Okay, here’s the text with grammar corrections:
"Your carriage is ready, Your Highness," the butler said, bowing slightly.
Fenric gave a nod as Roman and Myria took position on either side of the door. He stepped in without fanfare, settling into the plush interior as the two knights mounted their spectral steeds to ride alongside.
As Fenric stepped out of the royal grounds, a strange sense of anticipation stirred in his chest.
This was his first time leaving the palace district—his first time truly outside.
He paused for a moment at the top of the steps, eyes sweeping across the grand gates that marked the boundary of royal territory. Beyond them, the city stretched out like a living tapestry: bustling streets, towering buildings, magic lanterns flickering in broad daylight, and voices—so many voices. A world he’d only glimpsed from balconies or behind thick curtains was now just a carriage ride away.
The butler stood beside the open carriage door, bowing low. The Duskhorn Chargers snorted, pawing at the ground, their violet eyes pulsing with restrained energy.
Fenric took a steady breath and stepped forward.
The moment the doors closed behind him, the driver gave a signal. With a sharp cry and a tug on the reins, the Chargers surged forward, pulling the carriage out through the gates and onto the main road. Magical runes beneath the wheels lit up, cushioning the ride over the stone-paved streets.
Fenric leaned back slightly, then turned to look out the window.
The capital unfolded around him—vivid, chaotic, alive.
There were no cheers, no bowed heads, but Fenric saw the glances.
People noticed—the way their eyes flicked to the royal insignia etched in silver and crimson on the carriage doors, the sigil of House Vareldis, once buried beneath layers of obscurity, now glinting in broad daylight.
Still, the citizens only looked for a moment before returning to their work. This was the heart of the Vareldis Empire, a place where humans weren’t the only ones filling the streets. Elves walked alongside dwarves, beastfolk argued with merchants, and even among the noble houses, there were names belonging to races beyond humanity.
Fenric’s gaze wandered from stall to shop, to passing pedestrians and distant towers. Everything felt surreal. What he’d read in books and heard through whispers in the palace was now in front of him—alive, layered, messy, beautiful.
’Seeing it in real life is really something else,’ he thought as he smiled. The world he only read about in books was now the world he was living in.
Far from the capital’s center, within the shadowy halls of the Royal Citadel’s eastern wing—the domain unofficially known as the Cradle of Thorns—Drake’s mother stood in front of her private mirror, a thin line forming on her lips as the message arrived.
"So... he’s left the palace grounds." 𝚏𝐫𝚎𝗲𝕨𝐞𝐛𝕟𝚘𝐯𝚎𝗹.𝕔𝐨𝗺
Her reflection barely moved as she turned away from the whispering crystal orb, its glow fading.
"I wonder," she mused quietly, her voice low and unreadable, "if the older ones in the family will try to eliminate him now..."
She tapped her long, crimson nail against her chin, almost idly.
After all, she knew her lineage well.
The Ragos Dukedom did not allow loose ends to wander. And now that Fenric had stepped beyond the safety of royal walls, it was only a matter of time before the family sent assassins—silent, efficient, and utterly merciless.
The carriage came to a smooth halt, its enchanted wheels dimming as the runes faded. With a gentle creak, the door was opened from the outside.
"Your Highness," the butler said with a bow.
Fenric stepped out, his boots touching the stone pavement of the capital for the first time in his life.
Before him stood a towering structure of blackstone and golden latticework—The Silver Chain Exchange, the largest and most reputable slave house in the entire Vareldis Empire. Despite the grim nature of its name, this place was neither chaotic nor lawless. It operated with precision, decorum, and unshakable hierarchy. It had to—after all, this was not the slaver pits of border towns. This was the capital.
A pair of heavily armored knights at the gate saw his crest and immediately moved aside, heads bowing just slightly—enough to show respect without making a scene.
Fenric strode in calmly, his eyes sweeping across the lobby.
It was almost eerily quiet inside. Smooth floors, scentless incense, and polished counters greeted him. A few buyers, mostly nobles and state officials, were seated with recorders and clerks going over documents. No whips, no chains—only efficiency. The displayed products stood in formation behind enchanted glass barriers, eyes calm and trained, waiting.
They were not the broken or helpless. These were sinners repaying debts—thieves, conspirators, failed assassins, even a few rogue mages who’d lost their rights. Slavery in Vareldis was punishment by law, not inheritance; it was a second chance, if one could call it that.
A smartly dressed elf with silver-rimmed glasses approached him, bowing elegantly.
"Your Highness Prince Fenric," she said smoothly. "We’ve been informed of your visit. Please—this way to the private chamber. The best selection fitting your requirements has been prepared."
Fenric gave a nod. "Lead the way."
The elf led Fenric through a hallway lined with paintings of imperial decrees and noble clientele. Eventually, they arrived at an opulent chamber—velvet drapes, enchanted lighting crystals hanging from silver sconces, and a long blackwood table with a pitcher of spirit-infused water already prepared.
A few discreet attendants stood ready at the corners of the room, their eyes downcast, silent as statues.
The elf gestured politely toward a cushioned seat. "Please, Your Highness. Do make yourself comfortable."
Fenric sat, hands folded, calm but alert.
The elf took a seat across from him and pulled out a crystal ledger. Its surface glowed faintly with magical interface runes.
"To begin, may I inquire about your preferences today, Your Highness? Gender, race, primary skillset, and any additional specifications?"
Fenric didn’t hesitate.
"Two males. Best available, any race," he said. "But they must be skilled in both combat and household service."
The elf nodded, fingers sliding across the ledger.