Sir Cyril and his companions approached the western gates of High Seat, their swords sheathed beneath their cloaks. Despite being armed, they were granted entry to the city with surprising ease, their noble attire and graceful horses marking them as men of distinction. The guards waved them through without a glance, hardly even noting their passage.


    The bright sun hung high in the sky as the men approached the more imposing gates of the palace. With a practiced authority, Sir Cyril stepped forward, his chest puffed out in an air of self-importance, nose in the air, and his gaze fixed upon the sentinel guarding the entrance.


    "You there," the knight demanded with a note of command. "Is the Prince Regent present within and holding court?"


    The guard sneered as he responded, "What is it to you?"


    Young Sir Cyril furrowed his brow. "Is that how you address your superiors? I am Sir Cyril Herl, a knight of Prashia and the Realm, on official business. I should have you flogged for your insolence." The men with Cyril put hands to hilts in a menacing gesture.


    It was all a carefully woven tapestry of bluster and half-truths, but coupled with his men''s show of bravado, it had the intended effect. The one grain of truth in his words, matched with the air of unquestionable authority, deflated the guard''s arrogance. Once filled with disdain, his eyes softened as he took in the men''s opulent attire and rich steeds.


    "I am sorry, Sir Knight, I meant no disrespect," he mumbled the apology. "We don''t usually have foreign knights arriving and making such demands. Please, wait here, and I will fetch the Steward. He will escort you to the Regent''s presence."


    In a short time, the Steward arrived, a figure of authority gliding across the palace grounds. The men gave their horses into the care of the stable hands and followed in his wake once they''d introduced themselves and were deemed significant enough to warrant the Steward''s time. He led them into the palace through some lower halls and directly to the throne room.


    They noted the scene as they entered the grand room, a spectacle of opulence and intrigue. The Prince Regent, a King in all but name, sat upon the throne as he presided over a gathering of lords and courtiers. The crowd milled about the room, faces etched with varying degrees of deference and ambition.


    The Regent''s eyes scanned the room with the arrival of these new guests. The Steward approached Kasiam and talked low, for his ears alone, before retreating to the room''s rear. Then Kasiam beckoned the group forward with a regal gesture. "Sir Herl, what brings you to our court this day?" His voice was a velvet caress, a masterclass in diplomacy.


    Cyril''s heart pounded beneath his finery. He knelt before the Regent, and his retinue followed suit before Kasiam waved them to their feet. "Highness," he began, his voice filled with respect. "I have come at the request of the elder Lord Herl to inquire about the whereabouts of his son and Heir, Lord Matthew. He has not been heard from in some time, and his father grows worried."


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    Kasiam''s response, though laced with sympathy, held a note of coldness that sent a chill down Cyril''s spine. "I am sorry to inform you, Sir, but I fear we have no information as to the location of Lord Matthew. He has been absent from court for a while now. It is a perplexing absence given the urgent matters we''ve been discussing of late. I can, however, assure you that my men have been searching for him within the city and lands nearby in the hopes of finding him hale and whole. There has, alas, been no sign of him."


    Kasiam''s deception left a sour taste in Sir Cyril''s mouth. He was a cunning devil; this would be King. He masked his frustration at the lies with a veneer of civility, his poise and control a tribute to his training. The truth of the matter was a glaring contradiction to the Regent''s feigned ignorance. It galled him that Kasiam would lie so readily. They shared a secret, though only one of them knew it.


    "May I trouble your Highness that we may stay a few days within the palace while we conduct our own inquiries?" Cyril requested, his voice steady despite his inner turmoil at the other''s hubris. "It would be unacceptable to return to Prashia without news of our Lord''s son."


    Kasiam was a master of political intrigue, with a fa?ade honed by years of courtly machinations. He granted the request with a calculated show of generosity. "Certainly," he replied, his voice a honeyed balm. "My Steward shall arrange suitable accommodations for you and your men. Should you require anything more, please ask. I offer you the full use of my network to ease your task."


    Cyril bowed with a carefully crafted show of gratitude. "I thank you, Your Highness. If you have news of Lord Herl''s whereabouts before we do, I only ask you to share it with me. Your generosity is greatly appreciated, and I will personally convey your devotion to our search for his son to Lord Herl."


    Kasiam nodded, a dismissal veiled in courtesy. "Consider it done, Sir. And I may add, we have been rather curious about Lord Matthew''s absence. Should you discover anything, please return the courtesy." With that, the Steward stepped forward, his presence the final signal that the audience was over.


    The Steward was a silent guide through the labyrinthine halls of the palace. He brought them to a guest suite, its proximity to the royal apartments a grim reminder of their mission. With his duty fulfilled, the man left them there after declaring he would have refreshment and wash water brought to them. They settled into the unfamiliar surroundings, hearts filled with anticipation as if a spirit watched, lingering within the very walls.


    Cyril gave a low growl, thick with anger. "The sly bastard," he hissed the venomous curse. He knows exactly what happened to Lord Matthew and why he is not at court. Kasiam plays the innocent, hoping to avoid confrontation with the Prashian lords."


    One of his men interjected in a hushed whisper, "I suggest we not talk of it within the palace, even behind closed doors. We have no guarantee of privacy. Kasiam may have spies to listen in."


    Cyril nodded, his anger monetarily subdued. "You''re right, I''ll curb my tongue."


    The group busied themselves with the appearance of settling in for a prolonged stay. The promised refreshments arrived shortly after that, a welcome respite from the tension they all felt. To Cryil''s great relief, Theilar delivered the food and drink, an emissary with a message of hope. Without speaking, Cyril nodded to the servant, acknowledging their shared purpose. As Theilar placed the trays on the table, moving them from an extravagant serving cart, his gaze met Cyrils in a silent exchange that spoke volumes.


    Theilar left them then, a silent specter. Beneath the lid of the tray, Sir Cyril found a small, hastily drawn map. It revealed the path to success. The Queen''s Tower prison and the hidden access for their escape into the tunnels were marked, a path to deliverance. Thus far, the plan was unfolding as intended. The delicate dance of their subterfuge must continue until the small hours of the morning. Then they would strike, hearts ablaze with determination to liberate their Queen and her son.