The Sultan stood on the veranda of the viewing-room, gazing out over the bustling city of Baradon. In spite of everything going on, people still needed to live their lives.

  His heart ached like a sore tooth, surging with fresh waves of pain every time he looked over at the empty place where Fortney used to stand.

  Had he done the right thing? Would his precious rose be safe in a foreign land? His mind ran along well-worn grooves, like a sighthound pacing in a small kennel. Would they treat her properly? They must. Even the ignorant men of the west had a monarchy; they would recognize the importance of a princess.

  And wherever she was now was certainly safer than here.

  The Sultan frowned. Baradon was growing restless. There was a held breath in the city, an expectant air. Something was coming.

  A respectful scratch sounded at the door.

  "Come," the Sultan said.

  The door opened, and Kadir hobbled in.

  "Ah, Kadir," the Sultan said. "Join me."

  Kadir made his way over the the Sultan on the veranda. His movements were slow and deliberate.

  "How is your healing?" the Sultan asked.

  "It goes well," Kadir said. "The poison is finally working its way out. I am training my body in the aftermath. Before long, I hope to return to full strength."

  "That is good to hear. Your recovery waters my heart with hope for our land." The Sultan cut his eyes over. "And your mind? How heals that?"

  Kadir frowned and was silent for a while.

  "That is a question for others," he said. "My mind feels aright to me, but others tell me that I still have... lapses." He bowed. "I hope to heal soon, to return to my place in the palace and serve Namar?n."

  The Sultan turned to Kadir.

  "Warrior Kadir, you taught my daughter the ways of fighting that saved her life from the hashashim. You will always have a place in the palace, no matter what."

  "The Sultan honors me," Kadir said, bowing again. "And I will honor the Sultan and the Shazedah."

  The Sultan smiled.

  "I know you will."

  They looked out over the city. The bustle had quieted, and the streets were clear.

  "Strange," the Sultan muttered. "Where has everybody gone?"

  The thudding sounds of marching reached the veranda. Around the corner came a group of ?ābu-bara, spear-carrying soldiers. They marched in tight ranks. Their conical bronze helmets were pulled low, hooding their eyes.

  The group of men turned and began marching toward the palace.

  "What is this?" the Sultan growled, bristling. "Why do troops come to the palace? Kadir, rally the palace guards and contact the--"

  He turned to address the old soldier, but Kadir was already marching out of the room, yelling for message-carriers.

  Lorenda Cavendish floated gracefully across the grounds of the Solinor Experimental Co-Educational Polytechnic, taking pleasure in the well-ordered life she had here. Rain was frequent in Solinor, but now, in the spring, the clouds were high and white, and birds sang freely as they flitted in the fitful breeze.

  The grounds of the Polytechnic were meticulously maintained, lawns trimmed and gardens harvested just so. Stolid, bulky buildings--the hallmark of Ardenian architecture--were carefully arranged and spread out to exhibit the majesty of Arden. Every topiary was well-shaped and everything was clean and orderly.

  It was nearly enough to make Lorenda smile. But unprovoked displays of emotion were crass.

  She was trailed by her three friends. Which girls were here friends changed regularly, but there were always exactly three. Enough to be a proper retinue, but not enough to crowd her or draw attention away from her. Any girls that were too pretty, or too chatty, or annoyed her for whatever reason were summarily ejected from the group.

  Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  There were always fresh faces willing to join her. Lorenda was, after all, daughter of the head of the Guild of Vintners, and heiress to one of the largest vineyards in the country.

  Her current crew had been with her for months, now. They were good supporters, and appropriately respectful to Lorenda and her station.

  Lorenda allowed herself a discreet sigh of satisfaction. All was well.

  Then a blot appeared in her perfect picture. Her delicate rosebud lips pursed.

  Milloria Sinclair was wandering across the campus.

  It really was intolerable. The girl--for she was certainly in no danger of being mistaken as a Lady--had messy, stringy brown hair, green eyes, and a permanently vacant, distracted expression. Her face was round with baby fat, and body had a peasant's thickness. Her dresses were simple, perpetually rumpled, and often stained. Her hands were always dirty, like a laborer's, and she simply stomped around as she walked, paying no attention whatsoever to carrying herself gracefully.

  What's more, she insisted on wearing comically large, round, wireframe spectacles. Lorenda might credit her for not realizing how ridiculous they made her look, but she knew that the Polytechnic had mirrors. It made her ridiculous appearance all the more galling, since the fool couldn't even be bothered to check her reflection from time to time.

  Lorenda forced the sneer off her face. There were gardeners to keep the plants trim and custodians to keep the halls clean, but there was no one to keep the undesirables out.

  Well. Lorenda would simply have to take on that role herself. The Polytechnic was going downhill fast, and she needed take a hand.

  She fixed her eyes on Milloria. The rest of the girls, sensing Lorenda's shifting mood, tittered.

  The stupid girl was stomping along outside one of the buildings near an ornamental pond. Her arms were full of books and her eyes were fixed on the sky as she muttered to herself. Lorenda floated gracefully up beside her. Her three compatriots bounced along in her wake, like balloons being towed behind a rowboat.

  Milloria's attention was focused inward so sharply that she didn't even realize when Lorenda came up beside her.

  With a sudden shift, Milloria's armload of books tilted out of her grasp. She gasped, trying to right the tumbling mass, but the books tumbled free, bouncing across the grass. Papers scattered, snatched by the playful breeze.

  Milloria squawked in dismay. She bent to try and catch the papers, but caught sight of Lorenda instead.

  "Clumsy Milloria," Lorenda said with a sneer, "making another mess."

  "Lorenda!" Milloria cried in dismay. "You pushed me!"

  "Nonsense. You simply tripped over your own big, clunky, peasant feet." Lorenda dipped and gracefully picked up one of the fallen papers. "And what is this? Drawing?" Lorenda shook her head in mock disappointment. "Milloria, dear, I commend you for finally trying a lady's hobby, but this is... well, it's so you." She waved around the rough sheet. "Drawing should be beautiful, delicate. Scenes of nature, animals, beautiful things. This is just... straight lines and circles."

  "It's a schematic," Milloria said, her face reddening. "It's a design for--"

  "It's trash, is what it is," Lorenda said. She tore the paper up and threw the pieces into the wind.

  "Lorenda, stop!" Milloria reached out, but Lorenda's crew spread out around her in a semicircle, trapping her against the stone wall of a building. Tears filled Milloria's eyes.

  "You know what's wrong with you?" Lorenda asked.

  "Nothing's wrong with me!"

  "Hmm. Okay, two things wrong with you. One, you're so dull that you don't even realize how many things are wrong with you. Two, you're bringing down the standard here at the Polytechnic."

  "That doesn't even make sense! I'm good at my studies! I make good marks!"

  Lorenda shook her head again.

  "Marks are for men to worry about. Ladies are to be ladies. You don't even understand that much." She scoffed. "The problem, dear Milloria, is that with you here, the school is starting to let in all kinds of riffraff. This should be a fine school for young gentlemen and ladies. Not a mud pit for pigs and savages."

  "What are you talking about? What 'riffraff'?"

  "I've heard that they're allowing in some eastern princess."

  "Well I'd think you should like that. A princess would be even higher and mightier than you."

  Lorenda laughed high and light, but her laughter carried a cruel edge.

  "Oh, she's not a real princess. She's just a savage whose father runs some dirty little town off in Eastern Reaches somewhere. Not proper Ardenian royalty. But I wouldn't expect you to understand the difference."

  "What's that got to do with me?"

  "You are the problem, dear. Your presence has undermined the quality of the population here at the Polytechnic. Today it's you, tomorrow it's this barbarian princess, and before you know it, we'll have beggars and laborers and who knows what all crawling around our beautiful campus."

  Milloria huffed in annoyance and started picking her books up. Her papers were widely scattered, blowing across the lawn. "I have to get to class," she said shortly.

  Lorenda's eyes lit with fury, and she slapped the books out of Milloria's hands.

  "You don't get to ignore me! You're not understanding." Lorenda leaned in close and poked Milloria in the chest. "You. Don't. Belong. Here."

  "I can be here, too!" Milloria said, hot tears of embarassment coursing down her cheeks. "I can--ow!" Her head jerked back as Lorenda yanked her hair.

  "You can't," Lorenda hissed. "And the sooner you're gone, the better." Lorenda released her hair and stepped back. She put on a smile as cool as a winter frost. "However, I can be gracious until then. Girls, clumsy Milloria has dropped her things again. Let's help her pick them up."

  With barely-restrained glee, the girls snatched up Milloria's books and papers.

  "Wait, stop!"

  "We're simply helping you, dear!" Lorenda cried. Then she flung her handful of books and papers into the ornamental pond. The other girls did likewise.

  "No!" Milloria wailed. She ran over and waded into the pond after her things. Her long dress quickly wicked up the water, soaking her to her chest. She sobbed and grabbed out a book. It was a solid, sodden lump. She tried to pick up a paper, but it disintegrated in her hand.

  Lorenda tsk'ed and shook her head.

  "She's back wallowing in filth again," she said. "I don't suppose you ever can keep a pig from its mudhole. Come, girls."

  Lorenda floated away as Milloria fished her ruined books out of the pond.

  Milloria didn't respond. She was busy trying to retrieve her things, and she couldn't think of anything to say anyway.

  HEY ALL! I've made a couple extras available to anyone who's interested. On my patreon (but free to all) I've added a couple items you might find fun:

  - A Namar?nian dictionary (for those, like me, who want to know the pronunciation of exotic words)

  - A map of the Eastern Reaches, the area including Namar?n, Laiqar, and associated countries.

  https://www.patreon.com/collection/1916170