Ambreala was eating dinner when the disruptions started. The food at the prince’s table was always set grandiosely. Not as grandiosely as the high table where her father sat, of course, but only the highest nobility sat at that table. The prince’s younger sons and senior daughters sat at the next table down, along with the nobles of moderate importance. The rest of the nobles, from dukes to marquis, viscounts, barons and earls, and their families sat at other tables throughout the hall.

The table was filled with various dishes of chicken, lamb, pheasant, pork, and various vegetables and fruits. It was a wide-ranging array of food and all of it was seasoned and cooked exquisitely. Nothing less could be laid at the prince’s tables, lest the nobles see weakness that could start another war jockeying for power. This was particularly true when the feast was a celebration of the year’s harvest, among other things. It was also the time of year that alliances and marriages were negotiated.

She was to become a lady, and with that came the bartering of her hand for alliance. Everyone knew that the prince had been negotiating with houses for potential alliances, to be sealed by a wedding between her and one of their offspring. The latest rumors had her being pledged to Earl Tomans of House Fremens.

Across the table from Bree sat the object of her discomfort. Aran Tomans was a middle-aged man who wore an aura of authority that was almost enough to overcome the shroud of cruelty that followed him. Servants kept their distance as he was known to be free with his hands and more. Those beneath him that caught his attention were known to regret it, and no few had been known to disappear. He was widowed after his wife had died giving birth to a fourth girl, though a whispered rumor said that she had died from complications while recovering peacefully, shortly after her husband visited her. No one was willing to openly speculate on what the complication was. It was well known how desperate he was to sire a son.

As much as she dearly hoped that the rumors were just errant speculation, she knew that House Fremens had been weakened by that and other scandals, and were looking to recover some lost reputation. They were still a powerful force, and tying them to the prince’s coattails would be a boon in the game of houses. The rumors made too much sense, but she was too afraid to ask her father about them. He would consider any questions to be impertinent at best and disrespectful at worst, and the prince didn’t tolerate disrespect well. Or at all. Her opinions would hold little sway with him, anyway.

She felt someone watching her and let her gaze drift until she found the perpetrator at the high table. Princeling Erek, her gentle older brother, gave her a knowing and supportive smile. She had varying relationships with all of her siblings. Unlike the mildly hostile relationship she had with Crown Princeling Denas, Erek was her best friend and confidant. She knew all of his worries and concerns, and he knew hers. He had spent a good portion of his previous evening calming his sobbing sister so that she could compose herself for today.

Her attention was abruptly directed towards the main doors of the hall as they opened to admit the captain of the castle guard and an escort of a half-dozen men. The men stayed at the door as the captain quickly walked to the high table, and spoke into Prince Alain’s ear. A short, whispered conversation continued, before the prince abruptly stood and started heading towards the door. The captain followed him, and the guards that had been left at the door joined the procession as they left the hall. Dozens of nobles and their families stood and followed towards the throne room

Bree couldn’t stay behind, even if she wanted to. It was unheard of for a celebration feast to be interrupted, let alone the disruption pulling the prince away from the celebration without a word. Prince Alain was the uncontested ruler of all within his domain. Deep reading in the library, her favorite haunt, spoke of a time where that had not been the case. There had supposedly been a prince of princes called a king ruling over united human lands, but any truth to that had been left long in the past. The prince bowed to no one in his princedom, and each prince likewise ruled their lands with impunity. For him to leave like this almost certainly spelled calamity.

The throne room was normally a serene, serious, and magnificent place. The room was large enough to hold hundreds of people, even if it was rare for that many to gather there. Huge arched pillars spread evenly throughout the room slightly divided it, but somehow left the whole feeling even larger than it already was. The ceiling was tall enough for there to be some balconies along the walls. Large stained glass windows on the walls near the ceiling added light and majesty, especially when looking at the scenes or people depicted on them. Most of those people or scenes were lost to history, but demonic figures being fought by heroic men in golden armor spoke to bravery and nobility. A childhood wandering through the castle, including this hall, let her resist the overwhelming awe this room conferred, but even she felt a reverent solemnity.

The Silver Throne sat at the end of the great room. The throne was on a raised dais accessed by stairs to the right of the platform with five steps. It was magnificent, and designed to impress all who beheld it. The rich silver was accented by regular and white gold accents and designs, as well as various emplaced gems that would take even the most stoic person’s breath away. The back of the throne stood the height of several men, at least half the height to the ceiling. Light seemed to pool around it to make it the brightest point in the room.

Even though she had never been allowed on the dais, she had investigated several years before and realized that there was a set of clear windows hidden near the ceiling that cast pure light uninhibited by stained glass and augmented by a series of mirrors to make the spot glow with a richer light than the rest of the room had. Even when night had fallen special torches were lit in a hidden window alcove to amplify the light near the throne. It was a subtle effect, but very effective.

Four golems stood unmoving at the corners of the dais. Dark silver skin, rumored to be mithril, was unmarked despite the passage of vast centuries, or even millennia of duty. Their figures were unblemished by accessories or clothing or details, except for a scabbard holding a large sword over a shoulder. They were featureless humanoid shapes eight feet tall that looked like they came out of a blacksmith’s mold. They held halberds which were similarly untouched by the march of untold time.

They were utterly unmoving, unless the Prince’s gave them commands from his throne. When given orders they were ruthless, invulnerable forces of nature that utterly eradicated any resistance to their task. Only the Prince had any idea of how they operated, and he kept that information tight to his ornate vest; his position was unassailable within the golems’ reach.

There was another door behind the throne to the prince’s wing, which was where the royal family’s quarters were. Only the prince and his heirs were permitted through that door. Anyone that crossed its threshold without the prince’s company or specific permission would be executed on the spot by the golems. Bree had never been near it and never would be. Women were allowed in the throne room, of course, but they had no business near the throne where ruling of the princedom happened.

The prince was holding conference with the commander of his armies, the commander of the castle guard, and the captain of the Red Shield. All of them were standing near the stairs to the throne. All the other nobles and families filed into the areas where the audience watched proceedings. No one, not even the highest of the nobles, dared to interrupt the prince given his furious expression and exaggerated hand motions.

Another guard ran upto whisper in the castle guard commander’s ear, which set off a renewed discussion with the prince, before her father cut off the others with a dismissive wave of his arm. They followed him as he climbed the stairs and sat on the impressive throne. The Red Shield captain stepped behind the throne and retrieved the crown from where it was stored, and solemnly set it on the prince’s head. After that joined the other two soldiers and Crown Prince Denan flanking the throne. A trio of Red Shield guards stood at the bottom of the steps to the throne dais.

The hall was utterly silent as the moment carried on and no one dared make a sound. It didn’t take being the daughter of Prince Alain to know when he was furious beyond all imagining.

A sound from above caught her ears and she looked up. She saw men on the balconies with readied arrows and bolts. The balconies were only used by her family during important royal ceremonies such as the marriages or coronations. She’d never seen anyone on the balconies, since no events of such importance had been held in years. From her wanderings she knew where the doors to the stairs to access them were, but they were normally locked and secured.

More astonishingly, she saw the red fletching with a black streak on the arrows and bolts. Her eyes flicked to the guards in the room, and saw the red hilt with black accents on most of the swords sheathed at their belts. The implications hit her like a mace between the eyes..

She felt someone step to her side, and she heard Erek’s whisper.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. After she delayed responding he continued. “You know something, what do you see?”

She looked furtively around them, but there was no way to tell him without panicking those close enough to hear.

“Look at the fletching of the arrows and the hilts of the swords,” she whispered back as softly as she could.

She followed his eyes as they took them in before looking back at her, but she could see from the confused expression that he didn’t understand. She hesitated, but didn’t dare to spell out what the colors meant. Fortunately, activity at the door interrupted any chance for Erek to push her for an explanation.

A man stepped through the large arched door to the throne room. He wore plain gray clothes, though they were finely made and looked to be made out of high-quality cloth. A dark cloak hung from a silver clasp at his collar. He had several rings on his fingers and a jeweled silver bracelet. They were beautiful, but not so ornate as to be ostentatious. His hair was more gray than brown and was simply styled, framing a slightly wrinkled face. He was neither thin nor fat, but walked with a simple self-assurance that said he could confidently deal with whatever crossed his path. He was the spitting image of one of the nightmarish mages from the histories, that had wreaked so much death and destruction.

A herald nervously stepped forward from the door as the man walked towards the area in front of the throne. “Sage Gindan Chronan of the Council, to see the Prince Alain,” the herald announced in a loud, but carefully neutral voice to the entire room. The mysterious man stepped forward to a spot appropriately in front of the dais and nodded slightly towards the prince.

Questioning murmurs rose among the crowd. No one knew what a sage was, or who the “the Council” were, but the nod to the prince was enough to affirm there would be trouble. The prince was the highest authority in the land, and even the highest nobles bowed deeply at the waist. Lower status citizens would take further steps, from kneeling bows from lower nobility to getting on their knees and putting their forehead on the floor in a groveling position to commoners. The nod was what the prince would use to acknowledge someone introduced to him, not something that anyone else would ever use for the prince.

“Prince, I bring you greetings from The Council of the Wise,” he said. His voice was smoother than his age would suggest, and confident. The accent seemed wrong to Bree, but the words were correct and she couldn’t explain, even to herself, what was wrong with his accent.

Her father sat forward on his grand throne anger apparent on his face.

“I do not know who your ‘Council’ is,” he said, in a barely-controlled rage-filled voice, “but it requires audacity to come here and show disrespect. All bow to the prince, here.”

The prince glared at Rendan, and in turn Rendan calmly met his gaze. There was a long, silent moment as the two men obviously took stock of each other.

“I mean no disrespect,” Rendan said. “But Wizards of the Council kneel or bow to no one. Not kings, not dwarves, elves, demons, or princes.”

It was one thing to suspect, it was another to have it admitted in front of dozens of people. Her whimper of dismay was joined by many gasps of surprise and outcries of “Mage!” from the crowd.

The prince looked on grimly and yelled, “Kill it!”