The gates groaned open to admit a procession of carriages and armored steeds that would have put a small army to shame. These were the "Outsiders"—the High Lords, the merchant sovereigns, and the power-brokers who held the strings of the kingdom's economy and military.
The first to descend from a carriage of ivory and gold was Lady Charity, the Matriarch of the Southern Silks. She stepped onto the gravel with the grace of a swan, draped in a gown of shimmering iridescent fabric that changed from deep violet to sunset orange with every movement. Her wide-brimmed hat featured the feathers of a literal phoenix, and her gaze, sharp and calculating, swept over the courtyard like she was appraising the value of the stones beneath her feet.
"Look at this place," Charity murmured, her voice a melodic rasp as she snapped open a fan of sandalwood. "Still smells of old blood and desperate tradition. I love it."
