...

The snow never seemed to end in Eistoria. The carriage wheels crunched over the frost as it came to a halt before the gates of the palace. Guards stepped aside, and the doors opened to reveal a man that you did not recognize, it was not Stephanus.

He stood in crimson and white, draped in layers of fur and fabric, a striking figure against the blinding snow. His pale skin almost glowed under the grey sky, and his piercing blue eyes regarded you with a sharp, unreadable expression. He bowed only slightly, just enough to be proper.

“Welcome to Eistoria.” he said, his voice even, controlled, and distant. “I am Prince Avon, second son of this house. My brother, His Majesty, regrets he cannot greet you himself. Until your affairs are concluded, I have been… tasked with your guidance and needs.”

There was no warmth in his tone, though it wasn’t cruel either. Simply formal, detached — as though he wanted to just get this over with. His gaze lingered a little too long, as if measuring, calculating. Then, without waiting for approval, he turned and began walking into the palace halls, his heavy cape trailing across the marble.

"Eistoria is a cold land..” he continued. “My brother has prepared chambers for you, though I cannot vouch for their quality. If you require anything, speak to me directly, not to the court. The nobles here are... less than qualified. Just like their King.” His words were blunt, carrying a sharp honesty, almost like a warning.

He paused at the doors of your guest chambers, holding them open. The cold wind hissed faintly through the corridors.

“You will find that not everything here is as it seems. If you are wise.. you will tread carefully. Especially with my brother.”