The First City

The midday sun poured over Stork Port's damp, rough-hewn flagstones, steaming up the thick, briny stench of sea salt, fresh catch, and piled-up seaweed along the shore. It became the backdrop to the cool early-autumn sea breeze.

It was the third day since the Wesen Army had occupied Stork Port. The towering prow of the King's flagship slowly and heavily cleaved through the port's murky shallows. The gangplank was lowered, and when Rudolf disembarked, the cloak snapping behind him was a glaring splash of blood-red, all the more vivid beneath the blazing midday sun.

Behind him, the Royal Knight Order's armor reflected a cold gleam. Scarlet plumes sprouted from their helmets and billowed like fiery clouds, yet their deliberate display had a stiff, studied air.

Baron Lacken, acting mayor of Stork Port, had been waiting humbly on the muddy flagstones at the end of the pier for some time. Damp marks stained the hem of his silk cloak, and his well-kept hands had gone white at the knuckles from gripping them too tightly.

"Your most exalted Majesty! Stork Port basks in your radiance, and its joy knows no bounds! Thanks only to your mercy, peace has descended like the warm sun!"

His deliberately raised, fawning voice quavered almost imperceptibly as he tried to drown out the greedy squawking of the seagulls. It sounded especially jarring on the empty pier.

The night before, someone had given Lacken and the others a political lesson, helping them understand the undercurrents beneath the surface of the Rhine Alliance.

In politics, choosing the wrong side was even worse than making a mistake. Lacken had harbored a few small ambitions of his own, and the lesson had left him in a cold sweat.

Young Franz stood beside Lacken like a statue cast from black iron.

He