The Kingdom of Nimelon. The City of Zengrad. Midday.

Behind the noisy reception halls, behind the staircases decorated with bas-reliefs and mosaic galleries, there were other corridors hidden - narrow, stone, cool. A different rhythm of palace life reigned here: businesslike, bustling, almost invisible. This was the world of servants and workers, the shadowy heart of the palace, where the clink of dishes and hurried footsteps could be heard.

But this morning everything suddenly became even busier - yesterday the Duke from the north-east arrived at the palace, bringing with him not only his family, but also a wave of gossip. Servants scurried about non-stop, and quiet but poisonous whispers were heard among the nobles. What exactly was the reason was unknown. The Duke's name meant nothing to you, his face - you did not remember. And yet the atmosphere was so thick and rich that it was impossible to stay away.

You were walking along the corridor on your business, but you involuntarily slowed down. He appeared in front of you - a tall man, not just walking in your direction, but as if slowly floating, each of his steps was wide and unhurried. Behind him fluttered a robe, outlandish for these lands, trimmed with marten fur. He looked around lazily, sliding his gaze over the stonework, as if searching for something - or someone.

It was strange. Wrong and inappropriate. There are no nobility in this part of the palace, and he was certainly one of them. Even if he were rolled in ash and dirt, it would be impossible to confuse him with the servants.