The Silent Court.
Prince Wilander Orange's residence stood on a separate island in the southwestern corner of the Royal Capital.
No one had spoken the island's name in a long time. It had once been the royal family's most dazzling pearl. On every major holiday, the most lavish banquets had been held in its gardens, and the nobles' laughter had lasted from sunset until dawn.
But that had been ten years ago.
Now, only silence remained.
Moss covered the stone bridge connecting it to the main island. No one maintained it, and no one crossed it. In the gardens, the fountains had long since dried up, and vines entwined the statues. Only the occasional passing bird lingered there for a moment.
The residence itself still maintained a basic air of dignity. The three-story white building remained stately in the sunlight, but every curtain was drawn tight, as though its owner wanted to shut himself off from the entire world.
Inside the residence, in the third-floor study.
Prince Wilander sat behind a long table piled with letters from the Empire.
He picked one up. The letter was written on fine Evergreen Linen Paper, carrying the faint scents of ink and moisture-repelling spices.
The handwriting used the exceedingly elaborate script of the imperial court. Ornate curves intertwined with decorative strokes, making the very act of reading an ordeal.
His gaze lingered on one passage where the words twisted even more intricately, as though the writer had deliberately used flowery language to conceal something empty, or something they were unwilling to mention.
Wilander set the letter down, leaned back in his chair, and sighed.
His thoughts drifted back to the Imperial Capital, that cage forged from gold and power.
He remembered his older cousin, the reigning emperor. They had once hunted together in