored members of what Leonidas assumed to be the Dawnhaven Royal Guard. Their helmets were adorned by upswept wings on either side, were conical in shape, and doubled as both protective armor and masks.

Their pauldrons were thick, and they flowed down into a full-body suit of plate that Leonidas wagered was far more durable than the aurelian affectation might have suggested. Gold was an infamously weak metal under stress, and he doubted that the elite protectors of Dawnhaven’s royalty would be foolish enough to actually attire themselves in gold.

Winged affectations were present on the sides of the guards’ sabatons, their gauntlets near their vambraces, and even in the shapes of their shields—which resembled large imitations of singular angelic wings, as if the warriors had taken a pinion from an Angel and cast it in gold to use as a tower shield.

When he and Ceruviel passed them on their way into the palace, the guards subtly inclined their heads in respect to the Duchess when she passed, and then abruptly barred his path with crossed spears.

When they did, Leonidas suppressed a sigh of irritation.

“{Halt!}” one of them commanded haughtily. “{The Duchess is one thing, but you, Terran, are not permitted to—}”

“{He is with me,}” Ceruviel said impatiently, “{and it is imperative he meets the Princess.}”

The royal guard who had spoken, standing on Leonidas’ right, turned back to Ceruviel and spoke in a tone which Leonidas interpreted as skeptical. “{Dusk-Lord, this Terran is nobody—}”

“{This Terran, Alynius, is my Squire; the first Squire I have taken in over a century. If you are barring his entry, then you are barring me.}” Ceruviel said coldly. “{Did you not receive my missive?}”

“{We were informed you would be traveling with a Squire,}” the guardsman, Alynius, said dubiously. “{But we didn’t think—}”

“{Yes, clearly you are lacking in the ‘thinking’ department.}” Ceruviel interrupted icily. “{I had assumed you’d exercise some basic deductive reasoning and realize that I had not specified the race of my squire, for worry of the missive being read by unfriendly eyes—yet instead, you choose to obstruct the only person walking in lockstep with me, out of some demented sense of racial ego.}”

Ceruviel’s voice changed from cold to scathing while she spoke, and Leonidas suppressed a wince of empathy for the guardsman, regardless of his actions.

“{Dusk-Lord,}” Alynius said in what Leonidas thought was an attempt at deescalation, “{with the threats against Her Royal Highness, we simply—}”

“{Am I a threat to Her Royal Highness, Alynius?}” Ceruviel cut in again.

“{Of course not!}” Alynius answered in an apprehensive tone.

“{Do you think me senile or incapable, suddenly?}” she demanded.

“{I would never, Dusk-Lord!}” he said with something approaching actual fear.

“{Then in what idiotic or deluded reality would I bring a threat with me to see the Princess? Your loyalty to your future Queen does you credit, Alynius, but your stupidity erodes it with equal measure.}”

“{This is just standard challenge—}”

Ceruviel seemed to have finally had enough, and Leonidas’ eyes widened when Alynius abruptly slammed down to his knees with a clang that echoed across the courtyard. A vise of Psi held him in its grip, and Ceruviel’s eyes blazed with void-purple energy while she spoke, and Leonidas noticed multiple eyes turning to watch with the stillness of a herd of prey animals in the presence of a predator.

“{I have no time for these infantile games, Alynius.}” Ceruviel snarled harshly. “{The Blues are gaining ground, and you’re standing here squabbling with me over protocol that I helped to write!}”

The Duchess’ words were punctuated by groans of pain from the royal guardsman, who appeared to be frozen in a position on his knees from the pressure being exerted by her power.

“{The next time you, or any of your foolish comrades, dare to intercede against someone in my company after I have directly explained their right to be present, I will ensure that you spend the remainder of your days in the Colosseum as a stepping stone for more worthy contenders!}”

Leonidas glanced at the other royal guard, and noticed that they seemed to be standing fully at attention, and had decisively removed their spear from his path. Instead of leaping to the defense of their comrade, which was what Leonidas would have expected: he could almost feel a palpable sense of fear from the golden-armored guardian, and it was clearly because of the silver-haired duchess holding Alynius in her psychic grip.

“{Tell me you understand, Alynius.}” Ceruviel commanded.

“{I… I und… understand, Dusk-Lord!}”

The psionic force abated the moment that Alynius spoke, and Ceruviel sniffed at him indignantly. “{I trained you better than this haughty bigotry, Alynius. You were part of my Duskguard before you wore those haughty golds, lest you forget. Do not misunderstand the immutable law of the System now that they have infected your idiot brain: power is power. If I tell you golden marmots to jump, I expect you to ask me only how high. Do I make myself clear?}”

“{Yes, Dusk-Lord.}” Alynius and his comrade both said.

“{Good.}” she said derisively, before looking back to Leonidas. “{Come along, Achilles. We are going to be late.}”

Leonidas nodded at Ceruviel’s words and, with a final apologetic glance for the guards, followed her through the double doors into the palace. There was no escort waiting for the Dusk-Lord as they traversed through a short, expansive corridor and toward a set of wide stairs toward its end, but Ceruviel did not seem to need one.

“{Is it not risky to provoke the guards like that?}” Leonidas asked while they moved at a steady, not-quite-power-walking pace. “{What if they grow resentful?}”

“{That is a risk, but not one I am overly concerned about.}” Ceruviel said with a hint of approval mixed with amusement. “{It speaks well for your Ambition that you recognize the issue, but you must remember that I am not the one they owe loyalty to. They will not conflate my actions with those of Her Royal Highness, but instead will simply calculate it as yet more proof of my already famous ruthlessness.}”

“{But does that not hurt your faction regardless?}” Leonidas asked as they ascended the stairs, and Ceruviel marched along like she were wearing full battle armor instead of a black chiton and sandals.The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

“{My reputation protects Dawnhaven by force of existence, and enforces the peace of the city through the same. Eventually there will be a need for greater power, as what I stated is very much true: Power is power across the Nexus, but there are very few who have managed to breach the fourth tier of power—and that is the minimum required to even attempt to challenge myself or the Dawn-Lord.}”

“{Who is the Dawn-Lord?}” Leonidas asked after they ascended the stairs, and Ceruviel turned down a large hallway to their right at a cross-section and strode along it with clear purpose.

“{Uriel Aventus is the Dawn-Lord,}” Ceruviel said as they passed a pair of golden-armored royal guards who did no more than bow their heads to the Duchess when she passed. “{He commands the Dawnguard, and holds sway over the Sunrise Quarter. We’ve been friends for centuries. He’s a good man, albeit a little too much of a stickler for tradition for my liking.}”

“{How much power do the two of you actually wield?}” Leonidas asked directly while following Ceruviel through another turn, and then another after that which seemed to lead toward a distant foyer.

“{Now you ask?}” she commented with a snort. “{Did Tarnys not tell you?}”

“{Not explicitly,}” Leonidas said with a shrug.

“{In the absence of a true Monarch, the Dawn-Lord and I share total command over Dawnhaven’s military, and have the power to invoke martial law, curfews, and other such strictures. The City Council run the day-to-day of Dawnhaven’s civil and economic affairs, under the Ministers appointed by the King prior to our departure—but the true power, for now, rests with myself and Uriel.}”

“{And when a Monarch is chosen?}” Leonidas queried when they emerged into the foyer, and Ceruviel turned right and beelined for a set of impressive stairs, complete with golden banisters and hung with red ribbons. Two Royal Guards stood at the base of the stairs, but had no reaction when they approached.

The stairs led to a small landing, where two Royal Guards stood on each side, which branched up to a split set of winding stairs that converged upward even higher above, and led to an artfully decorated door with six more Royal Guards standing vigil on either side.

All the Guards present were adorned with red in some capacity, which told Leonidas all he needed to know about their seemingly evident destination

“{When a Monarch is chosen, the Dawn-Lord and I will officially surrender our power to them, and either retain or vacate our positions at their discretion. If the Prince takes the Throne, it is almost a certainty that I will be exiled—which makes my loyalty to Her Royal Highness rather impossible to question,}” Ceruviel explained while they ascended the stairs.

“{And if the Princess succeeds?}” Leonidas asked.

“{When she succeeds—}” Ceruviel corrected smoothly “{—and claims her birthright, then all we need to do is properly rid ourselves of the traditionalists that would presume a female unfit to rule, or find a King that they can rally around. The latter is always tricky, as Kings hold more power than Queens by nature of Haelfenn tradition.}”

“{Why not a Prince-Consort?}” Leonidas asked simply when they reached the large and elaborately decorated door.

“{Because Haelfenn women don’t submit until they’re conquered, Achilles, and when they are—they make no illusions of the loyalty they give to their mates. I’m sure your pearl-clutching Terran customs would see that as denigrating somehow, but for us it’s a simple matter of primal instinct: Haelfenn females love power above all else, be it physical, magical, or otherwise. If we give ourselves to a male, then he must be worthy of that surrender.}”

Leonidas stared at Ceruviel for a long moment, and then shook his head.

“{All of you elves are barking mad, Ceruviel. You just said that you want the traditionalists gone, but you still want a traditional King?}”

“{Yes.}” she said without missing a beat.

“{What about feminine empowerment? Gender equality?}” Leonidas asked with a rising level of bewilderment. What she was saying ran counter to everything he’d been taught in school, university, and society at large. “{The System makes men and women physically equal after a certain point, right? That’s what Tarnys told me, so—}”

“{It isn’t about inequality, Achilles,}” Ceruviel said with a snort of derision. “{Your view is far too limited by your origins. You Terrans spend so much time prevaricating about your own ancestral origins, and immersed in your supposed enlightenment, that you forget the primal reality of existence when all your precious social order is sheared away. What manner of female would not want a mate that made her feel safe? Hells, what male wouldn’t want a female that could defend him in turn when he is struck down by injury or disease?}” Ceruviel shook her head and slammed her fist once, twice, three times against the door before she continued.

“{The System invariably makes all worlds it Integrates brutal, dirty, and violent struggles for existence. We females are never more vulnerable than when we are pregnant, Achilles.}” she continued after knocking, and fixed him with a lecturing look. “{The incubation of new life has destabilizing effects on our abilities, due to the System integrating the life forming within us. In times of vulnerability, what do you think we want: a handsome dandy that will fall over at the smallest adversity while citing their utmost respect for our ‘feminine power’, or a devoted monster that would break armies to keep us—and our child—safe?}”

Leonidas frowned at her words, but said nothing. The entire notion was so rooted in a primal, hunter-gatherer and darwinistic mindset that he found it difficult to accept given his upbringing in a modern human society. Every educated part of his mind, pre-Elatra, told him that what Ceruviel was saying was inordinately small-minded and barbaric—and yet, truthfully, he could understand the essence of her assertions.

When it came down to it, System Worlds were a cycle of the strong devouring the weak, unless something stronger defended the weak from the predator in question. It was a primitive, brutal, and simplistic cycle of violent supremacy, and realistically, he couldn’t help but understand her point.

After all, it all came back to what she’d said prior: power is power, and there were only the strong and the weak in the end.

He doubted that modern values would be much of a shield against murder.

When the door opened a moment later, Leonidas was still struggling with what Ceruviel had said, and was distracted by her words when the person that opened it greeted them.

“{Welcome, Dusk-Lord Latherian. You are expected.}” A pause followed, and Leonidas refocused on the moment when the male voice cut off and then resumed. “{May I ask after the name and identity of your companion?}”

The Haelfenn asking was tall and slender, with hair a more grey shade of silver than Ceruviel’s, and deep stormy grey eyes that seemed to hold a true weight of centuries within them. He had wisdom, Leonidas knew immediately, and experience as well. The Haelfenn had the bearing of a former soldier, too, no matter what his semi-traditional monochrome Butler’s attire might have suggested.

“{Hello, Mithrander.}” Ceruviel said in what Leonidas interpreted as a fond tone. When she continued, it was with the same brevity that he expected from her. “{This would be Achilles, my Squire.}”

“{Oh?}” Mithrander asked with what Leonidas saw was simple interest, and no judgment whatsoever. That won the old elf points immediately. “{I had heard rumors, of course, but…}”

“{Yes, yes, it’s all true. The shrew took a Squire.}” Ceruviel said brusquely. “{Now, are we to enter, or stand here like a pair of baubles while the candle burns to the wick?}”

Mithrander smiled at Ceruviel despite her tone, and Leonidas had a feeling that the older man was more than used to the Duchess’ particular lack of adherence to ‘proper’ protocol.

“{Please come in,}” he said while stepping back. “{Her Royal Highness is expecting you.}”

Ceruviel stepped past the older Haelfenn without a second glance at his words, but Leonidas didn’t. He recognized that Mithrander, for all Ceruviel’s presumption of her own immunity to his influence, was someone to stay in the good graces of—and so he practiced what Lyara had taught him what felt like a lifetime ago, and bowed respectfully to the older man.

“{Thank you for your hospitality, Elder Mithrander.}” he said with careful respect.

Mithrander raised his eyebrows at Leonidas’ actions and words, and he saw a flicker of what he thought might have been shock flit across the old elf’s features, before it was gone. When he spoke a moment later, his smooth voice was unphased.

“{You honor me, master Achilles. Please enter.}”

Leonidas did so then, and walked through what he recognized as a chokepoint entrance passage into a much larger, and expansive parlor within. The space was bereft of overtly ostentatious adornment, and house instead a sitting area, staffed bar, a dining area, and what appeared to be access to a private balcony.

Ceruviel had stepped toward the sitting area, and when Leonidas stepped fully into the parlor, his eyes fell on the Haelfenn woman that stood to greet them, and the one whom she’d very likely brought him to meet.

When he saw her, his heart entered his throat.

Her eyes were a pale sky blue, and her features were sharp and angular—with a defined feminine jaw, button nose, and a pair of cupid’s bow lips that were a naturally pale pink. Her cheekbones were high-set and defined, and she held the look of a woman born into traditionally-depicted nobility. If Arwen had been real, Leonidas realized; then this woman would have been a dead ringer for her blonde doppelganger.

The woman’s figure, meanwhile, was that of a dancer or gymnast; with visibly toned legs and arms used to exertion and physicality.

Her hair was long enough that it could comfortably frame her lower abdomen, and varied from a light platinum near the crown of her head to a more rich golden near the bottom third of each strand. She wore a silver circlet on her head, bereft of precious jewels, and was dressed in an elegant white chiton worked with gold and red adornments that hugged her athletic frame in a tastefully flattering manner.

A slender belt buckled by a gilded gryphon cinched the chiton under her bust.

She was tall, standing at an easy six feet or perhaps slightly more, and there was a warrior’s definition to the fair skin of her exposed arms, and she wore decorative golden adornments around each bicep that only further enhanced the image of a princess out of a fantasy novel.

Her feet were wrapped in golden sandals not unlike Ceruviel’s own, and they wound up toward her upper calves, just above the hem of her chiton.

When she turned to him, he felt his heartbeat double in pace, and his mouth go dry. The problem, of course, was not that she was beautiful—that was something he’d already experienced once before with Synthra, who was herself a singularly beautiful woman, and notably more endowed than the Princess.

No, that wasn’t what had him stunned.

It was the fact that she looked enough like Lyara to be have been her sister.

“You must be Achilles,” the Princess said in perfect English, and smiled at him in a stately greeting. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I am Princess Aylar Eldormer.”

Leonidas’ ears were ringing after she spoke, and he could feel a shiver of shock lancing through his psyche while he processed her words, and the revelation of what she said upended any fragile sense of suspension of disbelief he’d managed to maintain.

Aylar Eldormer.

Lyara Melredor.

Leonidas’ feet moved automatically, and he bowed as he’d been taught by Lyara herself all those years ago when first entering the Royal Court of Melredor on Elatra. When he did, one thought was racing through his mind unceasingly:

What the hell is going on?