The skies were ordered to be cleared prior to the arrival of the envoy's ship. No doubt the Air Force had tried arguing for the need to have interceptors in the air, but the King knew it wouldn't do them any good. God forbid some squirrely pilot with an itchy trigger finger get them all killed.

Root could feel his stomach cramping as he stood there on the runway with Lord Bartlebert and his diplomats. The color guard was posted a short distance away and the honor guard was comprised of two files of troops representing the four branches of service that lined the way to cars that would be transporting the envoy and his entourage. During a normal state visit, there would also be a military band, but because this was not an ordinary state visit, the band got to sit this one out.

The plane, if you could call it that, didn't need the runway to come to a stop. It hung there in the air before gently setting down, like one of their own airships but far quieter and nimbler. If it was one of their airships, the sound of the turbines would've been deafening and you wouldn't want to stand within a hundred meters of the landing zone if you knew what was good for you.

From the side of the 'plane', a ramp extended and touched the ground. They had to adjust their position four paces before attendants could roll out the red carpet. It ended up being a few senches to short, prompting the attendants to pull it closer to the ramp.

Once the attendants were out of the way, the hatch slid open and the guard commander shouted, "Honor guard, atten-shun! Pre-sent arms!"

The honor guard saluted with their rifles as the envoy appeared. He was a swarthy man with a thick moustache who could've easily been mistake for a Souki amir. He wore an elaborate dress uniform with gold and purple accents. Root remembered the style.

Lord Bartlebert was there to meet him at the bottom of the ramp and said, "Greetings. In the name of His Majesty the King, I welcome you to Byrandia. I am Bartlebert de Lumet, Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs."

The envoy touched his collar and when he spoke, his words were in Franca, but they didn't match the movement of his lips. During Root's experience, there was someone acting as interpreter, but apparently the envoy had some sort of device that did it for him.

Lord Bartlebert was taken aback by the blunt question, but then replied, "His Majesty is indeed our sovereign."

Okay, so they weren't even going to leave them with the fig leaf of pretense that they were on equal or even near-equal footing. This wasn't an exchange between nations. It was a lord's herald coming to the peasants. It was a parent upending the kingdom his child had established under the kitchen table. King Charles was smart. He wouldn't let stupid pride get in the way, but what about everyone else?

Lord Bartlebert at least was able to roll with the punches.

General Adeen only nodded. Lord Bartlebert offered his hand, but the General did not accept it. Following protocol, the other members of the diplomatic delegation offered their hands as well as he passed and were similarly ignored. When Root's turn came up, he saluted, fully expecting it to not be returned. He waited for the General to pass him by, but instead he stopped.

This gave the General pause. He then asked, "What is your name?"

General Adeen returned Root's salute and went on his way. Following him were four other officers and a dozen others who appeared to be bodyguards. Lord Bartlebert and two of the members of his diplomatic team got in the first car along with General Adeen and two of his bodyguards. The next two cars accommodated eight in the back, so that was two diplomats, two Imperial officers and four bodyguards apiece. That just left Root, the two juniormost members of the diplomatic team and two of the bodyguards. The only problem was that they had only prepared three cars for transport.

Although it was contrary to protocol, the five of them were divided between the Gendarme escorts at the front and the rear of the convoy. Root was stuck with the two Imperials. Six motorcycles rolled up alongside the three transport cars and they headed out. As soon as they did, the Imperials' plane lifted off. Rather than return to wherever it came from, it hovered above them a couple hundred meters up. Almost a dozen smaller planes emerged and formed up on its wing. They looked too small to be manned, so Root wondered if they were drones. He knew the Air Force had been experimenting with radio-controlled drones but hadn't had much success. It would figure that the technology would be something the Imperials had.

With the Gendarme escort clearing the way, it only took about half an hour to reach the palace. In the southern courtyard, an honor guard some one hundred strong lined the way to the entrance. Waiting for them on the portico was King Charles himself along with the remaining four Secretaries of State, the Marshal of Byrandia, the Admiral of Byrandia, the three Chiefs of Staff, and the Director-General of the Gendarmerie.

Footmen came to open the car doors. Of course, they weren't expecting people to be in the escort cars, though, so Root motioned to the Imperial bodyguards on either side of him to open the doors. The Imperials formed up as they had when they disembarked the plane and Lord Bartlebert's people formed a single file alongside them with Root pulling up the rear.

When General Adeen reached the stairs to the portico, the King saluted, along with the military members of his entourage and he said, "On behalf of this proud nation and her people, I welcome you to Byrandia."

Once again, General Adeen did not return the salute right away.

As you'd expect from King Charles, he bore General Adeen's rudeness with perfect grace, but even from a distance, Root could see it grating on most of the others.

The King nodded and said, "Very well then. Shall we go inside?"

Only then did General Adeen return the salute and after he did so, the King led the way into the palace. Once inside, the King did not go to the throne room, the large council chamber or the small council chamber but rather the secret meeting room in the Basement dubbed 'the King's Study'.

Unlike most of the palace, which was over two hundred years old, the Basement was relatively new, dating back to the Second League War, so it had more of a stark, modern industrial look to it. It was designed to survive a bombing and while it might've been able to hold up to Palatinian tech, it wouldn't do them much good against the Imperials' firepower. Of course, that wasn't the idea in going there. The King's Study would ensure the confidentiality of the negotiations. The King had to know what was coming and wanted to control the situation as much as possible.

Root recognized the dark blue uniforms of the men guarding the doors to the King's Study. It was the Night Watch, or Blaggards as some people called them, a special division of the Capital's Gendarmerie that was essentially the King's secret police. Their mission at times uncomfortably resembled that of the defunct Blackamoors, but the Night Watch had been around longer and at least as far as Root knew, they weren't responsible for the same sort of atrocities and tyrannies. The Clairmont Trials would've been one big act of hypocrisy if the same abuses continued under a different name.

One thing Root could say for the Blaggards was that they weren't a bunch of jack-booted fanatics serving a megalomaniacal psychopath. You never heard much about their activities, unlike the great public menace of the Blackamoors. Just thinking of those black-faced bastards made him want to punch something.

Because their roles were entirely ceremonial, Marshal Daein and Admiral Molier had already been dismissed before they went down the stairs, but Lord Bartlebert didn't dismiss his team until right before he was about to go into the King's Study. Half of the Imperial bodyguards followed General Adeen and his officers inside while the other half posted themselves in the corridor opposite the Blaggards.

Without anyone to personally dismiss him, Root was going to take this opportunity to go when a woman emerged from inside and said, "Colonel Maartens, His Majesty would have you join in."

Root had seen her before. She was Lieutenant Juliard of Second Branch. Apparently General Boyer wanted eyes and ears on the inside and the King agreed to it. How were they going to justify her being there, though?

When Root went inside, Lieutenant Juliard led him to a seat next to the Air Force Chief of Staff. The Chiefs of Staff looked annoyed to have him there. Indeed he felt very out of place being lined up with the highest civil and military authorities in the kingdom.

Lieutenant Juliard approached General Adeen and asked him, "Would you like coffee or tea, sir?"

General Adeen furrowed his brow, then said, "Very well. Tea."

So that was how they justified her being there. Once she served General Adeen his tea, she then took the orders of the other Imperial officers and after them, Root.

According to the rules of classical Byrandian hospitality, first the guests are served from greatest to least, followed by the host's party from least to greatest, When the King was served at last, he raised his cup and said, "To your health, General, ladies and gentlemen."

Two of the Imperial officers were female, the only ones besides Lieutenant Juliard. The juniormost one judging from her insignia was rather short, but Root couldn't help but notice she was rather well-endowed. He couldn't see her face clearly because the bill of her cover was hiding her eyes. He was trying not to stare.

General Adeen and his officers silently raised their cups in reply before everyone took their first drink.

When the King lowered his cup, he said, "You do not want me to waste your time, General, but perhaps when we are done here, you will do us the honor of allowing us to show you a fuller measure of our hospitality. Our customs demand it."

General Haviland looked like he wanted to tear out General Adeen's guts and strange him with them. The King, however, remained the picture of calm and collected.

Naturally, the assembled high-rankers didn't take well to this, but before any of them could express their outrage, the King raised his hand to quiet them.

Unable to restrain himself any longer, General Haviland sprang from his seat, slamming his hands on the table and shouting, "Who the hell do you think you are, coming here and threatening us!?"

Icily, General Adeen replied, "I am the man who can burn this city with a word. I can call down fire to purge this land from sea to sea. You have been living a dream these past five hundred years and we have come to wake you up. You are subjects of His Imperial Majesty and if you will not bow before the Father of All Humanity, you will be blotted from existence. Does that answer your question?"

This seemed to confound the General. He cleared his throat before replying, "Yes... Yes, His Imperial Majesty is indeed generous to all his good and faithful children. There are of course rewards to be had for your full and eager cooperation. There are titles and privileges awaiting those who prove themselves leal and capable. When a planetary governor is appointed, you may even find yourself named his lieutenant. And the planet would be put on a track to modernization. Within a generation this world could be fully integrated into the rest of the Empire."

General Adeen looked to Root and said, "I was honestly not expecting such a reasonable response. It would seem that Dr. Haider's brief encounter with this individual here has saved many of your people's lives. You should be grateful to him."

General Adeen arched an eyebrow.

The lower-ranking female officer removed her cover. Root then saw the golden eyes he could never forget, that haunted his dreams these past eleven years.

When did she learn to pronounce his name right?