I haven't been able to upload any photos because, no matter how much I crop them, Webnovel keeps saying the image is too large. They're posted on the Discord channel, and as before, I'm sharing the link – I hope it doesn't expire this time, even though I've set it up so that it shouldn't.
https://discord.gg/QqTAyVy3JV
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Essos, Chancellery of Xandar
9th Moon of 58 AC
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Mara turned around slowly, keeping her shoulders straight and her chin held high, polished by years of etiquette in the halls of Sunspear. However, the moment her eyes fell upon the figure standing a few steps away, a cold shiver ran down her spine.
The woman was entirely wrapped in garments of a black cloth so dense and matte it seemed to absorb the golden light filtering through the Chancery's dome. A tight veil covered her face completely, leaving exposed only the narrow band of her eyes, though even those remained framed by a forehead tiara of silver metal, carved with intricate dark filigree. But what made Mara's blood run cold was not just the attire, but her hands.
Over the cloth of her austere sleeves, the woman wore solid silver rings inlaid with gems as red as fresh drops of blood, accompanied by articulated metal claws that covered her fingertips, sharp as the talons of a bird of prey. The presence of this stranger radiated a heavy aura, a dull pressure in the air that made it difficult for Mara to breathe freely. Without knowing why, every instinct in the Dornishwoman screamed that she was standing before an invisible yet lethal danger.
"It is an architecture designed to make everyone who cannot touch the sky feel small, Princess Mara," the woman continued in a soft, velvety voice that nevertheless carried a metallic and distant echo.
Mara subtly clenched her fists within the folds of her dress, adjusting her posture so as to show no weakness.
"It is a very... ostentatious display of strength," Mara replied, measuring every word. "But I have not come here to gaze at statues. With whom do I have the honor of speaking?"
The woman wrapped in black veils tilted her head slightly. The subtle clink of her metal claws brushing together echoed through the silence of the hall.
"My name is Yennefer," the woman introduced herself. "And the reason I am here is to spare you the tedious ordeal of waiting three weeks for an audience. King Caspian is already aware of your arrival in Xandar, Princess. I have been given the task of guarding you and conducting you directly to the Throne Room when the time is right."
Mara narrowed her eyes, surprised by the speed of the news. Barely a few hours ago she had disembarked at the port and gone through customs registration. That the king himself knew of her presence before she had even presented a single formal letter at the Chancery proved that Xandar's spy network or surveillance was absolute.
"If King Caspian awaits me, I would appreciate it if we lost no more time," Mara declared, attempting to ignore the prick of uneasiness that Yennefer's proximity provoked in her. "I accept your guidance."
"A wise decision," Yennefer murmured. "But first you must return to your quarters. Tomorrow, at break of dawn, I will come for you. Escort me outside."
They walked together toward the exit. Every step taken at Yennefer's side felt heavy, as if the air surrounding the woman in black were colder than normal. The Xandarian guards at the entrance, who had previously looked at Mara with bureaucratic indifference, stepped aside upon seeing Yennefer, bowing their heads in a swift and rigid gesture of submission.
As they crossed the grand iron and gold gate, Fabiane was waiting for them beside the carriage. As soon as the Lyseni woman laid eyes on the veiled figure walking alongside the Dornish princess, her face turned pale. Fabiane's fingers, expert at handling the reins, trembled visibly, and her almond eyes went wide, overwhelmed by a primal terror.
Yennefer came to a halt a few steps from the carriage, locking her covered gaze onto the driver.
"Do not fear, Fabiane," Yennefer said in a honeyed tone, though even beneath it, a frozen composure was audible. "Take the princess back to her hotel so she may rest. I will follow at my own pace."
Without waiting for an answer, the veiled woman turned around and walked into the crowd passing along the waterfront avenue. Mara blinked for a second, and as she tried to track her with her eyes through the people, Yennefer's figure simply seemed to vanish into thin air, dissolving among the passersby as if she had never been there at all.
Mara climbed into the carriage, followed by the wild-eyed gaze of Fabiane, who did not set the horses in motion until she was certain the veiled woman had departed.
"Fabiane," Mara called from the carriage window, noting the driver's agitation as they moved over the flagstones of the street. "Who exactly was that woman? Your face lost all its color the moment you saw her."
Fabiane swallowed hard before answering, keeping her eyes glued to the road as the four steeds moved at a quick pace.
"Princess... that woman is one of the king's witches," Fabiane replied in a thready voice, as if uttering the title might draw the attention of the shadows. "She belongs to the Order of the Witches. They are women who answer solely and exclusively to the direct orders of King Caspian. Extremely dangerous beings whom any sensible person in this city treats with absolute respect and reverent fear."
Mara frowned, intrigued by the designation. In Westeros, speaking of "witches" was usually old wives' tales, or insults and contempt directed at women practicing strange, heretical rites foreign to the Seven. But in Xandar, the word seemed to carry actual political and military weight.
"How much authority does one of these 'witches' hold in this realm?" Mara asked, leaning forward.
Fabiane snapped the reins to steer around a group of merchants before explaining the landscape to her.
"The hierarchy of power and authority in Xandar is strict, Princess, and no one dares alter it," the Lyseni woman began. "At the very top is King Caspian. Next come Queen Valka and Khaleesi Aerea. Immediately following them are the Bloodriders and, on that same superior level, the Witches of the Order. Below them sits the High Council, followed by the Dosh Khaleen, and finally, the Red Temple."
Mara remained silent inside the carriage, processing the information with the sharp mind of a diplomat.
If Xandar's High Council was the equivalent of the Targaryen King's Small Council in King's Landing—where the most powerful men in the realm sat, the masters of coin, the masters of laws, and the great lords—then the Witches of the Order standing above them meant their power was immense. They were not mere court advisors or healers; they enjoyed an almost sacred status, a position of direct authority backing the Khal's will.
Mara reclined against the carriage's leather seat, instinctively touching the wooden tag on her chest. The monster Caspian Darkwood had built possessed not only vast fleets, armored armies, and dragons in the sky, but also a feared order of women walking among the shadows of the empire.
Morion thinks he is going to face feudal lords, Mara thought bitterly as the carriage drew near her hotel. He has no idea he is walking into a bonfire that will consume him and all of Dorne if I fail to stop him.
The following day, just as specified, Yennefer arrived at the hotel and, true to her word, led her to Minas Tirith, as Xandar's castle was named. From the elevation of the avenue leading toward the heart of Xandar's power, Mara caught her breath for what felt like the hundredth time since her arrival. To her Dornish eyes, accustomed to the ocher sand of Sunspear, arid adobe, and austere castles carved to endure the harsh desert, King Caspian's residence looked like nothing a mortal could have conceived upon the earth. Calling Minas Tirith a mere fortress would be an insult; the stronghold was a breathtaking monument where stone, opulence, and nature fused in flawless harmony.
The castle rose as a truly monumental jewel in the midst of a lush urban forest. The first thing that stole the Dornish princess's gaze was the colossal central dome—an immense sphere of dazzling emerald green that appeared to be constructed from thousands of intricate plates of glass or malachite, crowned by a golden spire so fine and tall it seemed intent on piercing the clouds. Around it, a constellation of smaller domes, exact replicas on a lesser scale, seemed to float above pavilions of immaculate white marble, adorned with golden finials that gleamed even under Xandar's overcast sky.
But what truly unnerved Mara was the symbiosis between the structure and the greenery. There were no austere walls or bare gray ramparts; atop the roofs, cornices, and even encircling the bases of the green domes, lush gardens, treetops, and exuberant vegetation sprouted directly from the architecture. It was as though the forest itself had embraced the white stone to build a living palace.
Stylized white spires, almost impossibly slender and tall, soared toward the sky like ivory lances poised to touch the clouds. At the foot of the castle, a network of elevated white marble bridges with golden railings crossed over the dense canopy of trees, connecting the various pavilions in a seamless, pristine circuit where servants and guards walked with tranquility.
To Mara, seasoned in the politics of Westeros, the sight of Minas Tirith did not merely inspire admiration; it inspired a disturbing certainty. While the strongholds of the Seven Kingdoms were built to withstand sieges with thick walls of coarse stone, Caspian Darkwood's home afforded itself the luxury of absolute elegance, draped in emerald glass, gold, and hanging gardens. It was the ultimate proof that Xandar feared no invader; a palace built not to defend itself from the world, but to remind the world who ruled it.
Half an hour later, they were in an anteroom to the Throne Room. The constant hum of low conversations reached Mara's ears as soon as she entered the massive chamber. Like everything in Xandar, all structures and buildings were of gargantuan proportions, moving from one place to another a true odyssey, yet simultaneously providing space, air, and natural light thanks to huge windows placed in every enclosed room with a roof.
After moons of intrigue with Magister Groleo, she would finally meet the King of Xandar, an exceedingly busy man. From what she had gathered, obtaining an audience with the young Targaryen in King's Landing was nowhere near as tortuous as this, though considering Xandar was the size of the six kingdoms south of the Neck, it did not surprise her. Governing such a domain was a monumental task.
The huge hall opened into the Throne Room—a place she had not yet had the chance to see, though by all accounts, it was a majestic site.
Apart from herself and her guide, Yennefer, there could easily be over two hundred people in the room: merchants, envoys from the Free Cities, bankers from the Iron Bank of Braavos, YiTish men, natives of the Summer Isles, and even a few Northerners, judging by their attire and the emblem of House Manderly on their clothes.
That hall was an amalgam of races, realms, and customs that made her eyes widen with the desire to remain there in Xandar, where her titles did not matter, where celebrations were grand, and where trials by combat in the gigantic coliseums surpassed even the tourneys held in Dorne.
Every half hour, a total of fifty men and women entered the Throne Room, led by the famous Unsullied, who kept the massive hall guarded and free of commotion or disorder.
However, what troubled her were the massive statues adorning certain parts of the room, such as the windows, doors, and prayer benches. Something about them unsettled Mara—be it their flawless craftsmanship or their green eyes.
Those concerns were suspended when one of the heralds responsible for signalling group rotations announced: "The next group shall request an audience with the King!" Immediately, she thought to check her tag, but remembered she did not possess one showing her turn, as Yennefer had informed her it was unnecessary.
"Very well, listen up! Group 29 consists of numbers H1400 through H1450. Each of you has your tag, so when the Prime Minister calls your number, step up to the podium and state your situation and your business before the King. If you have not been called, do not speak, do not raise your voice, do not make noise, and I emphasize, do not disrupt the session—or the mines will be the least of your concerns by the end of the day!" The proud, haughty voice of the man reached Mara's ears, causing a wave of irritation every time she heard these Xandarians radiate their pride in every damn sentence.
Even so, she kept her thoughts to herself when Yennefer told her they would enter with that group, guiding her toward two massive doors made of what appeared to be Valyrian steel—an immensely coveted metal, yet here they used it to craft doors. It was something that would undoubtedly cause a shock to all those tiresome lords who yearned to possess a sword of that metal in their ancestral halls.
The doors were huge, easily twenty meters tall, fifteen meters wide, and nearly a meter thick, and the entire damn thing was made of that metal resembling Valyrian steel. It made her wonder if these Xandarians possessed the lost metallurgical secrets of that forgotten alloy.
The doors opened on their own, pushed by massive metal pistons extending from recesses in the wall, but bloody hell—Mara forgot all about the damn doors the moment she stepped inside the Throne Room.
The chamber featured a wide, long suspended walkway connecting the giant doors to the throne at the far end. Flanking it, several staircases connected walkways jutting out from the walls parallel to the main path, allowing people to exit through them and ascend to the grand central walkway.
Not only that, but there were also balconies built into the walls, offering a view of everything below, though these were occupied by those women known as witches.
The Throne Room was bathed in grays, dark tones, and blacks, yet that did not render it any less lavish or striking, as the railings of the central walkway were forged of pure silver, and statues crafted entirely of diamonds or gold stood upon select pillars.
But the throne itself was the most beautiful and opulent sight she had ever laid eyes upon. To reach it, one had to ascend a final broad staircase of black flagstones that split and led up to the raised dais, where the beauty and majesty of the sculpture unfolded in all its grandeur.
At the front, rising perhaps over three meters high, stood a throne crafted entirely of gold, fitted with a red cushion and embroidery that enhanced the brilliant tone of the precious metal. Beside it, to both the right and left, stood two other thrones, though these were forged of a dark metal that gleamed beneath the light streaming through the windows.
Yet what was most famous was the Throne of Xandar, and the reason it was known as the Golden Tree stood right before her: behind the thrones rose a structure built entirely of gold, wide and sturdy like the trunk of a tree, reaching upwards over forty meters to the vaulted ceiling, where it spread out like golden branches covering the entire roof, resembling a gargantuan golden tree—an enormous one.
It was breathtaking, imposing even.
"You stand in the presence of His Majesty the King, Caspian Darkwood! Khal of the Undying Horde, King of Xandar and its Surrounding Lands, Breaker of Yokes, Father of the Newcomers, Stallion Who Mounts the World, King of the Great Grass Sea, Conqueror of the Yellow Cities, and rider of Endaxia, Winged Ruin!" A tall man with long hair gathered in a braid presented the famous Xandarian king.
Although she could not make out the man clearly from the distance, she could no longer look away, as everyone around her was kneeling, eyes fixed on the floor. Even the witch Yennefer, who guided her, bowed, and to avoid bringing trouble upon herself, Mara mimicked the gesture. "And at his side, Queen Valka of Xandar, Lady of the Arcane Order, and Khaleesi Aerea Targaryen, rider of Balerion the Black Dread!"
At this, she lifted her eyes and observed that upon the other two thrones, a beautiful black-haired woman sat in all her splendour, while upon the other sat a woman with Valyrian features—meaning the most powerful man in the world was no longer unattached.
One by one, each person was called to the podium, a sort of altar situated at the foot of the stairs leading to the throne, where they were required to stand and state the reason for their visit to the court.
Another detail she noted was that the king never spoke; everything was managed by the man holding the title of Prime Minister, whether because the king was uninterested in the proceedings or because the minister possessed sufficient knowledge to enact whatever measures the king deemed appropriate.
The room emptied gradually, and those who departed satisfied were escorted out. Only those who had not yet spoken remained. It was in that moment that Yennefer turned to Mara and told her that it was her turn—her time had come to speak with King Caspian.