THE GOLDEN CAPITAL OF CALIPSOS roused bright and early from its slumber at the minstrel of the Grace Temple.
The loud clanging of the temple's bells had become to the syverians as natural as the sunrise, insomuch that each day they were expectant of it. To any still slumbering heads, the tolling signaled the passing of the final haze of the night.
A week had passed since the King's feast to celebrate the dark Prince's return. And currently in the Ivory Castle, diligent stewards and maidens were about their business, heralded to their places under the lynx eye of the Castle Governess.
Though the bells of the Temple came tolling and though the castle servants went sweeping through the royal courts, the King remained fast asleep in his bed. The high drapes were drawn over, shut tight enough that the room was still shaded from the purple dawn outside.
