Camilla gave Cydric a wink and a smile as they were whisked through the gothic architecture of the palace. Unlike the Empire, where a degree of sophistication and the widespread use of gunpowder had turned palaces into something more on the lines of fortified manors, the Kislevite castle was built for defense first and lived in only as an afterthought. Although the walls were hung with rich tapestries, there was no disguising the numerous blind turns, sally ports and chokepoints which would make taking the citadel room by room a bloody business. Camilla didn’t doubt their were murder holes and other defenses that she didn’t recognise.

In Tilea sieges were rare. Few mercenaries, who made up the majority of Tilean armies, were willing to take on such long contracts and few captains wanted to watch their men dwindle away to disease and disorder. Paying for men to sit around wasn’t good business particularly when those men were just as likely to strike a new contract with the besieged and march off to attack their previous employers. Worse still if your mercenaries were off besieging another city, your other rivals, and all Tilean city states were rivals, were liable to seize on the moment to attack you. Other City States might attack the besieger simply to prevent them from gaining an advantage. 	

For all the brutal austerity of the palace, the throne room certainly had a barbaric splendour. Great fireplaces carved to resemble great stone gargoyles flanked either side of an immense hall. Dozens of pillars, each engraved with images of either history or myth, it was hard to tell in Kislev, reached towards the massive vaulted ceiling. Decorative bunting drooped and fluttered in the erratic breeze. The prince, a very austere looking man with grey hair at his temples sat on a throne which was raised two or three feet above the floor where dozens of nobles mingled around a great table.  Although there was no shortage of food, it wasn’t quite the cornucopia Camilla had expected. Roasted geese and vegetables steamed on platters and fresh fruit was laid out as garnish. Clearly the prince was taking the prospect of the siege seriously and was using only the most perishable of fare for his feast. 

As Camilla and Cydric stepped onto the floor bells began to chime. Remembering the wizard warning Camilla looked up to find the woman sitting in a corner, she was dressed in a fine ill fitting gown but her hair was frazzled as though she had run her feet through a rug to many times. The Celestial wizard met her eyes and looked immediately relieved, though she made no move to join them or speak to them.

A livered footman stepped forward and lifted a iron shod staff into the air before driving it down onto the stone floor with ceremonial precision.

“The Graf and Gravine of Estabrook,” he announced. Camilla leaned close to Cydric.

“Are those our titles? Im a grapevine?!”