Rumours often circulated around the foreigners, and Francis was all too aware of those. Stories about what went on inside their private rooms, the strange and exotic rituals that they carried out. Their quarters — dubbed “Harun Bagdan” — were often spied on. Maids and servants peeked in whenever they had the chance. Though, it was out of their own curiosity, most likely. Oftentimes, a servant with basic understanding of the Varexian tongue approached him directly and asked questions pertaining to their culture. Harun Bagdan, as he later learned through that same maid, was a name lifted straight from a piece of literature from centuries ago. In the context of the novel, an epic spanning several volumes, it meant Exotic Lands, or perhaps more literally, Lands of which the Exotic Peoples reside.

Whether such rumours were beneficial or detrimental, Francis didn’t know. The stories came from both ends of the spectrum, however. Tales of beautiful people, heroic deeds, and magical weapons went around. The other end was much less savoury. Cannibals, rapists, pillagers, and bloodlust. In reality, the Varexians and Loyrans were similar in many ways. Both had evidence of otherworldly tampering, though perhaps just by different people. For example, there was a significant historical figure in the foundation of the Loyrans known by Saladin.

After some event, he wasn’t quite sure about the details, servants began approaching him left and right. Maids, gardeners, stableboys. Perhaps the second prince he met had something to do with it. Regardless, he was pestered by them all the way until evening.

The empress walked up towards him, her personal entourage in tow. Knights, scribes, and even designers and makeup artists. She seemed ready for the negotiations, having dressed up nicely for the occasion.

“Uhm, Fran. I trust that you are familiar with the plan.”

“Of course. If they reject our initial terms, present them with the backup. If that fails as well, then I’ll settle it myself. Has Minister Wynt been well?”

“He’s still getting ready. I’ll lend you my crew.”

“Thanks. Acting as a servant means I don’t get any, and Hye-Sung is busy with personal issues.”

“Very well. You should put on your best presentation for tonight, even more so than tomorrow. You better not act as a servant.”

“I know, I know.”

It took quite a while for the complete makeover. But once they finished their magic, he wasn’t quite that different from a servant. Still, there was a noticeable difference. His hair was all done, soft and silky as his wife’s, and now had a certain aura around him. He walked out, and Iris was already waiting for him.

“Looking good. The red fits well with your blonde hair.”

“I can’t fight in this getup.”

“Unfortunately for you, I find it super attractive when a woman tears off her dress to fight.”

“Hedonistic pursuits will never work out for you. And don’t you think you’re indulging yourself too?”

“What, can’t I look good?”

He gave a little twirl. The black cloth flowed around him. Iris stayed silent, and grabbed his arm. Her grip was firm, but not painful.

“I am your escort for the night. Please don’t cause excessive trouble for me.”

The small applause jolted him. Francis spun around, as did Iris. Her eyes were quick to lock onto the tanned prince.

“Your Highness,” Francis greeted.

“Did I startle you, Naathei? I apologise.”

“That is?” Iris whispered.

“Second Prince Azal-din-Vamuld. Out of the 4 princes, I’d say that he’s the best one.”

“Good to know. Explain later.”

“No matter. How may I assist you?”

“Assist me, so you say. I come here not seeking assistance, but you. Originally, my intent was to offer myself to be your escort, but I see that that is not needed.”

With a nod, the Second Prince left for the main hall. Iris let go of his arm, and pulled him to a wall. She slammed the wall behind him, and spoke in a low voice.

“Why couldn’t I detect them?”

“I assume the mage cast a spell.”

“That’s the case, then. I will warn you first, Francis. Your life may very well be in danger tonight.”

“Related to the artefact retrieval?”

“Political. I’ve caught wind of word that there are several parties planning to take you. Not as the emperor, but because you have been masquerading as the private servant of a fake Duchess Monroe.”

“The events held in this palace,” Iris continued, “Has a history of people disappearing. No one of note, just female servants.”

“You’re saying that they’ll kidnap me?”

“Not just them. There are Friaren people here.”

“No way.”

“Yes. There are rumours of Friaren ships sailing for an unknown destination.”

“Shit. You better be right about this.”

The two of them entered the meeting room. One, two, three, maybe 8 or 9 people from each side were present. He could recognise a few of the ones from the other side. The second prince of Loyra waved his hand slightly, and gestured for him to sit.

It was a large room, and everyone was dressed for the occasion. The princely brothers were in their regal robes, honouring the desert culture. A pair of cutlasses hung on the wall, and a painting of a tanned man vanquishing demons above the blades.

Empress Haein wore clothes that were vaguely similar to his own. A sleeveless navy blue dress, and one that showed off her considerable cleavage. Meanwhile, he was in a black backless dress that stretched down to his legs.

Colonel Janus always stayed in his parade ground uniform. He sat beside the emperor, with Kim Hye-Sung in between them. Of course, there was Minister of War Benjamin Wynt as well, and several auxiliaries.

On the other side, the princes, and the sultan were the only ones that he could recognise. The four brothers had similar looks, the same eyes and nose. Though, the 4th Prince was different. A son of a concubine, maybe?

“Hah.” The 4th prince scoffed as Francis took a seat.

“Do you have an issue with my attendance?”

“I just find it hard to understand why a lowly servant is allowed to sit at the same table as us. Though, looking at your beauty, I can see why. Did you sleep with the minister? Or is it the Colonel?”

“Haha! It's going exactly as you planned,” Hye-Sung said.

“Indeed. Let’s see if someone from their side would speak up,” Haein chimed in.

Francis shot a glance at the Second Prince. His eyes were downcast, and shifted between his older brother and the youngest. In order of most to least competent, Francis would rank them as: Third, Second, First, and Fourth. The First Prince had too good of an upbringing, with everything served on a silver platter, from what the servants gossiped about. Meanwhile, the Fourth Prince was another mess.

With a sigh, The Third Prince stood up. He bowed his head slightly, and motioned for the guards. Iris and the Colonel reached for their weapons, but Francis waved them down. For a fight to break out here, that would spell the end of one of the parties present. Surely they knew that too. And his guess was right. Once the Third Prince snapped his fingers, the two guards dressed in desert robes pulled the Fourth Prince away.

“I apologise for that, Naathei.” He shook his head. “He is our half brother, and as such didn’t receive the same amount of education and training as we have. Now, do you plan to-”

“Yes, I suppose it's time. As the Second Prince has probably guessed, I am not the servant of Duchess Monroe. I am Francis Zesti Rayleigh.”

“Magnificent. Might I inquire as to why?”

“It's simply a precaution I have taken. After all, the ruling monarch is of much higher value than a mere servant.”

“A smart play. Did you mean for my idiotic brother to insult you?”

“No, of course not. As if we would ever employ such underhanded tactics. I simply hid my identity in case things turned out badly for us. After all, a servant would most likely be taken as a sex slave or prisoner, while the monarch would be executed immediately.”

“I can see why people often praise your brain.”