Far from the capital of the Black Dragon Empire, in the western reaches where the sun painted the sky in shades of gold and crimson, lay the City of the Sun.
Before the Black Dragon conquered these lands, the Sun Kingdom had been known across the world for its wealth and the beauty of its golden-walled cities. But after the Dragon Emperor swept through, only one member of the ancient Sun Family bowed fast enough to survive. In exchange for his submission, he was named Duke of the West.
His name was Duke Somer.
The City of the Sun was vast, a sprawling metropolis where borders meant trade, and trade meant gold. The imperial tax collectors loved this city. The Duke loved it more.
But today, the city was not thinking of trade or taxes. Today was the fifteenth birthday of the Duke's only son.
The Golden Castle rose from the center of the city like a sun frozen in stone. Inside the great hall, the nobility of the western provinces had gathered. The hall was enormous, lit by chandeliers of golden crystal. Long tables groaned under the weight of roasted peacocks and flagons of imperial wine.
The nobles wore their finest silks and jewels, talking, laughing, and whispering about each other's debts. It was a party, and like all parties of the powerful, it was a battlefield.
High above the noise, on a small balcony overlooking the hall, stood a young man.
His hair was the color of molten gold, falling in soft waves to his shoulders. His skin was sun-kissed, his jaw strong, and his eyes were a piercing, radiant gold. He was handsome in a way that made artists despair and mothers scheme. This was Soren.
Behind him, the heavy wooden door creaked open
the balcony door opened softly. A girl in simple clothes stepped out. Her black hair was pulled back in a practical knot, and her eyes were sharp as hunting knives. She moved without making a sound, like a wolf through sheep.
"My lord," she said softly, kneeling. "You should not look at the sun like that. It will hurt your eyes."
Soren turned. A smile spread across his face—not the fake, practiced smile he wore for the nobles, but something smaller, more genuine.
"The sun does not hurt my eyes, Nora," he said. "I can look at it as long as I wish."
Nora rose, brushing dust from her knees. "I know, my lord. But the entire family is waiting downstairs. They want to see you."
"They are not here for me," Soren replied, his golden eyes drifting back to the city. "They are here for what I represent."
Before Nora could speak again, the heavy wooden doors behind them groaned open. A thick cloud of sweet, gray smoke drifted onto the balcony.
Nora immediately stepped back, melting into the shadows of the corner, becoming practically invisible.Duke Somer leaned against the doorframe, a long, jewel-encrusted smoking pipe resting between his teeth. He was dressed in ridiculously expensive crimson silk, his fingers heavy with gold rings. He took a long drag from his pipe and exhaled the smoke directly toward the chandeliers.
"Look at them," the Duke rasped, waving his pipe at the crowd below. "A room full of fat sheep, begging to be sheared. And you, my boy, are the shears."
Soren didn't turn around. He just laughed, a bright, cheerful sound. "Careful, Father. If you smoke any more of that eastern lotus, you'll forget which sheep owe us money."
The Duke stepped forward, his eyes cold and calculating. He grabbed Soren by the shoulder, his grip uncomfortably tight. There was no fatherly warmth in his touch.
"Don't be clever with me, boy," the Duke muttered. "You think they are here because they like you? They are here because they know you are a prodigy. They know the Emperor's eye is on you. Every smile you give them today, every hand you shake, raises the tax I can squeeze out of their lands tomorrow. Go down there. Smile. Be the perfect, happy golden boy. Use them, before they realize we are using them."
Soren turned, and a massive, blinding grin spread across his face. It was the smile of a carefree, joyful youth.
"Of course, Father!" Soren chirped, adjusting his blue silk tunic. "Leave it to me. I'll have them emptying their own pockets by sunset."
He practically skipped past his father, leaving the Duke to smoke in the shadows. As Soren descended the main staircase, his golden eyes scanned the room, calculating the net worth of every person he looked at.
The great hall fell silent as Soren walked among them.
"Lord Arslan! You look like you've been wrestling bears again!" Soren laughed loudly, clapping a massive, scarred noble on the back. "Lady Zhao, your dress outshines the chandeliers!"
He moved through the crowd like sunlight, joking, laughing, and making every single noble feel like his best friend.
"Honored guests!" Duke Somer's voice echoed from the balcony, a fake, booming warmth in his tone. "Let us not waste time! Let the gift ceremony begin!"
A nervous steward unrolled a scroll. "From the Zhao Family... Lady Zhao Mei, with a gift of art."
A beautiful young woman stepped forward. Two slaves revealed a massive tiger skin, painted with real gold leaf showing the Sun God's chariot.
Soren's eyes widened in exaggerated amazement. "Woah! Lady Zhao!" He laughed, stepping close to her with a charming, boyish grin. "This is incredible! The Zhao Family truly has the hands of the gods. I will hang this in my private study immediately!"
Lady Zhao Mei blushed bright red and bowed, completely charmed.
The steward spoke again. "From the Ilome Family... Lord Ilome, with a gift of war."
A young, tough-looking boy stepped forward. He didn't bow. He shoved a heavy, dark-metal spear toward Soren. "It's ugly, but it kills," the boy grunted. "A true friend's weapon."
Soren caught the heavy spear effortlessly with one hand. He spun it once, the air hissing around the blade, and let out a loud, excited cheer.
"Yo, this is amazing!" Soren threw his free arm around the Ilome boy's shoulders, laughing like they had been brothers since birth. "A blade can be bought, but a family's steel is only given to a brother! We're going to hunt something massive with this, my friend!"
The tough boy actually cracked a smile, his pride completely satisfied.
The steward cleared his throat for the next family, but before he could speak, the great doors of the hall burst open.
A breathless messenger fell to his knees. "My lord! The daughter of the Emperor—Princess Elara—she is at the gates!"
The entire hall froze. The nobles stopped breathing. Duke Somer nearly dropped his pipe, his eyes wide with dollar signs. A princess? Here?
"Soren!" the Duke hissed from the stairs. "Go! Bring her to the high table! Make sure she sees our wealth!"
Soren just flashed his father a bright thumbs-up. "On it!"
He jogged out of the hall, his face a picture of eager excitement. But the moment the heavy doors closed behind him, the happy smile vanished from his face, replaced by a look of razor-sharp focus.
Outside, parked in the shadows of the courtyard, was not a grand imperial carriage, but a simple, dusty merchant's wagon.
Soren didn't wait for the guards. He climbed right into the back of the wagon.
Princess Elara sat on a wooden bench, dressed in plain wool trousers and a heavy traveler's cloak, her black hair tied back simply. She was grinning mischievously. Beside her sat two young servants—a boy and a girl, both looking absolutely terrified.
"You're late," Soren said, a genuine, relaxed smile finally crossing his face.
"You were busy playing the golden fool," Elara shot back, tossing a bundle of rough peasant clothes at his chest. "Put these on. Quickly."
Soren laughed, catching the clothes. He stripped off his expensive silk tunic without hesitation, pulling on the coarse wool shirt.
Elara turned to her two servants. "Alright. Do it. Quickly, before his father comes looking for us."
The boy servant looked like he was going to cry. "Princess, if the Emperor finds out..."
"He won't," she snapped. "Do it."
The boy sighed, closed his eyes, and concentrated. His face rippled like water. His hair lightened to spun gold, his jaw sharpened, and his eyes shifted to a radiant, piercing gold. In seconds, he was an exact mirror image of Soren.
Beside him, the servant girl took a deep breath. Her features shifted, her hair darkening, her posture straightening until she looked exactly like Princess Elara.
Soren looked at the fake version of himself and laughed. "Try to look a little happier, fake-Soren. My father is going to try to sell you to a noblewoman, so just smile and nod."
He pulled the hood of his rough cloak over his golden hair. Elara did the same, hiding her royal face in the shadows.
"Ready?" she asked, her eyes sparking with the thrill of escape.
"Let's go," Soren whispered.
Leaving the fake prince and the fake princess behind to deal with the greedy Duke and the scheming nobles, Soren and Elara slipped out of the back of the wagon, disappearing into the chaotic, loud streets of the city.