Prelude to Anarchy - Princess of Steam

Royalty

Albert Leon was quite proud of the hall. Marble columns speared out from the polished dance floor and reached to the glass-dome that was the ceiling. The walls were hidden by ancient tapestries and panelling made of extinct woods that absorbed the light splashing across the hall. At the end where he was, two great staircases rose up, meeting at dais on which his throne sat.

He had spent countless hours renovating the hall and the rest of the estate, making it resplendent while ridding himself of the old artifacts of his father's era. The symbolism did not go unnoticed.

Formalities and jovial laughter filled the air as the rich and famous that made up the elite of the capitol enjoyed themselves in a way that only the noble-blooded could: with class. The hall was filled with their banter and chit-chat; aggressive debates over slouching wine. Teasing and flirting looks were passed out freely to the unwary, many aimed up at him. Albert smiled thinly from upon his throne. The mood was going to change, but not yet.

A servant appeared at his side and bowed low, whispering something in his ear. He only half heard, but he knew what it was about. "Yes, yes. Begin now," Albert said with a dismissive wave.

This gathering was meant to show that he was in power now, that a new era had begun. This was the last nail in his father's coffin. Never satisfied, Albert found one more way to solidify the image.

Some here, and in the empire at large, had decided that he was unworthy. Others had questioned the specifics of his father's demise and the critical time in which it happened. Albert Leon did not enjoy the questioning.

The light within the room shifted as a black form blotted out the sun from above. The guests stopped their dancing and stared through the ceiling. A tarp was being pulled over the skylight. Servants ran into the room and, with elegant haste, lit the wall sconces set along the sides.

A few more logs were tossed into the great fireplace, filling the air with a scent of fresh maple strong enough to drown out the countless perfumes hanging in the air.

With only a little pause, the dancing resumed, the band never faltered and the eating continued in the subdued light of a hundred gas lamps.

Rising from the throne with practiced grace, Albert walked down the steps, flanked by two guards dressed in their finest livery. As he reached the tables he began to mingle with the various guests. He met nobles, officers and merchants; old blood and new. All bowed and made shows of respect. Some, those that owed him, went beyond and offered him praise or wise advice, all the while shifting their eyes nervously.

He loved these little parties. Especially when held on his own terms in his own castle. Every chandelier, every chair, every little detail was hand picked by him. It had to be extravagant and overflowing with richness and power. Or so, most of his events were held. This one was quieter.

He had hired no entertainers from overseas, or strange sights to show off his wealth. He had only allowed minimal changes to the architecture of the room and gardens beyond. The food, while delectable, was simple and even rather common. Albert had learned a hard lesson on the art of subtlety, and now he was putting his new skills to work.

Subtlety, he had learned, was a power in and of itself.

Albert found himself following some of the more beautiful ladies with his eyes, a small smile touching his lips as he watched them dance and send flirting looks his way. Everybody tried to act their best. Everybody wore their best, from elegant dresses to smart suits. The officers of the Navy stuck out with their trim grey suits and many badges of honour. Conflicts and fights were put aside in favour of appearances, and none dared to break any of the unspoken social contracts. As with all good things, there were exceptions.