The blue gates of Tregar stood tall. They were nearly shut, so that nothing more than a small sliver of the city was visible.

But the tower could never be hidden, never obstructed. It was senselessly tall. The gold-tipped peak was hidden now, accosted by small clouds, but there were occasions where it glinted through. At regular intervals, large half-circles of white stone circled the tower, attached only by some magic that Volsten would likely never understand.

They passed through the gate with ease. Volsten knew the guards. Or, rather, they knew him. They jawed at him about his tunic, about his missing sword, about the new woman at his back. But they spoke of nothing he cared about. When finally they entered the city, Xyra gasped.

This was no mud-filled town on the outskirts of nowhere. People bustled all about. Here, the buildings stood tall and proud, built by artisans all too happy to indulge in the more excessive areas of their craft. And this was only the Outer District, the first line of Tregar’s splendor. The deeper one went, the whiter and more excessive the buildings became. Taller, too, which gave the city a feeling of tiers, culminating in the all-encompassing tower at its center.

Somewhere among the buildings, deep in the ruins of the Ancient District, stood the Church of the Goddess. The only building in all of Adamore that could even hope to rival the White Tower. It was half the Tower’s height at best, but what it lacked in height, it more than made up for in sheer beauty.

They trotted along, careful to avoid the numerous statues of knights and saints that dotted the city’s streets and intersections. Sir Alcein, Lady Varusi, Saint Nisva…Volsten knew their stories like a noblewoman’s bed. Not necessarily through his own will, but the endless repeating of legends during his time at academy. They made for good stories to keep little knights in line.

“You’re going to love Vora,” Volsten said.

“Why do you say that?” Xyra asked. She held on extra tight, and it was quite uncomfortable.

“Because everyone does. Beauty, kindness, intelligence.” And if I hadn’t grown with her, we’d probably hate each other.

“She sounds like a wonderful person.”

The horse sidestepped a beggar posted near one of Varusi’s statues. Easy to spot he was, dirty brown rags against white marble.

“Please, sire. A copper piece, please sire…” His voice was hoarse, and damned annoying.

“Volsten,” Xyra floated into his ear, “does he want something?”

“She loves dragons, too,” Volsten said. “Anything to do with Val Eneyas, really, and she’s your woman.”

“It really does sound like you’re getting rid of me.”

Hilda’s Inn was just ahead. Volsten smiled at the thought of a proper bed. The Hilda was situated in a small opening between buildings, just large enough for it and a small stable. Volsten guided the black stallion to the stable, where already there were many horses neighing and picking at fodder.

Near the door was a young man, slightly younger than Volsten, but large and stocky, with muddied brown hair that hung in disarray from his head. He stacked bales of hay in neat piles on the side of the door closest to the inn.

Henric. A good man, by all accounts.

“Henric,” Volsten said.

He turned to look at the voice calling him. At first he squinted in concentration, but soon a flash of recognition lightened his brown eyes. After that, a smile.

“Volsten!” His eyes moved up and down. “You look like shit, man!”

Volsten stepped down from the horse. Once he faced Henric, he held his arms wide. “That tends to happen when you wander the world instead of shoveling shit for a living.”

Henric swept him up in a grand, hard hug. Volsten was no small man, but even he found it difficult to do anything other than go limp against Henric’s strength.

“Alright,” Henric said, releasing Volsten from his embrace. “Who’s this?”

“My name is Xyra.” She didn’t look at Henric, but towards the other side of the stable.

Henric threw an arm around Volsten. “Where’d you find this one? She doesn’t sound Westland or Vinti. She damn sure isn’t from Hilda’s place.”

Volsten shrugged. “You know me. I’m able to find women where no one else can.”

Henric bowed his large frame. “I assure you my Lady that you will not be treated worse by any other man.”

Volsten watched for Xyra’s reaction, but her face was angled away from him. He elbowed Henric, which forced the man up from his bow. “Watch the horse, stable boy. I’ll be seeing your master.”

“You can’t make things worse than they are,” Henric said. “The witch already works me until shit falls out of both ends.” He gave Xyra another look. “Is she staying on him?”

“I’ll be in for only a moment. She can do as she likes."

By the time Henric took the reins, Volsten had pushed the door to Hilda’s open. He was greeted with noise and light. The inn was packed, and it would have been strange if it wasn’t.

Before he could give the door a good push to close, someone was forcing a mug his way. Atusa was scurrying by, a tray full of tankards balanced precariously on the other hand. “You look like shit, boy,” she said as she stepped towards a table full of eager patrons.

“It’s what happens when you wander the world instead of serving drinks in too-small dresses, Atusa.”

“Not that you or anyone here minds, boy.” Much of the inn howled, which put a delightful smile on Atusa’s ebony face.

Volsten couldn’t argue with that. The white lace of her dress mixed perfectly with her dark skin.

“You here to spend money,” Hilda yelled from across the inn, “or talk? I only need one.”

Volsten took a sip from the mug. Strong and rich, without much sweetness. Just as he loved it. He pushed through the moving chaos of the inn. The more inebriated patrons bowed as he went past, and others offered rambling fealty. Through it all, he focused on Hilda.

Large, dark, lovely woman she was. There was no friendlier face in all of Adamore. For as long as she and Atusa had been at the inn, there was never a day that it wasn’t filled to the brim with happiness. Other inns seemed to offer food and drink begrudgingly. Awfully cooked legs of mutton, stale bread, cheese near death. Hilda and her daughters seemed to enjoy that part. Food came swiftly and lovingly made, delivered by a certain woman who perhaps looked even better than the food itself.

“Hello, Madam Hilda,” Volsten bowed. Finally he’d made it to the counter, though covered in more beer than he’d like.

Hilda stood, hands on large hips, rough black hair under white cloth. “You look like shit.”

Volsten took another sip. “You’re right. The wind carried that Atusa had given her hand in marriage to someone that wasn’t me. I rode straight from the deepest depths of Issha City, accosted by Elven women at every step. I assure you that they’re most voracious lovers.”

Hilda grunted.

“What?” Volsten leaned on the counter. “They’re not always trying to kill you. Just…mostly.”

Hilda shook her head, but he saw the smile. “If my girl did find one, what were you gonna do about it? Kill ‘em?”

Volsten set his mug on the counter. He smacked the top of the counter with a loud “Listen up!”

The crowd was undaunted.

He turned to face the loud drunkenness. He cuffed his hands around his mouth and shouted to the sea of men. “I said HEY!”

The loudness lowered into hushed whispers. Atusa stopped mid mug-giving. All stared at him, most with smiles ready to burst. A few drunken "Sirs?" flew out of the masses.

Volsten eyed each patron. Goddess you men are ugly. “Word got to me, deep in the recesses of Val Eneyas, that one of you uglies was intending to take the hand of that lovely dark servant girl over there!”

The crowd murmured. Each man turned to his neighbor with a curious look on his face. Atusa had a hand on her cheek, eyes wide with surprise.

Volsten leaned back on the counter. “I ask: Which of you is it? Which man must I beat into the ground for this woman’s hand, huh? Raise your hand, so I may know my opponent!”

The inn was silent, as silent as he had ever heard it.

“Boy…” Hilda said behind him.

A hand went up in front of him. It was an older man, fair of skin like everyone else from the country’s middle. Before Volsten’s mouth could open, another hand went up. Then, another. One by one, everyone’s hand raised high into the inn’s sky.

Atusa did as well, though he was sure that the poor girl was simply confused.

Volsten surveyed the room. Each face, young and old. “You bastards! All of you, meet me outside the inn!”

Most stared blankly. The few sober men in the crowd narrowed their eyes, trying to gauge his seriousness. Volsten held their stares, but it was creeping up.

Then he laughed. The crowd burst into rowdy howls not long after. He may have made them a bit harder for Hilda to handle.

Volsten spun around to face Hilda. “A room, dear.”

Soft lips pressed against his cheek. “Don’t charge him too much, momma.” Atusa walked past him with an empty tray. His eyes were captured by her deliberate sway as she disappeared into the kitchen

Hilda rolled her eyes at what he was sure looked like a mischievous smirk. “Five gold a night, sir.”

“Does-“

“You gotta ask her first, boy,” Hilda said as she reached under the counter. A beautiful, ornate key slapped into his waiting hand.

“Left my gold on the horse, Hil,” Volsten said in shame. “I’m not using the room until later on anyway, soooo…”

Hilda sighed. “Bring it when you come back.”

“Damn it I love you, woman.”

Volsten stepped through the rowdy crowd. The entirety of the inn didn’t follow him outside, and he was thankful for that.

*

They climbed up the gradual sloping of Tregar until they reached Honor. Here, the closeness of the lower districts gave way to a broad, beautiful road, laid with dark blue stone. Less colorful stone lined it as a sidewalk, with streetlights of alchemical fire every so often. This is the road that he took them on, the main road, but there were of course other ways. White stone steps led, in places, from the lower districts into Honor, and these steps were lined with black fences enclosing beautiful expanses of green park, complete with benches and ponds that saw much use from bored nobles looking to pass the day in comfort.

It was all very spacious. Tregar was, for one, massive, and there were few enough nobles that they could afford to have large gaps between their estates. Well enough, Volsten always figured. If they were ass-to-ass like the lower districts, they would have started a war centuries ago.

As spacious as it was, however, the closeness of the White Tower gave the district a certain…smallness. During the day, it shaded much at certain times, and during the night, it kept the district lit with blazing lights. That wasn’t to say that the noble houses themselves were small. All of them were imposing in their own right.

Volsten rode past them all without a glance. The house he looked for was distinct, just as the woman who called it home. Distinct was perhaps an understatement.

He saw it, peeking over the steepled roof of another. It looked much like a miniature replica of the palaces in Adamore’s south, with its rounded tops and tanned marble.

Volsten pulled up to the black gate. One of Vora’s guards swung it open for him, and he trotted along into the lushness of her front garden. One of many she had.

“Wow!” Xyra said. She’d said no words since they stepped foot into Honor, but he heard the breaths and felt the excited movements as they rode.

“She’s in her study, sir,” Haron said.

“Do you mind fetching her for me?” Volsten stepped down from the horse.

“Of course, sir.” Haron bowed and went quickly up the steps, disappearing into large, wooden double doors.

He helped Xyra down. With her arms free, it was more instinct than need.

Xyra’s barefeet slapped the cobblestone path. “Thank you, sir.”

They stood for a while. Volsten resorted to petting the horse in boredom. Xyra moved to the edge of the cobblestones and peered at flowers. Vora was a lady of nobility, after all. She was probably in the middle of entertaining some stuffy lord or gossipy mistress.

The double doors burst open. Startled, Volsten turned to see who could have possibly made that much noise. A rather red-faced man was huffing his way down the steps, face puffed in anger. Volsten knew many of the nobles by sight, if not name, but this man was new. He pushed past, mumbling something about witches and wenches, before he and his long coat disappeared around the gate.

“He seemed…angry,” Xyra said.

The doors burst open yet again, but to an altogether more pleasant sight.

Strange. The woman sauntering towards them was Vora. He knew that much. But to anyone else, this was a queen of the south. A plaited wig that framed her face, each braid with a small gold bead on its tip. Around her forehead was a golden band, with a large, bright blue jewel front and center. As she came closer, he could see that her eyes were lined and painted black, with a short, curved line stretching behind them.

Her white “dress” was mere straps that crossed her stomach in an “x” and did little to cover it. The straps did better when it came to her breasts, but only just. They had much to cover there. Those straps then disappeared beneath the wide, jeweled collar she wore around her thin neck.

The skirt was a bit more…modest? That wasn’t the right word for Vora. It never was, but especially in this. It did the job of covering her legs, mostly, but one formidable leg stuck out from the side, and the entire thing was almost as transparent as a window. Did it connect to the straps on her stomach? He couldn’t tell. The gold, falcon winged belt she wore obstructed her waist.

“Hello, Volsten.” She nearly sang the words.

Goddess, this woman. “What are you wearing?”

Next to the steps was a statue of ebony, styled after some queen or another. Vora knew her exact birthdate and length of rule, he was sure. She posed next to it.

“Did I do the Kheba justice?” She hmphed and tossed a braid to the side. “Oh, look at how you stare! Of course I did.”

Volsten jerked his head in the direction of the man.

Vora raised her hands in front of her face, where they worked themselves into a fist and back again as she closed her eyes. “Squabbles. Inane, stupid squabbles!” She tilted her head as she approached him. “Where have you been? You haven’t come by in months.”

“You know. Work, my lady.”

“With no sword?” She stepped in, and they embraced. She smelled wonderful, sweet and strong. He picked her up and spun, all the while she giggled in a decidedly un-ladylike way. When he set her down, she stepped away with an upturned nose. “You look and smell absolutely dreadful.”

“That’s what happens when you wander the world instead of playing dress-up all day, Lady Vora.”

“Oh, funny.” A rather powerful finger pointed behind him. “You. Quiet one. Who are you?”

“I’m…” Xyra trailed off.

Vora’s eyes narrowed. “Come closer. Volsten, why are you smirking like an idiot?”

Xyra shuffled next to them. Vora’s green eyes darted from Xyra, to him, and then back to Xyra.

“I come bearing gifts,” Volsten said, a knight’s tone in his voice, “for the esteemed lady of House Chamiret.”

Her mouth opened in astonishment. She spun on her heels and began a march to the palace doors. “You two. Inside. Now!”

Volsten let out a hearty laugh. “Come on, Xyra,” he said as he trailed behind Vora.

“O-okay.”

*

Vora held her dress as she practically sprinted through the palace. Volsten followed closely behind, half watching his steps, half fighting against his fluttering heart as he watched Vora’s hips through her skirt. The connection between skirt and straps was still a mystery. “Sheesh Vora, could you slow down? You’re going to break something!”

Behind him was the slapping of barefeet on hard floor.

Vora dashed by paintings of long-gone Chamirets and various portraits of herself. Before long they burst into her study. It was a room filled with bookshelves and dimly lit by candles. A lone fireplace sat snugly in one wall, far away from any tender. At the center was a table piled with more books and paper.

“Wow, there are so many!” Xyra said. She scurried to the nearest bookshelf.

Do dragons even know what books are? He sat at one of the many chairs near the table and placed his feet in a space devoid of books. “So, Vora. What do you think?” He gestured towards the dragon.

Vora was already making her way. Xyra turned to face her, hood still covering her head. Vora removed it, revealing horns and long, white hair. Her hands slowly raised towards Xyra’s scaled cheeks. “May I?” she asked softly.

Xyra’s eyes found Volsten. He shrugged. Am I your father?

Her eyes closed and she nodded.

Gently, tenderly, Vora’s hands cupped her face. “Volsten she’s…she’s gorgeous!”

“Uhh, thank you!”

Yes, yes she is. He smiled. “I knew you’d love her. You’ve always been strange about Val Eneyas, dragons in particular.”

“What’s your name, dear?”

“My name is Xyranois, the Fruit Dragon.” Xyra said proudly.

“I’m sorry dear, a fruit dragon?”

Volsten’s smile burst into laughter. “I believe she’s joking.”

“It’s what Volsten called me.”

“Well isn’t he so creative?” She walked over to a rather large chair opposite the fireplace and sat. The glint of firelight from her gold adornings gave her a queenly visage. “I know you, Volsten. How much do you want for her?”

He eyed Xyra. She wore disappointment on her face, for goddess knows why. His smile left him. “Let’s see. Transporting a dangerous creature from nowhere to Tregar.” He swallowed. “20,000 crowns.”

Xyra’s head slowly angled downward.

Vora’s wig rustled loudly as she shook it. “Is that all? For someone so obsessed with money you sure don’t know value when you see it.”

Volsten stood, knocking his chair over. “20,000 crowns, Vora. Yes or no?”

Her painted eyes looked over Xyra again. “Yes.”

“Thank you!” Volsten threw up his hands. Without a glance at Xyra, he started for the study door.

“Where are you going?” Vora’s voice was so forceful that he paused on the handle.

“I have a room at Hilda’s.”

Vora crossed her bare, lovely leg over the other. “You come to Tregar, and the first thing you do is book a room?”

Volsten sighed. He felt like a subject in a queen’s court. “What should I have done? It was on the way.”

“You could have come to me,” Vora said coldly. “Did it not cross your mind to ask a childhood friend for a place to stay?”

“What can I say? The inn’s a good time for a knight such as myself.”

“Ha!” Vora’s laugh was haughty. “Among drunkards and wenches, of course. You can enjoy that later. For now, you’ll have dinner with Xyra and I.” She turned to Xyra. “Are you hungry, dear?”

“Not right now, Miss Vora. I’ve eaten a lot of berries. But…why don’t I get a say in this? You talk about me like I’m not even here!”

Vora smiled. Volsten thought it a damn sight more pleasant than his. “Many ask that question every day.” She rose from the seat. “When was the last time you bathed?”

“Not for a couple of days, actually…” she said. Her head bowed low in embarrassment.

“Don’t be embarrassed!” Vora laughed. “In this world bathing is a luxury, especially when traveling with a rogue knight.”

“I usually bathe in ponds and rivers; I just haven’t had the chance to…”

Vora clapped. “It’s settled, then.” She stepped towards the door. “Go do as you please, Sir Volsten. I expect you to be back in time for dinner. For now, the ladies must bathe! Come Xyra!”

“Y-yes Miss Vora!”

Volsten moved aside as they went through the door, one head of black followed by another of white, and then closed the door behind them.

He sank into the chair again and rubbed his face. The room smelled so much of Vora, and the warmth of the small fireplace was making him too cozy.

He blew air from his mouth. Soon, he would be rich. That would make him happy.