Count Horvix's estate sat just off the main boulevard to the central plaza, set back from the capital's noise by tall iron gates and a run of manicured gardens. From the street it wasn't gaudy like the palaces of dukes or princes—or like the homes of those few nobles allowed their own estates within the royal capital. Not many were, and fewer deserved it. Commoners—lucky ones with the coin to fight the competitive market—might secure a humble house somewhere in the Black Circle; the richest of them sometimes clawed their way into the Golden Circle, as if only the best of the Black and White Circle could slip into gold.
The façade was pale stone, three stories high, its tall windows framed in dark wood. Ivy climbed one wing, reaching toward a roof where sharp spires caught the morning light. Guards in polished armor watched the gate, halberds crossing whenever commoners lingered too long at the fence. Carriages came and went, wheels crunching over gravel raked smooth at dawn.
