First came the tak of his shoes. Hard-soled and firmed, his footsteps could probably be heard from a corridor away. Still under the guise of personal servant of Duchess Monroe, he was treated with the respect owed to a person of such a rank. His footsteps gave everyone ample warning. Servants often avoided him, and he didn’t go after them or question it. Their behaviour made sense. A foreign presence in the political heart of their motherland. Not to mention, he was an alien, so to speak. Despite hiding, they watched from afar, but quickly averted their eyes if he turned to look at them.

“Are you the servant of Duchess Monroe?” a man asked.

“Yes, and to whom do I owe the pleasure?” Francis spun around and nodded his head.

“Ah...” The man’s eyes narrowed as he scanned the fake duchess’ face. “Whatever the circumstances might be, I won’t press it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, I forgot to introduce myself.”

The man was handsome, without a doubt. But whether that’s the makeup artist’s expertise, or his own natural charm, Francis didn’t quite know. Still, his face could be called more or less flawless. Indeed, if it had been a game where a bland female main character had to choose between an array of men to marry, he would be one of the top candidates. And that wasn’t even the tip of it. His broad shoulders weren’t anything to scoff at either, and he could catch a glimpse of firm muscles beneath his regal clothes.

Judging from his clothes, he was either royalty or someone involved in it. With the unique warrior-king clothing style of the Loyrans, he pulled the set off well. Perhaps an improvement to his looks could be a pair of thin red glasses. Either way, he was a 9 out of 10, at least. His black hair was cut in a way that suited his face shape, and the eyebrows that sat comfortably on his face were well trimmed and symmetrical.

“I am the second prince of Loyra, Azal-din-Vamuld.”

“It's my pleasure to make your acquaintance, Your Highness.” Francis lifted up the sides of his skirt as he gave a politeful bow.

“Nay, I should be the one. To have the honour of meeting such a beautiful lady.”

The prince drew something in the air. Starting from his forehead, then towards his sternum.

“I hope your day will be blessed, Naathei.”

Naathei. From what he could remember, it meant something similar to comrade or friend. However, there was also an alternate, lesser used translation. Faker, or ‘one who lies’ when translated directly.

The prince walked away. His party of bearded men dressed in grey robes paid no attention to the foreign duchess. He had heard of them before. They were large and heavy, so their footsteps were more of a stomp. Or at least, should have been. Yet when they moved, they barely made a sound. Supposedly, it was an ideal formation. A vanguard, a supporting mage, and a sniper.

They were on the second floor of a 5 storey building. Much of the rooms here were dedicated as spare or guest rooms, only to be used for visitors. Certainly, even the visitor lounges and massive canteens boasted a level of opulence that was rare. And that wasn’t saying anything of the guest rooms that Francis and his crew stayed in. The apartments reached through a broad stone arch, leading into an outdoor garden. Freshwater coated the blades of grass.

“So this is where you were,” Francis commented as he approached the blonde haired woman taking shelter from the hot sun beneath a parasol.

“You have no idea how hot this suit is.”

“I have spare desert clothes in my room, you can use them if you like. Might be a little short for you, though.”

“Take a seat.”

Once he sat down, he took a look at her in her entirety. For one, she took off her vest, and instead hung it on the chair. A good amount of buttons on her shirt were undone, and sweat had begun to soak into the white cloth of her top.

“Who let you in?”

“The empress herself. And... Monroe? What’s that from?”

“A blonde beauty that sang a birthday song.”

“That’s highly specific.” She raised an eyebrow.

“Did you find what you were looking for?”

“I did. But I haven’t retrieved it.”

“Why? What’s it about?”

“First, it's deep in a natural cave system located right beneath this palace.”

“What does that have to do with retrieving it?”

“I’ll get to that. I just have a feeling that I should get it with you.”

“Hmm. Something to do with fate, perhaps?”

“Indeed.” Iris sipped from her cup of hot coffee. “That thing holds the answer to my regressions.”

“You mean it isn’t voluntary?”

“Not in the slightest. I just contact the gods to make it go faster.”

“I don’t understand.”

“The regressions that I go through can be described like a horse, and I am bound to it. This metaphorical horse can never stop, even if I try to stop it.”

“And the gods just provide fuel for it to gain a boost?”

“Exactly that, Francis. But you are the first Francis that I have encountered that is aware of the fate that ties us together.”

He nodded. That fact was simple. He wasn’t Francis Francis. Still, he didn’t want to die just to test that theory out. More so, he longed for a quiet life with his companions, a happily ever after that will never exist.

“I really do hope that you remember our promise,” Iris said.

“Of course. We will fist fight the entire pantheon of gods if need be.”

“Pray that it does not reach that conclusion. That aside, it is strange that you do not have your trusted knight by your side. Is she hurt?”

“Period cramps, don’t worry about it. She has painkillers.”

“Ah. That. I hope she gets well soon. When are you free to get it?”

“Tomorrow night’s the official signing of the peace deal. Tonight’s the negotiations, so Haein and Benjamin will settle that. I need to be there for the first hour or so, however.”

“Tonight, then. After all, if the signing doesn’t go well...”

“This city will become a warzone. If we’re doing it tonight, care to be my escort?”

“Don’t you have your other right hand woman? The mage?”

“She has other things going on. In the event that the signing goes wrong.”

“I see. In that case, my schedule for tonight is free. I shall be your escort for the evening. Are you going there as emperor, or as duchess? And besides, why are you masquerading as a duchess’ servant anyway?”

“It's for the signing later on. If I show up and reveal to the masses that the servant was actually the emperor, how would they react? This is called going undercover.”

“Hm. Either way, I’ll see you this evening.”

Iris stood up. Grabbing her vest and slinging it over her shoulder, she prepared to leave. Her cup was emptied, and it seemed like she didn’t want to stay for too long.

“You said that Haein let you in. Are you staying with her?”

“No, I am not. Having a guest that no one knows of, and without a rank too, is just stupid.”

“Then what’s your lodgings looking like? Don’t tell me you’re sleeping on the streets.”

“I have no issue with that. If nothing else, I can stay in the wilderness.”

“Don’t.”