Prologue

  April 1869

  Mr. Dian walked down a dimly lit cobblestone road, passing by the warm glow coming from within several taverns to turn onto a much darker residential street, which sloped into an open intersection. The only sources of light here were from the waning moon and the flickering oil lamps that radiated through the surrounding fog. The occasional whirling buzz of passing ornithopters kept him on edge, their sound a clear warning to the knowing mind, a warning of the secret police for the Chancellor of Rilyn City, and the craft on which they ride.

  Another sound, much more distant, pierced his shuttering and defensive eyes; a clock chime rang through the city, alerting those who were still awake to the passing of the late hour. Mr. Dian took these sounds as invitation to tighten his grip to a vise on a large manila envelope he held closely to his side, knowing the contents of which could possibly be the most valuable item in the world, information. Information of a classified nature, information that could bring a mighty empire to its knees or prevent a devastating war.

  He came to the large intersection, completely free of any automobiles or carriages, turning around a stone barrier, which separated the road he had just come down from another, more narrow street that ran parallel. Crowded into a dark corridor by tall brick buildings with messy coatings of multi-colored plasters, the street sat about fifteen feet lower than the main road and was bathed in darkness due to a lack of lamps, the colors all blending into a monochromatic tone in the lack of light.

  Mr. Dian took some time to trace the ornate brickwork on the retaining wall of the high street to examine the area for any watchful eyes, stopping on the sidewalk opposite of a shabby hotel. He glanced down both directions of the road one last time before quickly crossing and entering the hotel.

  The space he came into was cold, not as cold as the spring night outside however, but certainly not warm either. This hotel was little better than a brothel as a menagerie of crude sounds could be heard through the walls. Discarded glass bottles and cigarette butts littered corners of the staircase in front of him and certain portions of the walls had seen the wallpaper begin to peel, exposing the wood panels behind.

  This was not the sort of den that would regularly attract attention and was, therefore, perfect for his intended usage. He began climbing the wooden stairs, each step creaking loudly, but not loudly enough to disturb the licentious hotel patrons. As he met the landing, he turned to go down a hallway and up the next flight of stairs, doing this until he reached the fourth floor. The further up he went, the quieter – and colder – the hotel had gotten. Mr. Dian came to the end of the stairs on the top floor and turned right, to face a faded teal door and a dirtied casted-brass sign reading 09.

  Mr. Dian unlocked the door and entered into the small hotel room, quickly shutting it behind him and engaging the bolt lock. He took out a small single-shot pistol from his coat pocket and turned to walk to a writing desk on the left wall of the room. Sitting beneath an open window overlooking an alleyway, this small and rough surface looked more suited to be a carpentry workbench rather than a writing table. To the windows’ left, waiting patiently within a cage, was a courier pigeon, a metal cylinder strapped to its back.

  Mr. Dian placed the pistol and the manila folder on the desk and opened a drawer to retrieve a full sized semi-automatic pistol that laid inside. He grabbed the pistol, cocking it before setting it on the desk next to the smaller one. He readied an ink pen, retrieving several typed documents from the envelope, readying a blank paper form.

  He began writing,

  ‘Agent name: Claude de Dian

  Date: 19 April 1869

  Location: Rilyn City

  Surveillance of Rilyn complete. I have discovered that the Asphydyyl Empire and Rilyn City have made arrangements of sorts; I have found blueprints for war machines of a strange nature all being manufactured in Rilyn. I could not make sense of their intent or workings, many references to a ‘Benthlanyn crystal’ and a Professor Arthidius Ferris, with shipment reports from Asphydyyl colonies in Penthoūs to the town of St. Polten in Asphydyyl. Very sparse evidence of a large construction project, plans and engineering reports “to be delivered at once” to the Asphydyyl Ministry of War, the plans and blueprints are divided into several pieces, I could not find complete illustrations or descriptions of their inner workings or intentions. Tonight I happened to witness tests of some of these weapons. They appeared to be vehicles walking with the aid of mechanized legs. No pilot seemed to be present. The body of said machine was far too small for a pilot. Military personnel seemed to be speaking to it, giving it instructions, which the machine then carried out. At least three Asphydyyl generals and War Minister Stophan herself were observing the whole spectacle. The machine was armed with a Gatling gun which could be lowered out of the body, but nothing more that I could discern.’

  Mr. Dian’s writing was cut short by the sound of someone desperately attempting to open the door. He scrawled a final message,

  ‘As I write this I believe I am being followed by the Chancellor’s agents, I may be dead by the time this is received. For Elysium.’

  Mr. Dian rolled the letter into a scroll, neglecting to include the bulky bunch of stolen documents. The banging on the door continued as he quickly grabbed the pigeon from the cage, sliding the rolled up form into the metal cylinder strapped onto the pigeon’s back.

  A loud bang and a bullet ripped through the door, causing him to jump.

  He stood with the pigeon still in hand, turning to toss it out the window, quickly reaching for the pistol beside him. The courier pigeon flew to a loan yellow light in the west, a single ship floating on the Reserat bay.

  Claude glanced outside to gage a possible escape route, and from a quick scan, no route could be found, apart from falling from the fourth floor of the hotel, a fall that would surely break his legs. Knowing he would have to stand and fight, Mr. Dian aimed his pistol at the door, watching the doorknob closely as it turned back and forth spasmodically.

  The door was finally kicked in, breaking the lock and sending the thin wood slab flying open. Mr. Dian fired two shots on reflex that collided with the outside wall. The smoke cleared from the muzzle of his gun and silence fell over the room.

  A hand gripping a pistol appeared around the corner of the doorway and fired a volley of shots at him; Mr. Dian returned fire, losing count of his spent ammunition as he ducked behind the desk. The gunshots paused briefly as he peeked above the desk, the aim of his gun following his line of sight.

  Mr. Dian stood up and moved forward slightly to be in front of the desk. He aimed his pistol at the thin wall just right of the doorway and fired a single probing shot. It ripped through the wall, leaving a messy hole. He reasoned that if the attacker is up against the wall, these shots could disable him. Claude calculated where his opponent might be, and fired two more bullets at the assailant’s expected position, leaving gaping holes in the wall. The arm of his pistol popped up, revealing the breech and indicating the pistol’s ammunition had been spent.

  “Was that eight shots?” a man’s voice said from around the corner.

  The intruder appeared in the doorway, aiming a pistol right at Mr. Dian. He fired a shot, which collided with his chest, pushing him onto the desk behind. He fired another shot that hit Claude’s shoulder this time, causing him to fall completely off the desk.

  With a seemingly misplaced paralysis, Mr. Dian felt the warm flow of blood soak his torso, only just noticing that he could hardly breathe, a grating feebleness overtook his regular breaths.

  Mr. Dian stared at the wooden rafters of the ceiling above, as the armed man walked to where he was lying, approaching with menacingly heavy steps, appearing within Claude’s vision. The intruder aimed the pistol at Claude, who continued to struggle, attempting to breathe with his injuries.

  “Did you think you could win this?” the man feigned with a sharp and demeaning voice, “Did you honestly think we weren’t aware of your pathetic investigation? Skulking about, looking for ways to delay the inevitable? Your empire will fall and the villainy of your government will be met with fire and blood.”

  Claude looked to his right to see his single-shot pistol had fallen on the ground. He reached over and grabbed it, simultaneously being met with the heavy boot of his attacker, now crushing his hand. He struggled to be free but had little strength left in him. He turned back to look at the man. The assailant straightened his aim and pulled the trigger.

  Chapter 1

  April 1869,

  The Next Day

  Amelia peered out at the eastern horizon, taking in the familiar sites from high atop the Imperial Palace. She leaned over the ornate stone barrier to look at the streets below, which were bathed in the shadow of the palace from the setting sun.

  To her left, the northern skyline was dominated by the gothic spires of the Canton City Hall reaching up, proudly standing next to – and rivaling – the giant gold dome of the newly constructed war museum. South of the war museum across the River G?tzerinn was the sprawling Messegel?nde, a series of large, gleaming-white marble arcades used as an exhibition center. Currently, they were preparing for the 111th annual World’s Fair, and the Messegel?nde’s massive stone concourse bustled with activity.

  Directly ahead of her, now looking east, was the Imperial Mall, a large avenue that went straight on and did not end until it met the sea miles from the heart of the capital.

  The Imperial Mall was decorated on the sidewalks of both sides with beautifully manicured elm trees and large red-white-red triband banners in every other spot, the center strip that divided the main lanes of the road were covered with flowerbeds and bushes. In the distance, the great smokestacks of the factories that powered the Imperial capital’s economy could be seen standing along the coast, finishing their day’s work as indicated by the thinning exhumations of smoke.

  To Amelia’s right was the colloquially known Cultural Forum, a collection of museums, an opera house, and the Ministry of Culture, all built in a spectacular neo-classical style, proudly proclaiming the powerful and opulent history of the Asphydyyl Empire.

  She watched the roads for some short time, noting the horse-drawn carriages and horseless steam-driven automobiles that went by.

  The well-dressed elite of the city walked merrily down the sidewalks, their path bearing faint illumination by the new electric lampposts that now competed with the twilight sun. She breathed in the cool evening air and gave a sigh of relief, savoring her freedom before her stately obligations.

  The door opened far behind her and she heard a young woman’s voice exclaim, “Happy Birthday Amelia!”

  Oenna, a petite, black-haired palace maid hurried across the wide bedroom, onto the balcony, greeting Amelia with a boorishly unrestrained hug. Oenna craned her neck, quickly kissing Amelia’s cheek. Amelia awkwardly returned the gesture, the side of her lips barely grazing Oenna’s cheek.

  “Thank you Oenna.” Amelia said with a lighthearted laugh. They departed from one another, exchanging smiles.

  “…His Majesty would like me to inform you that your guests await your company in the foyer, and he insists you wear the necklace gifted to you by General Caries.”

  Amelia noticed her husband’s appearance in the bedroom beyond the glass balcony door.

  “I’ll do that, please let him know I’ll be down in just a minute, thank you – ahem, Ms. Osmond.”

  “Certainly Madam.” Oenna said, giving a quick curtsy and a smile before turning around to leave. She paused briefly to turn back to face Amelia once more, saying, “And Happy Birthday, again.”

  Oenna spun around and quickly walked towards the bedroom’s exit, nodding to Amelia’s husband as she passed by.

  Amelia waited for Oenna to leave the bedroom before walking into the room to meet her husband Christopher, who was gallantly dressed in military garb, decorated by awards and ribbons. He stroked her slightly tousled brown hair while smiling gently.

  “Happy Birthday my love.” He said with a gentle kiss to her forehead, triggering Amelia to fall into his arms, burying her face in his chest.

  “May I just stay up here? Stay in my tower of solitude?” She said, her cry directed at no one in particular.

  “Well, you can’t very well do that, you have a party to attend, and guests to entertain. You must make sure the aristocracy feels as important as they believe themselves to be.” Christopher said sarcastically, pausing for a moment. “I’ll be there with you the whole time. It’s only for a few hours.” He said in an attempt to reassure her, however leaving little actual affect.

  “Yes, I know, but their company can just be so exasperating. Constant nonsensical drivel of their latest trite schemes and vapid gossip.” Amelia said with a sigh.

  “Four hours, that’s all, and I’ll be with you the whole time.” Christopher reiterated.

  “I suppose.”

  She lingered on Christopher shortly before letting go.

  “Alright!” Amelia exclaimed patting Christopher’s shoulder and forcing a smile, “Out with you, I need to get dressed.”

  “Yes Your Highness.” Christopher exclaimed, earning a true smile from Amelia.

  Christopher opened the large double doors allowing Amelia’s handmaidens entry.

  “Good evening sir!” One of the older handmaidens said with a hearty voice.

  “And good evening to you Mrs. Orlyn.” Christopher replied, holding open the door for the other three handmaidens that followed.

  “Good evening miss, I hope Oenna wasn’t troubling you again.” Mrs. Orlyn said.

  “Not at all, she and I are good friends, she’s welcome any time.” Amelia replied.

  “Well, that’s good to be friends and all, but she shouldn’t be making a habit out of it, especially on occasions of the state.” Mrs. Orlyn proclaimed in a stout tone. Two of the other handmaidens glanced at each other, smiling slightly, a sight Amelia just barely caught.

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  “Well then, let’s get to it!” Mrs. Orlyn said, “Are you excited?”

  Amelia chuckled slightly, “I wouldn’t say excited, nervous of course.”

  Amelia walked behind a partition to remove the loose fitting white dress she had been wearing to put on a corset set on her cabinet.

  “Oh nonsense, you’ll do fine miss.” Mrs. Orlyn returned.

  “I certainly hope so.” Amelia said with a sigh.

  She came around the partition to sit down in front of her mirror, allowing Mrs. Orlyn to begin tightening the corset as another handmaiden began gently powdering Amelia’s face, leaving the other two handmaidens to inspect her navy-blue ball gown.

  Amelia used this time to review conversation cues in her head, reminding herself of what to say and how to react, remedying appropriate small talk for the various guests she may encounter. Despite the repetition, going over it in her head only served to inflame her anxiety. Her dread increased with every minute, as well, she began to feel weighed down by the mounting pressure of putting on a show for the entire empire to witness. She knew the longer she waited the more difficult it would be to get up. She reminded herself, ‘Christopher will be at your side the entire evening, it’s just a few hours, do not worry.’

  Mrs. Orlyn finished with the corset, instructing the other handmaiden to break from her powdering to move on to fashioning Amelia’s hair into her favorite style, an intricately braded ponytail with her bangs parted down the middle.

  As her hair progressed, Mrs. Orlyn walked over to the mannequin bearing Amelia’s ball gown, dismissing the other two handmaidens who preened and inspected it. She retrieved the crinolette from it triggering the handmaidens to remove the dress and lay it out on Amelia’s bed as the other handmaiden moved from Amelia’s hair to begin applying Amelia’s blush as Amelia quickly used some of the rogue on her lips.

  “Alright ma’am, stand up now.” Mrs. Orlyn instructed.

  Amelia gave a pained smile, she had forgotten about the awkward and bulky monstrosity that would imprison her backside for the evening. Mrs. Orlyn fixed the frame around her waist as the other two girls lifted the flowing blue gown, waiting patiently for Mrs. Orlyn to finish.

  As she finished the frame, she motioned for the handmaidens to bring the dress. They delicately draped it over Amelia and her crinolette, sorting out ruffles and fixing it onto her shoulders. Amelia turned back to the mirror to see the ridiculous bell shape the lower half of her body now took on.

  “Do you think men find this attractive?” Amelia asked.

  “I think it’s more to look eloquent and pronounced dear.”

  Amelia gave a scowl, adding to her displeasure by saying, “I don’t like it.”

  “Oh hush now.” Mrs. Orlyn exclaimed with a pat of Amelia's wrist, walking over to a pile of boxes sat on a cabinet on the other side of the room. She came up behind Amelia and reached her arms over her shoulders, holding the necklace General Caries had gifted her. The necklace was large and silver, with a sapphire in its center, matching the blue color of her dress. Mrs. Orlyn draped it delicately on her chest and fastened the clip in the back.

  “Ah, look at that! You look lovely my dear.” Mrs. Orlyn proclaimed with a clap of excitement.

  Amelia smiled, “Thank you for your help.”

  “Of course love, now if you won’t be needing anything else?”

  “No, that’s quite fine, thank you.” Amelia replied quickly.

  “Of course dear, have a wonderful evening, and Happy Birthday!”

  “Thank you.” Amelia said once more as her handmaidens left the room.

  She stared back at her reflection in the mirror and took in a deep breath, pausing for a moment to ready herself. She exhaled and headed towards the door.

  Amelia exited her room, wrangling the flowing blue ball gown to meet Christopher’s attentive gaze. He kept a soft and delicate smile, one somewhat unfitting his strong face. She moved her hands to a conservative position over her waist as Christopher offered his arm to her, giving a confident smile. She returned the smile, positioning herself left of Christopher as they locked arms. They began their way down a flight of marble stairs just outside of Amelia’s room, descending into the Royal Apartment’s parlor.

  “I’ve been meaning to ask,” Christopher began, “Were you planning on attending the World’s Fair?”

  “I have to be present at the opening and closing ceremonies each day with father, if that’s what you’re asking.” Amelia replied.

  “But not on your own?”

  “No,” she replied in a disheartened tone, “Father believes it’s too dangerous, he’s convinced Elysium is preparing an attack, just the same, the World’s Fair is open to the public, he said my safety can’t be guaranteed.”

  “Why on earth would they attack us?” Christopher said with an almost mocking tone, “No offense to your father, or the cabinet for that matter, but we’ve been at peace for over fifty years. Even still, our military rivals their own; it would be foolish for them to go to war.”

  “Perhaps, but my father seems convinced. As well, he’s concerned about anarchists.”

  “Anarchists?” Christopher declared in disbelief, “Failed students of long dead and convoluted philosophers, hardly soldiers or leaders worthy of such attention.”

  They met the end of the staircase and made their way into the palace apartment’s main parlor, luxurious couches and rugs, rich dark wood tables covered in enameled gold studs and metal strips decorated the space, all accented by the warm golden glow of the newly fabricated electric lamps. They turned to the left, approaching the next flight of stairs, which ducked under the last.

  “When was the last time you attended the World’s Fair?” Christopher inquired.

  Amelia thought for a moment, replying, “I hadn’t realized, but I haven’t been to one since my first, ten years ago, can you believe that?” Amelia giggled at the realization.

  “Well, you talk so highly of the event I’m surprised you haven’t been since.”

  Amelia turned her head to face Christopher as they stopped for a moment.

  “Some memories are better left as such, untouched. The memories of after are a bit too overwhelming. Simply put, I do not want my nostalgia to be corrected.”

  “Quite.” Christopher responded as they continued to walk.

  “Are you going?” Amelia asked.

  “No.” Christopher said dismissively, “Not without you.”

  Amelia smiled softly with his comment.

  They made their way down the next set of stairs and were now faced with a hallway, at the end, an elevator stood situated in one of the large turrets of the palace’s central tower. Inside, an attendant waited patiently for their arrival. They continued their stride down the short hallway and came to the elevator, little more than an iron cage with thin decorative walls on the front and back side, leaving the westward facing wall exposed to windows to allow a view of the palace gardens.

  “Good evening Your Highness, Mr. Tragen.” The attendant said.

  “Good evening.” Amelia and Christopher replied in near unison.

  “Down to the third floor?”

  “Yes, please.” Amelia responded.

  Passing through the threshold of the elevator had caused everything to come into perspective, triggering her stomach to drop with the elevator. She straightened her stance and tightened her grip on Christopher. He looked over to Amelia with concern and reached his right hand over to hold hers, squeezing it gently and giving her a smile. The silent reassurance calmed her very little. Overall, it wasn’t so bad, not bad at all, she thought, unable to actually convince herself, however. She long held arbiter in this battle between the reason in her mind and the logic of her heart.

  The elevator descended past the tall windows that allowed for views of the Imperial Palace gardens outside, several acres of intricately curated topiary and beautifully arranged fragrant flowers. The garden’s grand monopteros stood at its extent, just before the large, square-mile Lake Fortis. It stood as a grand gloriette for the palace’s gardens, a circular, open-air structure of wide, ornate marble arches topped by a green copper roof that seemed to frame the western setting sun within, which was only minutes away from disappearing behind the horizon completely.

  The elevator shaft’s windows disappeared as the elevator began slowing, reaching the bottom of the tower, arriving at the open arched curtain hall of the Throne Room. The attendant raised the lever back into its neutral state with a click, causing the elevator to stop and bob gently at floor level. The attendant parted the grated doors to allow the couple to exit.

  The north and south walls were lined with large fluted marble pillars; the west wall was marked by three large windows of identical height, the center one beginning about midway up the wall to make room for the centerpiece of the room, the throne. Above it, a grand visage of the Asphydyyl Imperial Emblem, a solid bronze sculpture-in-relief of an eagle holding a hammer in its right hand and a sword in its left with a triband escutcheon on its chest, and a three-tiered crown that seemed to float above the head. It was impressively painted with colors that gleamed even in low light.

  The throne itself was fashioned of a large red cushioned seat resting on a marble socle; a veneer of leafed vines made of pure gold crawled up the front of the throne’s arms, the back being composed of a marble arch coddling a studded plush cushion, similarly red in color.

  The eastern wall of the Throne Room was marked by two large arches in line with the end of the two arcaded halls at the boundaries, with a much smaller archway directly in the center of the wall. The smaller archway was flanked on both sides by the red-white-red triband flag of the Asphydyyl Empire, reminding whomever could forget that you stood at the seat of the Asphydyyl Empire’s power. Orange hued light from the setting sun shone on the flags towards the ceiling, giving some faint illumination to the purposefully dimly lit room.

  Amelia and Christopher passed by the delicately lit marble pillars, once again linking arms. She felt her heartbeat increase, a strict apprehension within her body that pleaded with her to turn around, introducing itself as a wave of sickly stomach churns.

  “I’m making too much of a fuss out of this” Amelia announced, knowing the truth and trying to convince her body of such.

  “Nonsense.” Christopher replied, “You just need to relax.”

  Relax, Amelia considered. If it were so easy then perhaps she wouldn’t be in this situation. His comment left Amelia feeling somewhat dismayed. She understood that Christopher couldn’t sympathize well enough to satisfy her unvoiced pleas, but such unhelpful comments felt redundant, it was obvious that she could not relax by simple power of mind, and she wondered if Christopher could even comprehend the fear in her mind. She would welcome it, as Amelia simply couldn't study the beast.

  As they came closer to the Throne Room’s center, Amelia noticed the faint sound of chattering guests just beyond the archways, as well as the notes of a string quartet playing the year’s finest melodies, which all drifted through the space, trading their auditory prominence between one another.

  A scrawny gray-haired man—the Palace’s event coordinator—a Mr. Coulter, stood in the middle of the room. He turned away from the two palace employees he was speaking with to see Amelia and her escort standing before him.

  “Oh very lovely Your Highness, lovely indeed!” He said running up to the two, “The guests will be delighted, now please come this way, time is of the essence.”

  He broke Amelia from Christopher’s arms and ushered her over towards the small archway in the middle of the eastern wall. A vociferous cry interrupted their stride.

  “Aha! Amelia! My dear!” The Emperor’s voice echoed through the room.

  The boorish man walked over to her position, grabbing hold of her hands. His round cheeks rose with a wide smile, seeming to split his beard in half from the middle of his chin.

  The Emperor continued, quieter now, “Amelia, my love. Happy Birthday!”

  He concluded with a kiss to her cheek as Amelia embraced him.

  “Thank you Father.” she said with a gentle smile.

  “Oh, and I see you’re wearing General Caries’ gift. It will mean so much to him that you wore it.”

  “Yes, of course. I, um – ”

  Mr. Coulter cut Amelia’s speech short, “Excuse me Your Majesty,” he said in an obnoxiously anxious tone, “We really must get going if we are to stay on schedule.”

  “Yes, of course. We’ll continue this later.” Amelia’s father gave her a gentle pat and walked away with a quick pace.

  “Now, Your Highness, if you’ll follow me…” Mr. Coulter insisted.

  Mr. Coulter continued his path towards the archway in the center of the eastern wall ahead. The room beyond the ornamental archway was glowing with light, wrapped by a gallery just beyond, contrasting against the dimly lit walls of the Throne Room. She followed the barely detectable purple carpet down towards the balcony.

  Mr. Coulter stopped her, only feet away from the arch.

  “Just right here madam, and walk up to the balcony when your name is presented.” Mr. Coulter instructed.

  Amelia gave a nod of recognition. She watched Mr. Coulter run up to a well-dressed man standing at the precipice of the center archway, muttering something before, then, quickly dashing to the left and out of the throne room. Amelia turned around briefly to look at Christopher, her eyes begging for help, to which he responded by giving her a comforting smile. She returned her gaze to the archway to notice the music had stopped.

  The man at the archway went forward onto the balcony, clearing his throat and with a booming voice announced, “Ladies and gentleman! May I have your attention please; I have the pleasure to introduce to you, on her nineteenth birthday, Princess Amelia Tragen!”

  Amelia took the cues from the servants surrounding her and rushed up to the small balcony. Her entrance into the space was met with reserved applause. Shortly thereafter, the room fell silent; with her heart beating rapidly, she broke her silence, saying, “Thank you, to everyone who has come tonight. Your company is greatly appreciated.”

  She paused briefly, scanning her attendees’ dignified expressions, almost all of them keeping unaffected faces, expecting more from the princess, she assumed.

  She continued, “I’m afraid I don’t have much else to say, so let us get on to the merriment!”

  Amelia’s brief speech was met with a few sincere laughs and further dignified clapping. She turned away from the balcony and back onto the carpet leading out of the throne room, once again linking her arm with Christopher’s, confident that they wouldn’t be separated again. They followed behind Amelia’s father, towards the right-hand archway exiting the Throne Room. By this time the chattering and quartet had picked back up.

  “Do you see my love? You did fine, short speeches work, I’m sure your guests don’t want to hear ten minutes of trivial twaddle anyways.” Christopher noted.

  “I know, I just feel ridiculous for worrying so much. And to be so quick, though humorous, seems unbecoming.” Amelia replied.

  “You shouldn’t worry, it’s normal to be anxious, especially when your birthday celebration is being attended by several hundred people you don’t know... So it's better then, to be yourself, no? So they do know you, and they can see how great you are.”

  Amelia chuckled nervously.

  She looked up as they were passing below a pillar, half of it seemed to be cut away, hanging from the ceiling, leaving jagged edges and a rough finish in its exposed cross section.

  The architect of the palace believed it would represent power, to have a destroyed column, below it the purple carpet of the Throne Room representing the ‘emperor’s path’. However striking it might be to visitors, Amelia couldn’t help but think it was extremely narcissistic, an indulgent acclaim for simply existing and a peculiar piece of art at that.

  The entry into the foyer was allowed by a grand a curving staircase. The room was filled with men and women from the higher ranks of society, ministers and foreign dignitaries, generals and aristocrats, bankers, industrial moguls, and a few famous artists and authors, each one vying for a chance to shake hands with the princess. They arrived at the base of the stairs to meet with her father who was met almost immediately by the chairman of the Suttherd Banking Company.

  “Sir – ah, I mean; Your Majesty,” The nervous looking fellow said, reaching his arm out to shake the Emperor’s hand.

  Amelia’s father recoiled slightly, his stern face forcing a respectful smile “A pleasure, mister?”

  “Oh, yes, of course.” The man responded, obviously slightly embarrassed. “Bertram Suttherd, Your Majesty.”

  Christopher pulled Amelia off to the side, amongst a crowd too busy talking to notice them.

  “Better stay away from him.” Christopher advised.

  “Suttherd, that’s your brother’s main competitor, right?”

  Christopher hesitantly nodded, replying with, “Yes, and if I knew the slimy bastard would be here I don’t think I would have come, I’d rather not be bothered with my brother’s affairs.”

  Amelia sneered at his sarcasm, “Is that so? Well then, fortunately for you there’s still time to change your mind, we’ve only just arrived.”

  “I’m only joking.” Christopher replied, laughing with Amelia.

  "Still," Christopher continued, "The absolute gall to attend your birthday party, only with the intention to worm his way into the empire's pockets? I'd be in the right mind to-"

  “Miss Tragen.” A firm and feminine voice interrupted them.

  Amelia turned to see a curly haired, olive-skinned woman standing before them. She was wearing a suede leather coat, dirtied work boots, and baggy trousers. Her sharp, angular face expressed an air of power, complimented by her piercing dark brown eyes and her high-arched eyebrows.

  “Excuse me, Your Highness, I don’t mean to interrupt. My name is Bernyce Allencía, I’m a reporter for the Canton Free Press Association, and if you have a minute I’d love to ask you a few questions.”

  She spoke with a slight accent, certainly from the Elysium Empire, but not one explicit enough that Amelia could recognize. It stood there, incognito, awkwardly enough to be apparent, but not so apparent as to deserve any sort of commentary.

  Several palace guards spearheaded by Mr. Coulter shuffled their way through the crowds to Amelia’s, and now Bernyce’s, position.

  “That woman! Her, right there!” Mr. Coulter pointed at the reporter as the palace guards approached menacingly.

  “What’s going on?” Amelia demanded with expressed concern, reaching her hand out to shield Bernyce, if only by a matter of display.

  “Excuse me Your Highness, but this woman entered the palace uninvited and against the behest of our security personnel, she must be removed, she is a disruption!”

  “The only disruption I see is you, sir." Amelia said with a dismissive laugh, "She simply wants to ask me a few questions. I can allot time for that.” Amelia glanced over to the guards surrounding her, “Thank you, you’re dismissed.”

  The guards delayed slightly, looking to each other for guidance before stiffening their stance as a show of respect and leaving. Mr. Coulter approached Amelia, leaning in closely, beginning softly with, “Your Highness…I urge you not to let this, this vandal, extort you! Her paper is a rag! They have made several slights against the empire and against your family!”

  Amelia replied, her tone unapologetic, “I am more than capable of handling my own affairs Mr. Coulter, thank you for your suggestion, but I will allow her to ask me a few questions.”

  The event coordinator straightened his coat, bowing ever so slightly before excusing himself without a further word said.

  Bernyce looked back to Amelia, a sincere smile on her face, “Thank you for that, I promise I won’t be a problem. Like I said, I just want to ask you a few questions.”

  “That’s quite alright, however, as much as I’d love to…depart, from this occasion to be interviewed by you, I have a schedule to keep and a duty to entertain my guests. Could we, perhaps meet later? At this same spot in three hours’ time?”

  Bernyce forced a smile, “Fantastic. Thank you Miss Tragen.”

  Bernyce excused herself.

  Amelia waited for her to leave earshot. She turned to Christopher and said, “Well…She was quite uncouth.”

  “Mm.” Christopher nodded in agreement, “Be careful what you say to her.”

  “I’ll watch myself.”