Night fell gently upon the land of Scamender, wrapping Duke Diego's grand castle in a thin, chilly mist. But unlike most nights, the great hall of the main house was not silent—it buzzed with hushed conversations and hurried footsteps of servants preparing for an important gathering.
Duke Elderan, Diego's father, with sharp features and a voice as low as an owl's, sat in his high seat. Around him, several nobles from the western and northern lands had already arrived. Their faces were stiff, their voices no more than whispers laced with calculation.
"His Majesty Darius no longer holds power," murmured an old noble. "And the boy—for reasons beyond me—brought his personal servant to the sacred pilgrimage."
"He disgraces tradition," another replied. "He should have brought a future queen, or a high advisor. Instead, he chose a lowly girl? What is he thinking?"
