Though Gwayne's retinue was small—only twelve soldiers—and though the Seawright name had long faded from the heart of royal politics, and even though their last estate in Solis Ardent had been seized by the Crown over a century ago, Gwayne still made his entrance with maximum visibility.
And he raised the ancient banner—the very standard that only he, Gwayne Seawright, had been granted the right to bear seven centuries ago.
The message was clear—not merely to the city, but to the High King upon his Silver Throne: It is not the seventeen-year-old Viscountess Seawright who rides into your city today, but the Grand Duke of the South.
When the Royal Steward brought word of this to High King Francis II, the old monarch understood instantly.
Standing atop a high balcony of the Silver Citadel, the High King gazed out toward the city gates where Gwayne Seawright was arriving.
At this distance, even from Solis Ardent's tallest tower, he could see nothing—the city had grown too vast since the age of the Founding. He wondered, faintly, whether the ancient Grand Duke would feel the shock of time's passage. Would he realize that after seven centuries, nothing remained as it once was?
The steward waited quietly for orders.
Francis II withdrew his gaze from the city and turned to the plain-faced man at his side: "Receive him with all the honors due a Grand Duke," the High King ordered. "Tell him I shall meet with him at midday tomorrow. He is to be given quarters within the Silver Citadel to rest after his long journey."
The steward bowed deeply and prepared to leave, but the High King called him back: "One more thing: aside from the formal audience, ensure that any reasonable request the Grand Duke makes is fulfilled without hesitation. In matters of courtesy, we must not falter."
Once the steward departed, a young man in regal garb approached—a handsome youth with light-gold hair and a noble bearing.
He had been standing near the columns, listening quietly.
"Father," the prince said with a respectful bow, "do you believe this 'resurrected' Grand Duke is genuine?"
"It hardly matters," High King Francis said calmly. "Andrew of Valewatch sent ample evidence. Others have confirmed it as well. But whether he is truly the Grand Duke of old... will only be clear with time. For now, what matters is simple. This is no jest. Whoever he is, he has given us a grave surprise."
The prince lowered his gaze, adopting a posture of humility. "And what do you think his intentions are?"
"Until we meet, we can only speculate," Francis said, shaking his head. "Judging by the scale of the rumors he spread and the way he orchestrated his journey, it's clear he won't lay his cards on the table easily."
The High King's voice turned cold: "Still... approach him if you wish. Feel him out. But tread carefully. This is no ordinary situation—and you must not provoke him."
The young prince bowed and departed.
Francis II turned back to the balcony, his heart heavy with unspoken thoughts. Still too young, he mused. My heir cannot yet hide his ambition. His eagerness to meet the ancient Grand Duke is plain for anyone to see.
But it was of little consequence. Better to let him approach openly, rather than skulk about and risk worse missteps.
Once the steward had ridden off, Francis II gave one final command:
"Darkwing," he said quietly, speaking to the empty air beside the columns, "monitor Gwayne Seawright and his company. Report every move."
A faint ripple stirred the sheer drapery nearby—no form, no figure.
"And do not get too close," the High King added in a grim voice. "If he truly is the legend from seven centuries past... he will sense anyone foolish enough to try."
The air beneath the columns remained utterly still.
Meanwhile, Gwayne's retinue had entered the capital.
Riding in proud formation down the wide thoroughfares of Solis Ardent, their banners unfurled, they quickly attracted attention. Half the city was already buzzing about the Grand Duke's arrival by the time they approached the Silver Citadel.
Before they could reach the palace itself, a royal welcoming party came to meet them.
The greeting was lavish. A crimson carpet rolled out from the palace gates, lined with flower petals cast by handmaidens. Trumpeters and drummers heralded their approach. Clearly, High King Francis had been preparing for days—ready for every possible scenario.
Gwayne smiled inwardly. He knew full well that had he entered differently—or arrived even a day earlier or later—the entire reception would have changed accordingly.
Who could say how many contingency plans the royal court had prepared?
Though Gwayne had no true experience navigating noble courts, the memories he inherited gave him enough knowledge to understand the theater. The Gwayne Seawright of old had lived through the splendor of the Gondor Empire—seven hundred years ago, human civilization had reached a peak no one today could match. He knew grandeur when he saw it.
A dignified courtier, clad in fine robes and bearing the bearing of a high-born steward, stepped forward with a practiced smile:
"Grand Duke Seawright, honored guests," he said, bowing low, "His Majesty has prepared the finest chambers, the richest feast, and healing springs to ease your journey. Your audience is scheduled for midday tomorrow. Tonight, please rest and enjoy the palace's hospitality."
Gwayne turned slightly, glancing at Rebecca—and almost laughed.
The girl, who had been so determined to appear poised, was now gawking openly at the pageantry. She didn't know whether to stare at the ceremonial guard, the cascading flower petals, or the magnificent Silver Citadel itself, its walls sheathed in gleaming silver.
Gwayne chuckled.
"I thought the High King would be eager to meet me," he said from horseback, smiling lazily down at the steward. "After all... how often does a man climb out of his own grave?"
The steward hesitated—caught off guard by the ancient Duke's casual tone—but quickly recovered:
"His Majesty thought it best to allow you time to recover from the road, my lord."
"Hmm..." Gwayne let the silence stretch long enough that sweat began to bead on the steward's brow, before finally speaking: "Very thoughtful. But since we're not meeting today, there's no need for me to stay in the palace."
The steward paled slightly. "Then, my lord, where would you—?"
"Home, of course," Gwayne said lightly. "The Seawright estate on Crown Street, Number Four. Surely it still stands?"
The steward and the royal courtiers around him stiffened instantly.
Crown Street Number Four—once the private residence of Gwayne Seawright in the heart of Solis Ardent, gifted to him by High King Charles I himself. A relic of the Founding Age.
Though every other founder's descendant still lived and claimed their ancestral homes, the Seawrights had declined—and the estate had been seized by the Crown a century ago.
The steward stammered: "It... still stands, my lord. It has been... renovated many times..."
"As it would need to be," Gwayne said, smiling, "after seven centuries. But if it's intact, then surely I can spend the night there?"
"Of course..." The steward bit his tongue. Technically, he should request the High King's permission. But seeing Gwayne's easy, knowing smile... he dared not argue.
"It's true the house remains unoccupied," the steward admitted. "No heir has claimed it... and the legacy within remains untouched."
"Perfect," Gwayne said. "I'll stay there tonight. You need only inform His Majesty that I shall present myself at the appointed hour tomorrow."
With that, Gwayne turned his horse without waiting for permission. As he passed Rebecca, he reached over and rapped her gently on the head: "Come, silly girl."
"Eh? Ancestor, we're not staying at the Silver Citadel?" she yelped.
"Bah. I told Charles the soil was wrong when he built this palace—three years later the roof cracked," Gwayne said with a grin. "Come on. I'll show you what a real palace looks like."
Behind them, the steward stood frozen. Finally, wiping cold sweat from his brow, he barked orders to the palace staff:
"Quick! Find a Druid—one who can turn into a bird! Send them flying ahead to Crown Street! Prepare everything immediately!"