***Cal***

"You'd think he could have dropped us off closer to the actual door," Nier mutters he squints at the castle. Without the shade of the caravan the sun is almost impossible to bear. I feel the beginnings of a headache coming on.

"These gardens aren't meant for horses," I say, motioning to the cobblestone that leads to the main entrance. It's wide enough for two people to walk comfortably side by side. The caravan would be the perfect size for demolishing the purple flower beds carefully planted around the walkway.

"Well, what do you think?" Nier asks one of the Silence as she dismounts her horse. Of course, he gets no reply.

"See," Nier says, turning back to me. "Evici says they're all exhausted from the ride. And hot. They should have been allowed in the caravan."

The four Soranian royal bodyguards are dressed lightly, dipped head to toe in dark fabrics that hide the strong leather underneath. Unlike Arthronian knights, who plate themselves with monstrous pieces of patchworked metal, the Silence dress humbly in accordance to their biggest threat: other trained assassins.

As we make our way through the winding cobblestone up the the castle, I can't help but think how out of place the Silence look in this bright, sunny environment. I imagine Queen Eliza and the princess studying our approaching figures from a window high above, judging what to Arthronians must look like a procession of mourners.

Aside from some streaks of gold, Nier is also dressed completely in black. The color symbolizes one of the rarest occurrences in Soran, the complete absence of light: a starless night, the bottom of a cursed well, the unseeing eyes of blind men and the all-seeing eyes of Soranian royalty. Something to be feared and revered, but mostly feared.

While the Silence only have a slit in their headdress to see out of, the prince of Soran is less conservatively dressed. His boyish arms are bared to the harsh light in a sleeveless vest, the golden sash at his side swaying along with a cape that drapes from his shoulders and ends just above the ground, snapping at his slippers. His pants are loose and comfortable, elegantly simple, save for the glinting seamwork running down its sides.

I suppose out of all of us, I'd stand out the most. I'm dressed in a white linen from the neck down. Gloves and carefully rolled sleeves ensure that, aside from my head, not a sliver of skin makes it to the surface. It might not always be comfortable, especially in the heat, but it's a small price to pay for discretion.

As we get closer to the entrance, two gleaming figures become visible. I glance over at Nier. Although there's no change in his expression, I can tell that he sees them too.

Two Arthronian knights, or as Soranian children call them, metal monsters, are guarding the entrance, still as statues. Their indecipherable demeanor reminds me of one of the more popular rumors spread about them, that the armor is actually empty and the hollow shells are being puppeteered by black magic.

When we arrive at the front entrance I try to peer into their visors, but they're pitch black, offering no glimpse of humanity.

"State your identity and purpose," the one to the left demands. Although I can't read his eyes, his hand lowering to rest on the pommel of his sword says enough.

I instantly begin to decipher the message behind this slight. They should have been well informed about our arrival, after all. But then I remember that we arrived about a quarter of a moon cycle early and unannounced.

I glance at Nier. There's a shifty aversion in his gaze that isn't from the sun's glare, so I step forward.

"Good afternoon, sers," I say, hoping my Arthronian is, at the very least, comprehensible. I clear my throat in preparation for its solid, clunky syllables. "The Third Prince of Soran has arrived early due to traveling complications. We diverted from our original route to avoid a sandstorm. We sent a hawk to notify King Stephen in advance, but unfortunately it was lost in the storm."

I remember that night clearly - the death of Nier's favorite hawk had been another heavy blow for him.

"Forgive us," says the knight to the right, "but due to the unexpected nature of your arrival, we must see a royal decree before you can be admitted." The voice emenating from this guard is kinder, softer. A little worn with age.

"I assume you have it, Prince?" the knight to the left adds, a dab of insolence smearing the title.

"Ah," I begin, but Nier gathers himself and steps in.

"I am the Prince," he snaps in Arthronian. Thrusting the paperwork into the ruder knight's direction, he adds, "Take the hand off your sword, metal moron."

Perhaps Nier's demeaning tone and condescension commands more authority than my patient explanations ever could. Abashed, the knight accepts the paper and breaks the seal, quickly scanning the contents before handing it back, all under Nier's heavy glare.

"Open the door," the thirteen year old demands, though we both know that's what they're going to do anyway.

Nier and I pass, our feet transitioning from warm stone to cold marble, but the guards simultaneously break their statuesque demeanor to halt the Silence, crossing the entrance off with their swords.

"Again, forgive us for the delay," says the guard to the right, "but foreign weapons, including individuals trained in defense, are customarily not permitted within the castle. We request that your bodyguards remain outside."

"My people stay with me," Nier says, crossing his arms.

I place a hand on his back, waiting for him to relax under my touch.

"We respect your concerns," I say, "But we request a compromise, as a matter of diplomacy."

Crossed blades still split our entourage in two, so I clear my throat and try again.

"We will have the Silence give up any weapons they have on hand and, furthermore, they will be ordered to remain outside the throne room while Prince Nierxes confers with Queen Eliza and her daughter." I look at the knights and where their eyes should be, then at the Silence. "They are trained guards, but before that, they are human. The trip has exhausted them, and we simply ask that they be provided the hospitality that would be offered to anyone else." I pause, making mental edits to my last words. "The Soranian people would be greatly honored if you could place your trust in our integrity."

The knights don't say anything for a moment. Then the older one chuckles, sheathing his sword. After a moment of hesitation the other one follows.

"See, Arthur, this is what your father meant when he told you the pen is mightier than he sword," the older knight says as the Silence passes.

Arthur, I think to myself. So they're human after all.

The Arthronian castle is just as ornate on the inside as it is on the outside. Large, richly painted tapestries hang on the wall, parallel to the glistening stonework on the floor. No detail has been overlooked - even the candles on the chandeliers are carved with intricate designs. Although Nier's shoulders are thrown back, his flitting eyes give away his excitement. He's probably comparing the Arthronain castle to D'haravat, critically noting the differences and weighing them against each other.

Two identical brown-eyed servants make their way down the widest staircase I've ever seen, matching step for step. I'm not sure if they somehow overheard our conversation, but they only snap their synchronization once they lead us and the Silence in opposite directions.

"Bye, Za'ari. Bye Chiki. Bye Lovarix. Bye Evici," Nier says, waving off the Silence. As usual, he is ignored. He turns to our escort. "Where will they go?"

"Your companions will await your arrival in the comforts of a guest room. You will be reunited shortly."

Nier settles with the compromise and we follow the servant down one of the halls sprouting from the main entrance. The floor transitions from cool marble to rich carpet, a change that is very audible to us because of the sleek material of our slippers. That kind of appreciation is probably lost on the servant, with his shiny hard leather shoes.

"You took on the Arthronian metal monsters pretty well," I whisper to Nier in Zefaric.

"I could have handled that on my own, you know," he replies sullenly, eyes trained forward.

"I know," I reply with a chuckle.

Two more servants standing at our destination note our approach and open the double doors with a flourishing bow.

Queen Eliza sits on a tall, elegant throne that commands just as much authority as she does. Her long black hair slips through the cracks and crevices of the carved armrests, almost seeming to root her in place. Her green eyes are intelligent and prying - they lock onto mine and they don't let go, even as I advert my gaze.

A girl is seated to her right. She can't be anyone but Princess Marigold. Her golden hair is perfectly cropped below her chin, reminding me of a doll that one of Nier's cousins had imported from Xan, porcelain pale and perfect. I'm almost surprised when she blinks.

When we finally come to a stop in front of them I shift backwards a few steps. It would be awkward if the same misconception the knights had were to replay itself here.

"Welcome, Prince Nierxes," Queen Eliza says with a welcoming smile, thankfully turning her gaze to Nier. "It is an honor to host Soran's immediate heir under our roof. We hope you enjoy your stay."

"The pleasure is all mine," replies Nier. The warmth in his tone isn't quite as convincing as hers, but it's enough.

"I know it's a bit early to broach sensitive topics, but I would like to express my condolences for the loss of your brothers," Eliza says. "They were fine men."

"Thank you," Nier replies with a bit of pride. For a moment I'm worried that he'd forget to catch himself, but then he adds, "Soran was also sad to hear about the death of Rose. Even there it was known that she was kind and good."

His condolences aren't quite as polished as hers, but I'm hoping Queen Eliza will take into account that Arthronian isn't his native language. Although her demeanor doesn't change, there's a slight pause that sets me on edge.

"And I suppose the loss of her younger sister has no bearing on your people at all," she says pleasantly, and my heart sinks.

"Soran is not ready to cry for Princess Poppy yet," Nier answers without faltering. "She is not dead, correct? We are eagerly awaiting her return."

I make a mental note to congratulate Nier later for that incredible save. Even Queen Eliza seems satisfied with his words.

"When she is safely returned you shall be the first to know," she promises.

Then she turns her gaze on me.

"You have beautiful eyes," she notes, catching me off guard.

"It is kind of you to say so, Your Grace," I reply, holding her stare.

"Purple. Unheard of, in Arthronia. You'll be the only boy in the whole kingdom with them, lucky you." She shifts in her throne and her hair slithers through the carved armrests like snakes. "But it isn't that special in Soran, is it? Commonplace, even."

It's true. Purple, red, gold, orange - over time all the colors of the sunset dripped into the eyes of sleeping Soranians, or so the legend goes. It's odd to think that I now possess a quality that's considered rare and unusual. In Soran, purple eyes are as common as sand.

"That is true, Your Grace," I reply.

"What is your name?" she asks.

"Cal, Your Grace."

"Cal," she repeats. "A pet name, perhaps? Do you have a surname?"

She knows the meaning behind a monosyllabic name in Soran, that must is obvious.

"I'm afraid not, Your Grace."

"Ah," she says. "A bastard, then."

Nier bristles.

"I am, Your Grace," I reply, lowering my eyes.

"Pray tell," she says, eyes glinting, "how does a bastard boy come to stand next to a prince?"

Before I can open my mouth, Nier steps in.

"Actually, she's a girl," he says. His tone is too curt for either of our liking. "And Cal is my most trusted advise giver."

"A girl?" Queen Eliza says, running her eyes down my body.

I'm tall. And strong. I lack the more obvious trademarks of our sex: gentle curves, supple skin, a soft voice. My face, the only part of me exposed, is composed of hard lines and sharp angles. Tied back, my hair reaches between my shoulder blades, but Zephyr and V'haxiria had also styled theirs similarly.

My head starts to pound.

"Do girls not wear head coverings in Soran?" the Queen asks, innocently cocking her head.

"In Soran, a head covering is worn for modesty, a becoming trait for women awaiting marriage," I reply blankly. "It would be impudent for a bastard to wear one."

"Yes, I think I remember something along those lines," she says. An amused smile toys with her lips. "You've climbed terribly high for one born so... Modestly."

And so have you.

"Thank you, Your Grace," I say politely.

"Tell me, how old are you, Cal?" Queen Eliza asks, smirking.

"Sixteen, if it please Your Grace."

"Your age neither pleases nor displeases me," the Queen replies. "The fact of the matter is..." She pauses, the suppressed condescension leaving her eyes. Her brows furrow together. "Cal, is something the matter?"

"I beg your pardon, Your Grace?"

For some reason my words taste funny.

"You have a bit of..." she says, lightly hovering her fingers over the lower half of her face.

I brush the back of my hand over my lips and my knuckles come back red.

No, no, not here, I think to myself.

The last thing I see is Nier reaching for me. Then everything goes black.

----------------

Soranian pronunciation guide

Nier: knee-air

Nierxes: knee-er-shes

Zephyr: zeh-fear

V'haxiria: Vhax-ee-ree-a

D'haravat: Dah-ha-ra-vhat

Oookay, cool cool, that's a wrap. Just finished this chapter chilling out on a plane to Korea. You know they've got PSP remote looking things on this ride? Kinda salty because I trapped between two men in the middle of the plane when I really wanted a window seat. But whatever. I guess I'll just sleep it out. Fingers crossed that I won't get a debilitating crick from this twelve hour flight.

For critiques: Yep. Just go ahead and tell me what you think about the characterization so far. How is the worldbuilding for Soran, even if they aren't in the kingdom? Thoughts on the new characters? Annnd grammatical pointers always welcome.

All votes and comments are appreciated :)