The story would begin where most stories do, at the beginning. Where there is the hustle and bustle of men and women moving about each other like a hive of busy bees. Night had just fallen on the capital of Merriedge, Belchester, and the castle was alight with lively music and warm candle light despite a cold rain falling outside. Food packed a table on one side of the room while round tables with white tablecloths had been arranged about the two adjacent walls. The middle of the floor, as well as the wall leading to the garden, a wall that was made completely of tall windows and glass doors, had been left empty, the perfect space for chatting and dancing and ringing in the new season. 

At one end of the room there was a squared table, decorated for the royal family. None of them had arrived yet, though it was common for leniency and less stiffness to come from the Merriedgean royalty. The ballroom, was, however, teeming with servers, dressed sharply and armed to the teeth with mobile refreshments. Each individual was greeted at the door, with an offer to take a sopping wet coat and let it dry elsewhere, out of sight.

Even through the less than optimal weather, carriages deposited their passengers at the peak of the circle drive with machine-like efficiency. And that is where our story has begun.