He stood by the edge of the Palace’s second-floor balcony garden, resolute, and firm as ever as he, through the thin slits of his mask, cast his gaze down towards the gem that was Al-Salarqa glimmering before him. A subtle shiver ran through him with each whisper of the night’s cold breezes, hidden beneath the folds of his elaborate golden-red cloak and the intricately ornate golden mask that concealed his emotions.
To the eyes of the distinguished and esteemed reveling in the banquet behind him. Eamon, and indeed, the name of the house he carried were enigmas that seemed to elude all who bear not the names of Sadegh or Al-Sayyed. To them, the esteemed and distinguished whose eyes had cast towards him unpleasant looks since he made his entrance, he might as well be a beast on Her Serene Majesty’s leash.
Yet, amidst the judgmental stares, Eamon paid them no mind. Tonight, his thoughts drifted to memories of a more blissful era, retracing the districts of the distant city. It was a home that had sheltered him since his youth, shielding him from the life and legacy he was destined to inherit.
“Such is life-” Eamon muttered to himself before turning his eyes to look at his surroundings. He was supposed to meet Her Sultana, or so he’s been informed by his betters. He knew well that it was either for pleasure or for business. Though, perhaps, considering the nature of what he does, the line between the two doesn’t exist.
Paying his thoughts no further mind, Eamon took a deep breath, and sighed before turning to face the realities before him once again. He had a long night before him, and yet what frustrated him most was the fact that all he could do about it was wait for her arrival. And arrive she did, in the most glamorous of Atasiqayi court attires, her gold embroidered red dress softly swaying in the air as she walked towards him.
And everything faded to black after that.