We arrived at the Royal Capital. The heart of the Empire. It wasn't marked by gates or trumpets. No guards stepped forward to announce us. No bells rang from distant towers. Instead, it came slowly—like stepping into the center of a dream you didn't know you were having until everything around you was too beautiful to be real.
Caelum didn't speak at first. He waited until the carriage turned past a long line of willows that bowed toward the road like they recognized him. Then, with a quiet voice, he said: "This is where the Empire breathes."
I looked up from my seat. The cushions no longer held my full attention. Beyond the windows, the road opened into wide lanes of gleaming stone. Not dirt. Not gravel. But a pale, smooth surface veined with crystal that caught the light like water.
The trees were tall and trimmed like sculptures, their branches curled into deliberate shapes—spirals, stars, wings. Flowers I didn't recognize bloomed in long rows, their petals wider than my hands. But it wasn't the gardens that held me. It was the buildings. Or no—the palaces.
There were five of them. Five. Caelum explained each one in turn as we passed along the circular avenue that curved around the city's central district. He didn't recite, didn't perform. He spoke softly, like telling someone about childhood homes. Familiar. Measured. Distantly warm.
"To the north," he said, gesturing lightly, "is the Ice Castle. The North Palace."
I turned in my seat, craning to see. The structure towered above the surrounding trees like a formation pulled from the side of a frozen mountain. The walls were pale blue and glimmered with frost even in the sun. Tall spires rose like spears, their tips sharp and glittering. The windows were all crystal, set into arches that looked like icicles had been carved into doors.
"It's made from Veilglass," Caelum said. "Harvested from the Great Northern Rift. The palace is enchanted to stay cold year-round."
"Why?" I asked, the first word I'd spoken since we crossed into the district.
He glanced at me.
"It's ceremonial," he said. "Used during winter festivals, coronation anniversaries, or when the Empire signs pacts with the Northern Territories. But mostly… it's a symbol."
I stared at it a moment longer. It didn't feel cold through the glass. But I imagined it did. I imagined snow clinging to the windows, voices echoing through white halls. We passed the turn to it and continued east.
"The East Palace," Caelum continued, "is called the Empress' Garden." He didn't pause. "But it's not just a garden."
He was right. It wasn't. The building was lower than the others, but no less grand. Wide, rounded courtyards were scattered between long glass walkways framed by pillars carved into flowers. Every wall seemed to bloom. The ceiling tiles shimmered green and gold. I could see flowering vines creeping up the sides of columns, their buds glowing faintly with a kind of magic I didn't recognize.
"There are over three hundred species of flora grown inside," Caelum said. "Some native, some imported. The Empress prefers it that way. She says the Empire's beauty should be reflected in more than people and gold."
I didn't answer. We passed the palace slowly. I saw servants moving between pavilions, each carrying silver trays, scrolls, or baskets of petals. Tables were arranged beneath wide awnings. Not for meals. For display. For tea. For watching. Everything about the Empress' Garden felt like something that had never known dirt beneath its nails.
"To the south," Caelum continued, "you'll find the Knight's Quarters."
He pointed. That was the first place that didn't look like it belonged in a painting. It was wide and stone-heavy. Long rectangular halls lined with banners and weapons. Courtyards covered in soft soil and training dummies. Soldiers in practice gear. Blacksmiths hammering in the distance. Stables filled with restless horses whose coats shone in the sun. There was nothing delicate here. No jewels. No silver trim. Just strength. And order.
"It's where all our knightly orders are stationed," Caelum said. "The stables. The training fields. The dormitories. The Council Barracks."
I pressed my fingers against the window. A boy—maybe fourteen—was swinging a wooden sword at a straw dummy while an older knight barked instructions nearby. His face was red. His shirt was soaked. He didn't stop even as we passed.
"They train that young?" I asked.
"They start even younger," Caelum replied. "But only if they're chosen."
I sat back again. He didn't elaborate.
"And this," he said quietly, as the carriage curved again, "is where we're going."
The West Palace. His. My new home. It wasn't like the others. There was no icy grandeur, no floral elegance, no militant austerity. The palace was tall but quiet. Smooth gray stone, softened by ivy. Blue-glass windows trimmed in white. Balconies with shaded arches. A small library tower spiraled from one side, its windows shaped like open books. A garden wall surrounded the inner courtyard, but the gates were open.
It didn't shine. It didn't boast. But it felt... steady. Like it belonged. Like someone actually lived there.
"The West Palace was granted to me after my brother took the throne," Caelum said. "I rarely bring guests. It's quieter here. You'll have space to breathe."
I stared at it. And for the first time since we left the orphanage… I felt something small and wordless open in my chest. Not excitement. Not fear. Just… space. And finally, in the center of it all, rising above every wall and garden and hall— The Sun Palace. The heart of the Empire.
It towered over the other four like the center of a compass—golden spires tipped in white, banners that shimmered with heat even when there was no wind, terraces built into the sky. Everything about it glowed. Light poured from its windows like it lived inside the sun itself.
Caelum didn't say much as we passed it. Only one sentence.
"They live there."
I didn't have to ask who "they" were. The Emperor. The man whose throne had been passed down from the one who died of grief. The one who ruled the Empire now. The Imperial family. My... family. I swallowed.
The palace faded behind us as the carriage turned toward the western gate. Toward the ivy. Toward the quiet. Toward home.