Princess Emma Altendorf of the Holy Kingdom of Réaltimar sat in the Grenesarri Chamber of the Council which was serving as a temporary House of Lords for the Réaltimarines. She was drowning in a raging sea of boredom as all of the lords who accompanied her brother, High King Peter, to the Caraíbes Isles as the local population called it. The five Prince-Electors who had accompanied the High King to the gods-forsaken land all had different ideas of where to strike next. Emma knew it was useless, for her brother had most likely already decided which island-nation they would invade.

She was only here for a formality anyway; the Princess of the Holy Kingdom held no power. No women were allowed to hold power. The wives of the Prince-Electors were there for the same reason as her: symbolism.

Emma sat on a raised platform next to her brother. Out in front of them, the many rows of seats formed a semi-circle around the raised platform. The walls of the Chamber were bland and nothing like the colors of the House of Lords back at home.

Her brother heard what the Prince-Electors were saying but he did not listen. The High King was a dangerous man, for he was unpredictable and willing to do anything to cement his position. He was a young lion who had just inherited the pride, but the other males had begun snapping at his paws, vying for power. Perhaps a better description for the Prince-Electors would be like sharks circling sinking ship.

Suddenly, a messenger arrived in the middle of Prince-Elector Stefan's rant about how the next obvious step would be to bypass Barbaruda and strike at Sersalvon. The messenger quickly apologized to the Prince-Elector and whispered something in Peter's ear. Peter whispered back to the messenger and waved him off.

The rest of the meeting went by at a snail's pace. When the Prince-Elector's finally finished their long speeches, the High King dismissed everyone and immediately stood up and swiftly left the Chamber. Emma picked up her long skirt and quickly followed him. Just as she was about to follow her brother into a secluded room, the Lord High Steward stopped her.

"Princess," Lord Elias said, his face was one of compassion.

But Emma wouldn't take his pity. Not again. "Please, Elias. Please."

"Princess, you don't even know whom the High King is meeting."

"Lord Elias," Emma said firmly, "as Princess Emma Altendorf of the High Throne of Réaltimar, I demand you let me through."

The kind man's face crinkled up in what seemed to be pain. "As you wish, Princess." And he let her through.

Her brother glanced at her in surprise when she walked through the door. His expression quickly transformed into one of anger, but he managed to cover it up. The guests were two men, one of them with skin paler than most Carabaí-folk who towered over his companion and most everyone in the room. The other was olive-skinned young man, maybe even a boy, with dark brown―almost black―hair. The tall man wore a gold doublet while his companion wore black leather brigandine armor.

"You stand before His Majesty, Peter Altendorf, the Third of His Name, of the Holy Kingdom of Réaltimar!" The herald waited for the two men to bow.

Neither did.

Flustered, the herald's eyes darted around the room. He cleared his throat pointedly.

The two guests did nothing.

His patience worn thin, her brother spoke: "It is custom for those who stand before the High King to bow." His voice was edged with anger.

The young man mumbled something in his native tongue.

Peter's crystal blue eyes narrowed and flashed with lightning. "What was that?"

Uncowed, the young man met Peter's gaze and said in his flowing version of Evrúopling, "You are not my king."

One of the members of Peter's High Guard―Jonatan was his name, Emma remembered―stepped forward. "Your Majesty!" he cried, "The infidel insults you!"

"I see that," Peter replied calmly.

"My companion meant no insult," the tall man assured. "He can be. . . brash at times. But let us cut to the chase, Majesty, we are here to offer you our services."

"I have plenty of mistresses," Peter quipped.

"We're mercenaries, Your Most Gracious And Excellent Majesty," the dark-haired boy said, his voice laced with mockery. "I understand that young man who just spoke has most likely more than satisfied your needs for a mistress."

Jonatan didn't catch on at first, but when he did his eyes blazed. He tore his gauntlet off and threw it to the ground before holding his spear in an aggressive position. Peter just stepped back and watched.

The dark-haired boy recognized the action as a challenge and drew his sword. Emma thought she felt perhaps a shred of pity for the young Carabaí man; the High Guard were some of the best fighters in the Holy Kingdom. Even if Jonatan was young and slightly inexperienced, he was deadly.

And then, the dark-haired boy moved.

His movements were nothing short of blur; Jonatan fell to the ground in a fraction of second and was quickly surrounded by an ever growing pool of blood.

This boy had dispatched a member of the High Guard as if he were nothing.

Emma noticed a small smile form on the face of the tall man as he said to Peter, "I am Sir Gerard Elwyn, the Freelancer Knight. This is my companion, Salvador Castellano. We are the leaders of the Seeker Company."

Emma glanced at Peter, expecting him to be on the verge of exploding. Surprisingly, she saw that his anger had subsided and a look of satisfaction was on his face instead. "How many men do you have with you?"

"Thirty men, Your Majesty. But that is not all of our numbers. We command over five hundred mercenaries that, granting we come to an agreement, will be entirely at your disposal."

Peter nodded. "Fantastic. But for now, let my servants tend to you with a warm bath and fresh clothes. After that, we can discuss our terms."

"Thank you, Majesty," Salvador said, "but we tend to ourselves."

Peter smiled and ordered some servants to show the two men to their rooms. Emma watched as Salvador Castellano calmly stepped over the dead body of Jonatan. . . but she thought she saw him give it a little kick.

***

Salvador saw the Réaltimarine sigil everywhere in the Hibiscus Keep. A gold peryton emblazoned upon a forest green field. It was as if the Réaltimarines had done their best to erase any signs of the keep's former occupants. And they'd done their job well.

Salvador's stomach churned at the sight of every pale-skinned Réaltimarine they passed. But he also felt sick at the amount of Grenesarri slaves he saw. It seemed every important Réaltimarine noble person owned at least five Grenesarri slaves he saw. Multiple times he had tried to speak with one of the slaves in Carabaí but they had either not responded or had asked him not to speak to them but in the Merchant Tongue.

Captain Tomas accompanied after their meeting with the High King. Gerard had decided that they would all share one room just for extra safety. After all, they did not know the rules of this foreign world. It had been two days since they had arrived, days they had been given to rest. Now, the High King invited them to his royal court. It was held in the Grenesarri Council Chamber, or as the Réaltimarines liked to call it, the House of Lords. Salvador decided to wear his black leather brigandine armor and a dark cloak. Gerard decided to go after the "white knight" look by wearing light-colored clothes and wearing his a doublet with his sigil, the Freelancer sigil on his breast.

"Remember to be cautious," Gerard said in their native tongue as the found the guest seats of the Chamber.

"Especially you, Salvador," Captain Tomas said. "The Réaltimarines are a bunch of eels."

Salvador rolled his eyes. "Yes, mother."

Gerard gave him a sharp look. "Salvador."

Salvador waved him off. "The Réaltimarines think us nothing more than lambs. Let's show them the serpents inside of us."

Astonishingly, Tomas smiled at that. "Wise words, Salvador. Wise words."

Suddenly, Gerard shushed them. Surprised, Salvador glanced at him.

"Look around" the Freelancer knight whispered.

Salvador discreetly looked behind them and saw the Réaltimarines whispering and staring at the trio. They must've heard the three of them speaking in their native tongue.

The herald announced the entrance of the High King, Princess Emma, Lord Elias and a dozen other members of the royal retinue. The High King was a young man but he was a commanding figure. At least, he appeared to be. Salvador had enough experience with rulers to know that with one this young, there were usually multiple factions of nobles fighting in the shadows over influence over him. The Lord High Steward was the right hand of the High King, but Salvador had no doubt that there were many others who held the young king's ear.

The court started off with a prayer to their foreign gods. The gods of the Star, as they called them. Salvador quite nearly snorted. One man, a something like a bishop or a priest, lead everyone in the prayer. The Réaltimarines made some sort of odd symbol over their hearts and bowed their heads in prayer. The nobles who saw that the Sersalvonians did not follow in suit glanced at them with disgust on their faces. So Salvador decided to go down to one knee in traditional Angelic prayer and made the Sign of Iusphiel over his heart.

Oh Great and Holy Iusphiel, he prayed, grant me the strength to deal these men retribution for what they have done.

Some of Evrúopean nobles gasped when they saw Salvador make the Angelic Signs over his heart. Salvador felt a smile make its way onto his face. He felt Tomas tug on his cloak in an effort to get him to stand up. Salvador relented.

"What happened with caution?" the captain hissed. All former signs of friendliness gone from his face. "Do you wish to endanger our mission?"

"And here I was thinking you were starting to like me again."

Tomas was about to snarl something back when Gerard interjected with, "Not now!"

Tomas glared at Salvador who smiled back.

Once the prayer was finished, the High King began the incredibly dull process of solving the minor disputes of nobles and merchants alike. Salvador glanced at Princess Emma and saw that the young lady had been staring at him. He wondered if that fellow he killed two days ago had been her friend. Wouldn't be so awful if it was.

Salvador was about to doze off when he heard portly noble with graying copper hair and a smooth face say, "The first shipments of sugar, rice, and cocoa beans have reached Evrúopa, Majesty. The numbers are astounding! It seems the West Evrúopean countries cannot get enough! If we can increase our efforts and continue to ship this item, we will make more than enough profit to sustain a professional army in the Caraíbes Isles for an extended period of time.

"If this puny island has enough land to give us the numbers we have just received, imagine the others! Barbaruda, Sersalvon, the Valencian Archipelago! The entire Caraíbes is an ideal ground for the growing of tobacco, sugar, cocoa beans, rice, corn and so many other exotic foods! With these products, the merchant republics of Nyove Royne will no longer hold a monopoly over the global market. Réaltimar shall surpass them, and all at very little cost!"

Salvador felt his eyes widen. The Réaltimarines were using the Caraíbes' constant good climate and abundance of 'exotic' crops to fund the Réaltimarine war effort.

The High King smiled. "And that's why you are Lord High Treasurer, Emmerich."

Salvador narrowed his eyes and made a mental note of the Lord High Treasurer. That was a man who needed to be watched.

Salvador stayed alert for the rest of the court but nothing interesting happened. After the court ended, the High King called the trio to meet with him in private. They were led to the throne hall of the Hibiscus Keep. Where once the beautiful flowers that were the sigil of the Grenesarri royal family hung, the mighty peryton of Réaltimar coat-of-arms. Although generally light colors, the green and gold of Réaltimar brought a sense of foreboding upon Salvador.

The High King sat upon the throne which not too long ago, the King of Grenaserrat once sat. Not for the first time, Salvador wondered what had happened to the man.

Who was he kidding? He had no doubt met a grisly demise. And so had his daughter, the Crown Princess of Grenaserrat.

In the throne hall, a large cage stood to the side of the Grenesarri throne. In that cage, a nightwolf stalked back and forth. Nightwolves were majestic creatures, with coats of all black or dark gray and bright violet eyes that paralyzed its prey. The creatures stalked the undergrowth of the Carabaí rainforests at night and were regarded as some of the most fearsome creatures in all of the Caraíbes Isles. These wolves were infamously silent and were claimed to be able to stalk silently even whilst on a pile of pins.

Why in the Angel King's name did the High King have one in a cage. Better question: how? The nightwolf was all but forgotten when he saw a woman in chains at the feet of the High King.

It was Crown Princess Lana.

Salvador's eyes widened but he forced them back to their normal state. He heard Gerard suck in a breath at the sight of the princess. She had been forced to become a servant to the conqueror's of her homeland. But why would the Réaltimarines let the heir to the throne of Grenaserrat live? Then Salvador remembered: in Evrúopean culture, the females of a line did not inherit.

Salvador snuck a glance at the faces of Gerard and Tomas. He saw on their faces that they had come to the same conclusion. This was a game-changer.

The High King seemed to ignore both the princess in the room when he said, "It's a majestic thing, isn't it? The nightwolf. I've never seen anything quite like it. There are only stories back at home."

Home. It was so strange for Salvador to remember that these people who stood before him came from a land that was hundreds―no, thousands of leagues away.

"It is commonplace here in the Caraíbes," Salvador said.

The High King seemed to wait for something. Salvador waited with him. Finally, the High King said, "You're supposed to say, Your Majesty,"

Captain Tomas gave Salvador a warning with his eyes. Gerard followed suit.

Salvador ignored them both. "You're not my king."

Gerard audibly sighed.

The High King gave him a tight-lipped smile. "Well, you're a feisty one," he said through his teeth.

Salvador fought off the urge to shrug.

High King Peter turned his gaze towards Gerard. "Now. . ." he said, "Let's begin to discuss our terms."