The capital was thousands of years old and was founded after the first people emigrated to Beymore from the south. After decades of war between the men who had just arrived on the new continent, a man named Tayin united the people and founded the first noble house of Beymore, house Sai. Tayin instructed his chosen brother Bellrim, who some credit with being the reason for Tayin's unification of Beymore, with his genius strategies and natural charm without which Tayin could’ve never accomplished what he did, to build him a city so vast it’d put shame on any other, a city worthy of a king.

With the now hundreds of thousands of people under Tayin, Bellwin began the city’s construction. They built the city at the foot of a mountain encircling it from the south, east, and west; it’s back to the Salt Bay leading into the Nameless Sea. With time Bellwin’s ambitions grew, and he started to build the city up the mountain slopes. Some say he went crazy throughout the decades of building the city, having it always get grander and more magnificent. Bellrim died before he could ever see his city finished, and so did Tayin, never setting foot into the palace or taking a seat on the throne, completed only years after his passing. They were both put to rest in the crypt beneath the palace, deep in the mountain. Tayin's daughter, Qiyu Sai, first of her name, was the actual first monarch to sit on the throne and was also the one that gave the city its name. Bellgrave.

Steps echoed through the palace’s tall, dark hall, quickly passing the paintings of past rulers depicted in their past glory and guards in silver armor worn above black leather gambesons, their cloaks made from black feathers complemented by the engraved chest plate adorned with a raven and surrounded by plants and flowers patrolling the halls, halting and bowing as the woman passed them without acknowledgment. Her curly black hair flowed past the silver shoulder plates and down to the same-colored metal corset.

Walking up the narrow steps, she arrived at a tall door, letting out a deep breath before the two Redvyn guards standing to its sides opened it. Entering the room, she ignored the cold purple eyes staring at her and took a seat at the giant black stone table, a map of the continent carved into its surface.

“Now that Melina has deigned herself to grace us with her presence, I’d like to-”

“Prince Caylin,” the old woman at the head of the table interrupted, “Did I miss the coronation, or why are my poor ears hearing your voice right now?”

“…I thought-”

“You nothing, boy. As long as there is no crown on your head, you will talk when I allow you to talk.” The old woman dressed in the traditional black dress every queen had to wear during the mourning period interrupted yet again, a little smirk on her face.

“…Yes, mother,” Caylin answered after futilely trying to stand up to his mother’s warm yet shiver-inducing gaze.

After throwing a brief look at the two empty chairs at the end of the table, queen Irina started to talk.

“I’ve called the two of you for important matters, but first of all, Melina,” Irina called her daughter cheerfully. “Do you remember prince Martin, the young heir of house Dumont?”

Looking into her mother’s eyes, Melina tried to suppress the memories of Lorde Martin sticking at her heels and bothering her every time his family came to the capital. Many noblemen, young and old, tried to win her favor, yet Martin had a way of especially disgusting her.

“His father sent made me an interesting proposal,” Irina said, watching her daughter’s face growing tenser with her every word.”

“No,” Melina replied, not even waiting to hear the words from her mother’s mouth. Afraid that speaking it out loud might actually conjure it into being.

“But why?” her mother asked, chirpingly. “The Dumont family managed to build an impressive trade business. It would be a prosperous union.”

Watching her daughter’s unwavering resolve, Irina said, “… Fine, I will relay the sad message to the Dumont's.”

After finding some bemusement in her daughter’s discomfort, Irina looked at Caylin staring at the table, impatiently shaking his leg.

“Moving on to more serious matters, the Temple of Lylyr will also attend the funeral.”

The Temple of Lylyr was a relatively new church, only a couple century’s old worshipping Lylyr, god of the sun. It supposedly originated from across the Nameless sea, dividing the continents, and was once a small cult formed in the Black Desert on the outskirts of Ishanii, worshipping a god named El’Lahiir. Prohibited from practicing their religion freely, a few believers took on the dangerous journey across the sea. In the end, arriving on the Isles of Lylerya, and sharing their faith with the then few inhabitants. The god’s original name. Unpleasant to the ears of the people of Beymore. They named it after the Isles of Lylerya, eventually developing into Lylyr, as it spread throughout the continent.

“I will be stationing guards throughout the entire palace and the Black Tower,” Irina said, looking at her son. “Caylin, this will be your first task as heir to the throne. You will personally accompany those fanatics, don’t bother with the nobles. Just keep them as far away from the Black Tower as possible.”

“Yes, mother,” Caylin answered hesitantly, his eyes still wandering on the map carved into the table.

Averting her gaze from her son, Irina turned to her daughter. “Melina, you will greet and accompany a princess from Ashiir. She is not a simple noble. It is of utmost importance that she is treated with the respect someone of her standing deserves.”

“Yes, mother,” Melina replied unenthusiastically.

“Good, you can take your leave,” Irina said, waving her children away.

Watching her children leave the room, Irina let out a tired breath.

“Elfric.” She called out, followed by a short older man in simple black leather armor stepping up from behind her.

“I want Caylin to be followed while the Temple is in the city. Give the task to whomever you find capable enough.”

“Yes, your grace,” The man answered without hesitation, his voice so calm it could put the most lively child to sleep.

…

The summer winds swept through the city of Bellgrave, carrying the voices of young women, chatting while walking through the market, eying the various things on display, and the children hiding behind stands laughing and looking for each other, getting chased away by the stand owners. The wind brought its warmth through all the streets and directly up to the palace on the mountain slope. It was, however, unable to share its warmth with Allister walking through the palace’s dark halls.

Every time Allister thought about his childhood, he cherished every step he could take in the palace halls, Every bite he could take from the daily meals he knew better than anyone else, others would die for, and every night he could spend in his warm featherbed. Every time he had to contend with the nobles born into fortune, those feelings vanished, only leaving behind disgust and anger he knew to hide with the charming smile most knew him with.

Arriving at the prince’s room, he knocked on the door with his skinny hand.

“Come in,” Caylins agitated voice sounded through the door.

His cold face suddenly adorned with a pleasant smile, startling the guards guarding the door, Allister entered the room.

“Your grace,” Allister slightly bowed to the tense prince looking out of the window of his grand room.

“The Temple of Lylyr is becoming more and more popular these days,” Caylin said, his gaze not leaving the view of Bellgrave out his window.

“They make lofty promises, your grace, promises the old gods could’ve never even dreamed of,” Allister replied, taking a seat in a comfortable chair placed before the prince’s desk.

“Do you think it’s true what they preach?” Caylin asked, turning to Allister.

“If its true is of no importance. What matters is if the people believe it. “Allister answered, the smile never leaving his face. “And judging by the number of people visiting their temples. They do.”

Sighingly, Caylin sat down at his desk, “Religion controls people like the crown never could; they would make a powerful ally.”

“In other words, an ally hard to control,” Allister responded.”

“You believe helping them would be a mistake?” Caylin asked carefully.

“It very well could be your grace,” Allister said, sinking deeper into the chair. “I heard the High Priestess isn’t a woman one should underestimate.”

Caylin only looked down at his desk in deep thought.

“… I want to know the exact location of all palace guards on the day of the funeral,” Caylin said after a moment of silence

“Yes, your grace, it will be done,” Allister answered.

“Good, you can take your leave,” Caylin said before returning to the window, hands clasped behind his back.

Leaving the room, Allister walked back through the dark halls, a smile in his snake-like eyes.