The first scenery revealed after the massive castle doors swung open was absolutely exquisite, breathtaking in its carefully crafted beauty. There were many different kinds of flowers adorning the well-maintained, meticulously cared-for garden that stretched before us. Everything in the garden was clearly man-made—every plant deliberately chosen and positioned, every path intentionally designed—but somehow it completely shed any feeling of being artificially forced to exist. Instead, the garden had successfully exchanged that manufactured quality for something that made each plant seem to perfectly fit whatever decorative pot or carefully prepared plot it occupied, as if it had always belonged exactly there.
To my right, there were magnificent hydrangeas of various striking colors—soft pink, deep purple, and vivid blue—all blooming abundantly in lush clusters. Beyond those flowering bushes lay a substantial pond, again clearly man-made in its origins but over which nature had reasserted dominion over time. The pond housed many different species of fish, ones whose names I didn't know, colorful varieties with brilliant scales and elegant fins that simply didn't exist anywhere in the northern kingdoms. If the exotic fish weren't captivating enough, there were also various aquatic blooms that had erupted from the pond's surface—lotus flowers in pink, blue, purple, pristine white, and cheerful yellow, their petals opening to the sunlight. There was an elegant arched bridge constructed across the pond at its narrowest point, leading to the area beyond the pond's far edge where I could clearly see a covered walking path. That pathway was completely shaded overhead by cascading wisteria blooms in hanging clusters of purple and white, creating what must be an absolutely enchanting tunnel of flowers. It was genuinely picturesque, like something from an idealized painting.
To my left, the garden continued with equal splendor. There were even more varieties of flowers—carefully cultivated roses in multiple colors, fragrant jasmine vines climbing decorative trellises, and numerous other flowering plants whose names I simply didn't know, though their beauty was undeniable. Among all this natural beauty stood a charming pavilion, an open-air structure built with an elegantly carved wooden shade overhead to provide protection from the intense sun. In its center sat a substantial stone table, polished smooth, with matching stone stools positioned alongside it for seating. Near the pavilion grew an absolutely massive hibiscus tree, ancient and gnarled, that bore hundreds of brilliant crimson flowers among its dark green leaves. The tree must have been decades old, perhaps even a century, to have grown so large.
The path we walked along was constructed from carefully embedded stones, each one fitted precisely against its neighbors, leading us toward an elevated wooden walkway that approached the entrance of a truly massive building. The palace structure itself was surprisingly only a single story, but what it lacked in height it more than compensated for in breadth and grandeur. It had been constructed primarily with gleaming white marble that seemed to glow in the sunlight, and the building was opened architecturally from each side to allow cooling breezes to flow through. Massive decorative pillars held the structure steady at regular intervals on each side, and each pillar was ornately ornamented from top to bottom with intricate carvings that appeared, from what I could see, to depict stylized flower garlands and intertwining vines.
As we drew closer, I could see that people—clearly nobles and courtiers—were already gathered inside, sitting on the polished marble floor. But they weren't sitting directly on the hard stone; instead, they reclined on luxurious-looking pillows and expensive carpets that had been carefully arranged to ensure their maximum comfort during what was apparently some sort of formal audience or court session. The wind periodically brought a strong incense smell to my heightened senses, carrying notes that were mostly sandalwood mixed with some subtle flowery fragrances. But there was something else mixed into that pleasant aroma, something distinctly toxic and wrong that made my nose wrinkle instinctively. I frowned at the unmistakable poisoned smell lurking beneath the pleasant surface scents.
"Do not worry, lady," Sathish said, noticing my frown and apparently misinterpreting its cause. "My cousin is fundamentally the rational type, a man who thinks before he acts. He will not harm you without good reason." But I didn't miss his quietly mumbled addition of "probably" at the end of that reassurance, spoken so softly he likely didn't think I could hear it.
But contrary to his well-meaning concerns about my safety, I wasn't actually scared in the slightest. My emotional state was far from fear. Instead, I was intensely observing my surroundings with complete focus, taking in every smell, every single whispered conversation, every single visual detail greedily and storing it all away. I was rapidly familiarizing myself with this whole new and potentially dangerous environment, building a mental map of threats and opportunities. And I had to accomplish this reconnaissance quickly, before we reached our destination and I needed to focus entirely on the performance ahead.
So I turned to look at Sathish and gave him a warm, trusting smile, gazing at him with eyes that clearly communicated, "I trust you completely. I feel safe with you." The effect on the man was immediate and dramatic. He went visibly red at that simple look of faith, blushing so intensely that even his ears turned a deep crimson color. He was actually quite cute in his flustered reaction, almost endearingly so.
Too bad he's going to die, I thought dispassionately. But I kept that smile fixed on my face.
We eventually stepped up onto the elevated wooden walkway that led to the palace entrance. The wood had been polished so extensively and maintained so carefully that one could easily see their own reflection in its gleaming surface, as clear as looking into still water. The walkway was bordered on both sides by matching wooden fences, polished to the same mirror-like shine as the walkway itself, creating a corridor of lustrous wood.
As we got progressively closer to the main entrance, I gained a much better and more detailed look at the massive audience hall beyond. The gathered people—almost exclusively men, I noted—sat in two orderly rows on each side of the hall, deliberately leaving the center pathway completely open for arrivals and presentations. The floor throughout was constructed from polished marble that acted like an enormous mirror, reflecting everything above it with crystalline clarity.
The noble men who sat comfortably on luxurious wide pillows each had their own dedicated servants standing behind them. Most prominent were the massive feather fan bearers, servants whose sole job appeared to be continuously fanning their masters to provide cooling air in the oppressive heat. In front of each nobleman sat a low wooden table absolutely filled with what appeared to be an impressive array of southern delicacies—various dishes I didn't recognize—along with pots of tea and other beverages. A female servant knelt beside each table, positioned and ready to serve immediately at the slightest demand from her master.
Both types of servants—the fan bearers and the food servers—kept their heads perpetually bowed low, never raising their eyes to meet the gaze of the nobles they served. Their posture of absolute subservience reminded me strongly of Rora, my own personal maid, who had only recently and reluctantly agreed to meet my eyes when we spoke, and only after I had asked her numerous times to please look at me directly.
She had explained to me the cultural reasons why servants in the South kept their heads bowed so consistently. There were several interconnected motivations, she had said. The first and most obvious was to avoid drawing any unnecessary attention to themselves—servants were meant to be invisible, merely functional extensions of their masters' will. The second reason was more sinister: to avoid accidentally angering the person they served. Oftentimes, she had explained with evident discomfort, nobles of the South interpreted a servant's direct eye contact as an act of disrespect or defiance, an unacceptable challenge to their authority.
And if a noble deliberately raised a servant's chin to force them to look into their eyes? That action had only one universally understood meaning in Southern culture. It meant the noble wanted to bed them, wanted to spend a heated night of passion with them. And those servants, given their complete lack of power or legal protections, were in absolutely no position to refuse such advances from their masters, no matter their personal feelings.
Beyond the two orderly rows of seated noblemen, at the far end of the hall, was a raised stage platform that elevated approximately two steps upward from the main floor level. There appeared to be a sturdy wooden headrest fixed in place and cushioned lavishly to provide maximum comfort to whoever reclined against it. In front of this headrest was arranged an absolute mountain of massive decorative pillows in rich fabrics, creating something between a throne and a luxurious bed.
There were two more low wooden tables positioned on either side of the man who currently reclined in languid comfort on this impromptu throne, and each table was filled to capacity with an impressive spread—exotic foods, fresh fruits, steaming pots of tea, and various other beverages in ornate containers. Two dedicated feather fan bearers stood on either side, rhythmically fanning the reclining figure with large, elaborate fans made from exotic bird plumage. Four additional female servants knelt in a row beyond the wooden tables, all of them positioned and ready to immediately serve the man at the slightest gesture or command.
The man who occupied this central throne-like arrangement had long black hair pulled back in a neat ponytail that fell down his back. His shirt was constructed from expensive silk but was worn completely open, deliberately displaying his bare chest in what seemed to be a calculated show of casual dominance. He wore a type of black silk pants styled in the traditional Southern fashion—wide and loose around the thighs for comfort and air circulation, then tapering to become much tighter around the ankles. His eyes appeared to be closed as we approached, though I suspected he was fully aware of everything happening in his presence.
As we entered the grand hall properly, crossing the threshold into the audience chamber itself, a low murmur immediately started to spread among the assembled nobles like ripples across a pond. The gathered men—most of them quite elderly, with white or gray hair and long white beards that proclaimed their advanced age and presumably their wisdom—turned to stare at me with undisguised fascination. They looked at me as if I were something far too alien and exotic to comfortably categorize as human, their expressions mixing curiosity with wariness and perhaps a touch of fear.
Though I could easily hear their whispered comments if I chose to pay attention and focus my enhanced hearing, I deliberately decided not to eavesdrop on their conversations. After my disturbing experience back in Gorei, where I had heard Jiao's desperate cries calling for help despite he being impossibly far away from me, I had invested considerable time and effort into learning how to properly control my five senses, all of which had become far too sharp and sensitive to be considered remotely human anymore. The sensory overload had been genuinely overwhelming at first, a constant assault of sights and sounds and smells that threatened to drive me mad.
But after I had finally learned the techniques to control and filter the information—paying conscious attention only to what was immediately necessary and relevant while disregarding all else—I had stopped becoming constantly overstimulated by the sheer volume of sensory input my enhanced perception provided. Now that hard-won skill came in extremely handy, allowing me to function normally in crowded, complex environments like this one.
My eyes quickly performed one comprehensive sweep around the entire perimeter of the audience hall, cataloging threats and gathering tactical information. Although the casual atmosphere didn't immediately suggest it, I could clearly identify soldiers bearing modern firearms strategically stationed behind and beyond those massive decorative pillars, positioned and ready to defend the assembled nobles at a single shouted command. They had been placed with considerable tactical sophistication—positioned in a way that didn't overtly disturb or diminish the relaxed, civilized atmosphere of the court meeting, but also not so far away that they couldn't respond immediately to any potential threat.
We finally came to a stop just a few feet away from the raised platform that served as the regent's throne. Sathish, the man who had escorted me here with such courtesy, finally found and awakened his formal voice, abandoning the more casual tone he had used with me during our walk.
"I wish you a most pleasant morning, honored brother," he announced clearly, his voice carrying throughout the hall. As he spoke, he performed what appeared to be a formal Southern greeting—his right arm clenched in a fist positioned before his chest, while his other arm crossed over to cover it in a gesture of respect and deference.
"I have brought before you a matter of significant interest," he continued, pausing deliberately as he turned to look directly at me. I noticed that his previous embarrassed blush had now completely disappeared, and his expression had transformed into something much harder to read. His eyes held something that looked distinctly sinister, calculating.
"I present to you our dear cousin's official fiancée," he added, his words falling into the sudden silence like stones into still water. "The Queen of Draga herself has come to pay you a visit."