The Gold Palace, the residence of the Emperor, stood as a singular marvel.

            Various buildings, both grand and modest, adorned the landscape alongside marble fountains with crystal-clear water, artificial forests, innumerable gardens, sculptures, gazebos, flower beds, and endless lawns. The latter, a seemingly extravagant display of opulence, required numerous gardeners tasked with maintaining the green carpet meticulously. The sheer scale, lushness, and precision - the grass blades uniformly spread with no gaps, cut to a neat length - were nothing short of astonishing.

            Understandably, this place served as the political hub of a government that ruled a hundred great cities, each populated by millions of subjects, making it the greatest country in the world. Government offices were strategically positioned around its perimeter, with the most crucial ones located in close proximity to the palace, while less significant ones spread out to form a government district.

            Apart from the multitude of gardeners, thousands of servants toiled within the palace. Their tasks ranged from cooking and cleaning to guiding visitors and tending to free-roaming peacocks. All these services, accomplished by human hands, operated at the highest standards, further affirming the royal prestige.

            Within the palace, several audience chambers and council rooms catered to various formats of discussion. The most important was the Throne Room -and it's main function was what the name indicates - where all imperial ceremonies unfolded. However, the day's most significant events were scheduled to transpire in the Hall of Advisors. This hall hosted the council of lords and advisors, whether the Emperor was present or not - his absence becoming more frequent with passing years.

            There were two paths to securing a seat in the Council. One could either inherit the right, a privilege granted to a select few founding families and independent kings who chose to become vassals. Alternatively, high officials, both civilian and military, also held voting rights. Attaining such a position was more than a mere rank; councilors were beyond the reach of criminal law, and any accusations against them were tried by the Emperor himself. They enjoyed official pensions and privileges that were the stuff of dreams for ordinary citizens.

            Arlo held five voices in his grasp. One was by virtue of being the head of a ducal family, the second for rising to the commander of Army North. The remaining three belonged to his direct vassals. This meant he held more sway than almost anyone in the Hall. However, imperial officials from other factions found it fitting to force him into the furthest seat, next to the door, using the excuse of his lack of an official noble title. How could he be positioned nearest the emperor's throne, among those who held the highest positions, when he was a mere 'sir'? The message was clear, and the humiliation was impossible to overlook.

            One side of the room was occupied by officials, while the other was for aristocrats. Arlo found himself relegated to the bottom of both groups, despite his military rank, which alone should have placed him at the top of the officials, if not among the noble congregation.

            Lord Advisor Farg, the State Minister of the imperial government, presided over the meeting. He was an old man with silver hair and a stern glint in his eyes. Downstream stood the Ministers of Finances, Minister of Justice, and Minister of War, along with the head butler of the palace. On the other side, there were Prince Rennard and Prince Janos, both silently followed by separate groups of nobles, expertly feigning civility toward each other.

            At the blare of a trumpet, the entire assembly lowered their heads. Everyone bowed according to their rank; for princes, lowered eyes were enough, but for Arlo, a deep bow bordering on kneeling was required.

            "Ruler of all humanity, Lord of a hundred cities, defender of civilization. Heaven's chosen. The twentieth Emperor!"

            Traditionally, the whole ceremony with repeated swearing of fealty was not required in the Hall of Advisors, so the councilors could rise as soon as the monarch took his designated seat.

            The twentieth Emperor's birth name was Solon, but no one dared to address him informally. In his fifties, he was a man who gave the impression of being older. Though he wasn't quite elderly, there was something about him that made him look oddly worn out. Only rare glints of sternness in his eyes reminded the congregated of the absolute power that he held. The Emperor was definitely past his best years but far from disinterest in the affairs of state.

            In a sonorous voice, Lord Advisor called for the meeting to open. He didn't waste time and started with a matter of vital interest to the majority.

            "In regard to the report on the situation in Trakos province, day 6th, eighth month, twenty-second year of His Majesty the twentieth Emperor's rule. I summon the imperial prefect of Trakos. Step forward."

            The prefect walked to the part of the room before the Emperor, kneeled, and reported, "The servant is here." He was an imperial official but also a native of the province he represented.

            His Majesty, as dictated by tradition and etiquette, did not show any sign of interest. He rarely spoke during meetings, except for final verdicts at the end.

            "As the position of Lord remains vacant, I speak on behalf of the subjects of Trakos," the prefect started, then moved to presenting his demands. "Centuries ago, the king of Trakos swore fealty to the imperial throne, in the promise of his services if ever the day came, and also the promise of aid if we should seek it. And as it is clearly stated in my report, my province is in need of aid." He hesitated, considering how he should continue. "I have arrived to speak in front of the council because if you do not aid my people, we will fall."

            There were hushed whispers now through the crowd.

            "What are you attempting to say?" Lord Farg inquired.

            "As stated in the report, I'm attempting to say that Trakos faces a famine," he spoke calmly.

            Arlo had to physically restrain an exhausted groan that he had almost released. The news had managed to cross the treacherous marches that separated Rorg from Trakos. Others probably knew sooner than him.

            "Have you heard of this, Farg?" His Majesty rasped, and half amazed, half terrified silence fell on the room. He spoke! How rare.

            "I have heard reports of this. With all due respect, those are exaggerations," Lord Advisor stated.

            "We suffered poor crops, and a long campaign in reclaiming the land. During the campaign, we lost food stores. For the same reason, farmers were able to work fewer fields than usual. It was impossible to uphold regular maintenance of waterways and dams, so Rorg flooded fields uncontrollably. This means next year's crops will not be much better. We have projected that a third of our population will not last the year, and it's hard to predict how many will perish if the famine continues." His tone was grave, and that wasn't the end of the bad news. "We won't be able to fulfill contracts on grain, which is our main export production. Not this year, and not the next. Food from Trakos will not feed the North and the East. The barbarians did not withdraw completely. They are still raiding villages, and we lack resources to stop them from banding together and creating another great army." He bowed even lower, clearly towards the Emperor. "I humbly beseech you, Your Majesty, as the Ruler of the realm, the Lord of a hundred cities, one of which is Trakos, uphold your sworn duty to the realm and aid our people."

            Whispers rose over the silence as the harsh truth dawned on the council members. While food shortages were not as pressing a problem as one may presume, in his wisdom, the twentieth Emperor had decreed years ago that all provinces were to keep enough food in storage to last them for some time. Logistics were going to be a nightmare, but no one could deny His Majesty's reasons now. However, the vision of barbarian hordes tearing into the core territory of the Empire was startling.

            "What aid do you need?" Lord Farg asked.

            The prefect looked at him with unexpected calmness.

            For some reason, Arlo suddenly felt anxious. It could be his paranoia, but he could swear he had caught Lord Advisor staring at him and turning away as soon as he had noticed.

            "Trakos needs time to rebuild and stability. To do so, the barbarian threat must be dealt with. I beseech you to appoint an experienced general. Trade routes on the river Rorg must be secured too, to protect the supplies we're going to import from pirates."

            And who has military power to spare and warships that can be used immediately? Arlo thought. And why was Rorg supposed to provide aid in the first place, when the only available road connecting both provinces was the waterway on the great river? They may have looked like neighbors on a map, but in practice, natural borders between them were too many. In fact, when traveling from Rorg, it was faster to reach the Capital than Trakos.

            Oh, maybe Laa was right, he tended to overthink every move on Lord Farg's side!

            But this time, his guess wasn't wrong. "No one has got more experience fighting barbarians than Lord Arlo of Rorg, hasn't he? Army North is strong enough to solve your problem," Lord Advisor stated, and Arlo imagined a satisfied smirk on his lips. "Especially with their new additions to the armada. Step forward, Lord Arlo."

            All eyes turned toward him, expectant. Most of them probably knew what it was about and could guess that it wouldn't work. Prince Renard looked curious, Prince Janos almost laughed. A few military officials fidgeted.

            If Lord Farg planned to use Rorg's resources to solve the crisis without touching the imperial budget, Arlo had many ways to get himself out of an assignment. Even the Emperor himself couldn't easily order a feudal lord from a frontier province to go on a long campaign and leave his own land unprotected. The rest of the council wouldn't vote for establishing such a dangerous precedent either. Giving up the armada was out of the question too.

            Nevertheless, Arlo gritted his teeth and moved to the front. He stopped next to the prefect, bowed, and spoke.

            "How can I serve?" Because what could he say in the presence of the Emperor otherwise?

***

            Arlo's heart pounded as the council meeting concluded. He could feel the weight of all the eyes in the room on him as he stepped away from the front, the burden of another insidious plot pressing down on his shoulders. He had hoped for this visit to the Capital to be more civil. How naive! He should have expected something like that! It was a standard trick: presenting an impossible task or ridiculous demands, knowing they would be refused, then negotiating and lowering the bar, watching how many concessions the other party was willing to accept.

            Arlo was rather sure that the whole scene in the Hall of Advisors, trying to push a duty not his own onto his shoulders, had to be a part of such a play. Which raised a question; why? What did Lord Advisor really want to achieve?

            As the council members dispersed, and the atmosphere in the Hall of Advisors began to lighten, Arlo wasn't even surprised when sir Kants approached him with a summons.

            "Lord Arlo," the messenger bowed respectfully, "His Majesty requests your presence in a private meeting immediately. Follow me."

            Arlo's mind raced as he followed the messenger through the grand corridors of the Gold Palace. Was the scene controlled by the Emperor or Lord Farg?

            I'll know soon enough, he shrugged.