*Janus*
I left the Yuwen estate behind, the memory of Ruby clinging to me as I crossed the bridge that arched between the noble district and the royal palace. The palace itself was a forest of towers, each one stretching hungrily toward the sky, as if trying to outdo the others in their longing for sunlight. Its outer wall loomed above all noble manors, but even the highest spires fell short of the Eclipse Cathedral’s impossible height. I remembered how, when I followed after Ruby, the Cathedral’s shadow swallowed whole neighborhoods, turning day into dusk. But from up here, with the sun slanting differently, the palace almost glimmered—like a second sun that had tumbled from the heavens.
The palace's walls had been built of the same black, indestructible stone wherever possible. Loose Boulders of the eerie tar-like stone had been carried up from the lower city, while also forbidding anyone to build their houses out of it, as if coveting a secret. But since it was indestructible, there were a few patches of stone here and there that had to be fashioned from a different stone. The architects had tried their best, but even the darkest shade of granite or onyx couldn't compare to the real thing. So instead of shining like the sun, it looked splotchy, more like a second moon.
It was clear who the kings and queens had tried to outshine, but their efforts always fell short. Even now, the church’s shadow stretched further than the crown’s reach, a quiet humiliation the royal family could never quite swallow. They were not used to bowing their heads, and yet here, they had no choice.
The current king was no different, stubborn in his own quiet way. His first wife, the queen, had always kept her thoughts to herself when it came to the endless tug-of-war between church and crown. Maybe it was easier for her, with the pope as her great-aunt, to stay silent and let the world turn without her.
At the end of the bridge, we had to go through a quick inspection of the carriage and its only passenger: me. Once it was done and they made sure that I didn't bring any weapons, I was led to a side door instead of the main entrance and made my way through endless corridors that all looked the same, while the manservant who guided me walked with steady, safe steps.
After what felt like an eternity wandering those lifeless halls, we finally stopped at a door that looked just as plain and forgettable as all the others. Yet behind it waited the men who shaped the fate of the entire kingdom.
Everyone was already waiting when I arrived. I hesitated at the empty chair, nerves prickling at my skin, and instead offered greetings to each person, starting with His Majesty, King Henry. The royal family never bothered with a last name—no one could ever agree if it should be Lunae, Solaris, or some awkward mix of both, so they simply let it go, as if names could be left behind like old coats.
King Henry was in his fifties, not much older than Otto, but he carried himself with far less grace. His clean-shaven face only made his double chin more obvious, giving him a softness that didn’t suit the crown. His hair was a muddled brown, neither the midnight black of Lunae nor the golden blond of Solaris, but his eyes and the lines of his face still marked him as one of the celestial houses, no matter how much the blood had diluted over time, blurring those features.
Next to his majesty on his right sat Siegfried Lunae, who looked at least a decade younger than he should have, offering an apologetic look. He is Gertrude's father and protector of the east, often referred to as the Sea Lord for commanding the kingdom's largest navy. Was he still feeling guilty about his reckless daughter? Thankfully, his daughter wasn't with him, so I hoped that at least this meeting would go better than our strategy meetings in Aldmoor.
To the king’s left sat Duke Edward Solaris, from the same generation as His Majesty, though he looked as if the years had weighed twice as heavily on him. His eyes were cold and sunken, his hair long since turned to white, and his skin bore the scars of too many summers. He never seemed to fit with the rest of the kingdom, and there were always whispers that the South might break away. Their lands were vast, twice as large as the other dukes’ combined, and their pride was just as big. They had never forgiven the crown for not choosing a northern city as the capital, and the bitterness still lingered, sharp as salt in a wound.
The duke never bothered to stop his people from calling him the Sun King, but I doubted anyone truly believed the South would ever break away, not even him. Most of their land was empty and harsh, carved up for stone and ore, with only a handful of secret gemstone mines and the Halfling half-island to their name. If they ever tried to stand alone, they’d have to depend on the very Halflings they claimed to despise, just to keep from starving. Take the peninsula from them, and their rebellion would crumble before it even began.
Across from Duke Edward sat Duke Winslow Anatolius, his gaze burning with hatred the moment I stepped inside. He was still as thin and sharp as I remembered, but something in him had hardened since our last meeting. Maybe he was still nursing his wounds over losing Baron Morenberg and Aldmoor to us, though it was his own stubbornness that drove the Baron away. I never understood why he cared so much for Aldmoor, a city lost in the middle of a swamp. His own lands were famous for their fruit orchards, but those trees never took root in Aldmoor’s soggy earth.
House Winslow was still new to the world of dukes, only rising in the last decade after Count Winslow poured a fortune into clearing the old forests and planting endless rows of fruit trees. He had dragged his family’s name from simple foresters to wealthy merchants, all with the stubbornness of someone who refused to be forgotten. The king had seen his merit and the copious amounts of gold they had amassed, and after a rather lucrative meeting with the crown, House Winslow was elevated into a ducal house, much to the ire of Anatolius's rivals.
Besides these four powerful men and their unarmed bodyguards were a few viscounts working for the king, as well as Cardinal Marlo, who acted as the Church's representative. He was by far the fattest man I had ever seen. He was a horrible servant of the gods, but simply watching him walk made one believe in miracles, or he simply couldn't feel any pain in his gout-ridden legs anymore.
After I greeted everyone and sat down, the meeting commenced.