After drone Niklas Loga is banished from his all-male, militant clan for blasphemy, he finds himself thrown into the land of his enemies.
Trapped in a land where propriety and refinement are valued above valor and obedience, he stumbles into making...
Trinefore Keep was Relgar's biggest history book. Built before Paramount Strock Ward united the Relrin Vors into a single Gar, the Wards built the inner walls and great hall's architecture to accommodate an outdated ideal of security. Constructed of hewn stone, mortar, and thick lumber beams, the inner walls still had rusted housings that told of archaic siege engines.
The history book changed when the Calviden Tribe eventually seized Relgar's presiding seat and established Relgar as one of the great nations. After the Calvidens cemented their reign, they erected additional towers and outer walls more conducive to contemporary times. Compact yellow brick and mounted cannons made it a fortress. With the passage of generations without enemies approaching the walls, the keep evolved yet again. The Calvidens reoutfitted the fort with fine woodwork and polished glass, making it a luxurious palace.
Paramount Stuart stood in the dim Prime Hall with his back to the stone wall. He wore a loose grey shirt and a muted crimson doublet. He always sported crimson. He wore no weapons, Stuart was incapable of using a sword, yet no one thought less of him for it. Everyone present knew he kept his greatest weapon curled behind his teeth. They were far warier of his words than they would have been of a pistol. Undoubtedly, his tongue had slain more people than every shrye sword in all Relgar. Today, more would die because of it.
Next to Stuart, Demi-Paramount Votrig Durwin shot him sidelong glances. The shorter man looked anything but dangerous, even with a dirk buckled to his belt. Unlanded, Demi-Paramount Durwin was a master at administration and a vital tool in today's play.
Paramount Stuart gave Durwin a subtle nod of encouragement, and Durwin's eye returned to the prime table.
The Prime Hall was the heart of the oldest version of Trinefore Keep. Usually, it was a lively place where paramounts and esteemed guests mingled, enjoying free-flowing drinks and entertainment. Today, it was unrecognizable, without music, comics, jugglers, servants, or guards. The castle staff had not lit a single torch. Instead, the only light came from a pair of dim lanterns placed along the long oak table.
The twelve prime-paramounts sat motionless at the table, their jaws tight with apprehension. None seemed willing to break the silence and start the inevitable meeting.
Paramount Stuart himself didn't have a seat at the table, but that didn't matter. After years of his whispered secrets and hushed councils, each careful word cutting away and shaping this moment like a sculptor's chisel. Finally, the time was right. This was not a time for revelry. It was a day to control history.
A few of the royals stole glances at Paramount Stuart. He met them with his twinkling eyes, which assured them that they were in the right place.
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"Well," the aged Paramount Presìdent Calviden croaked, "Leoshawn is gone."
Paramount Presìdent Calviden wasn't a pleasant man to behold or hear. Bald, bent-backed, and covered with liver spots, his voice spilled out like tearing paper. Yet, no one so much as blinked. Every eye remained locked onto their ruler.
