In the narrow corridors of the palace, where the walls smelled of stone, cold, and the dust of ancient traditions, he walked slowly, precisely, and silently, as if his steps were not sound but an extension of his thoughts—measured, precise, and devoid of any sense of urgency. Lord Sha'arnez so Genesh, a dragonrider of the highest rank, a mountain elf, and a symbol of the discipline of the Ro'od Empire, had been given a task that lacked strategy, risk, or danger, but that nevertheless left him feeling uneasy.

He was on his way to meet a stranger.

The very girl whom the Allies call "the messenger," and his people call "the barbarian,""the uninvited." They're already whispering about her in the Council chambers, reports have already been written, and gracious masks have already been prepared for the first meeting. And yet, none of these whispers, none of these cold imperial titles, could give him a true image of the one he was to meet at the western entrance to the residence—a maiden who spoke a different language, who breathed freedom, who had been raised in a world where a word meant more than an order.

He walked toward the gates, straight as the shadow of discipline. Cold as the air of the Empire. For some reason, he was slightly tense, as if there was a note in the very air that only he could hear.

Footsteps could be heard beyond the stone gates...