The Fisher Prince's Palace was one of four which sat in the centre of Lorath, in a large circle walled in by the towering labyrinth walls. At the far end of the circle sat the Hall of Laws, where the Magistrates and the Princes of the city often met to discuss the governance of the cities. Well, the magistrates discussed while the princes merely sat back, listened, and enjoyed a fine meal. Oftentimes there were princes who, being new to the assembly, would try to speak up or impress their own authority upon the magistrates...Many of them didn't keep their seats for long.
The third palace belonged to the Harvest Prince, though it was vacant since the old man's death, his family removed and placed in a smaller manse elsewhere in the city. The fourth, to the Prince of the Streets, a devilish rogue if there ever was one. Syraphos tended to get on with the man splendidly, both held many similar views, despite their differing on the exact role the princes should play in society.
The servant found Syraphos in the Fisher Prince's grand hall, a massive room covered in beautiful frescos so skillfully crafted that it seemed as if they were moving. The floor was covered in a sea of blue, in its centre the Lorathi isles were painted in great detail, nearer the edges of the room Braavos, Norvosh, and the other Free Cities bordering the coast could be seen to begin. The area of floor where Lorath was painted was raised slightly, to make it higher than the rest of the room so that one could stand atop it and look downwards at the other lands which Lorath used to control. The walls were equally exquisite, detailing sailing fleets, storms, dancing fishes, and battling frigates. The arching ceiling was hung with velvet tapestries of crimson and emerald, the crests of Lorath and the Fisher Prince emblazoned upon them while the rest of the ceiling gave way to a sea of rolling clouds which seemed almost to billow and rumble when one stared too long at them.
When the servant gave news of the arrival of the former Harvest Prince's daughter the only surprise Syraphos felt was that it was not the man's son who had come to call on him. Already he had received many such calls from other potential candidates, all desiring the approval of the Fisher Prince. "A servant may show a lady in. A Fisher Prince shall meet a lady here." He then waved the servant away to fetch the woman to him, his mind racing with what this could mean. Has Dommelin thought to send his sister to me as a whore to win my vote? He brought a hand up to stroke at his chin as he relaxed back in his chair upon the raised dais.
The chair itself was made of the wood of ship's masts, a large ship's wheel forming the back of it, strands of fresh seaweed draped over the wood and wrapped about the arms. Syraphos himself was clad his usually waterproofed cloak of heavy green velvet, his blonde hair brushed back over it and his blue eyes glinting as he took in the frescos for perhaps the thousandth time.
Perhaps he will win a man's vote that way, Dommelin's sister is a princess in her own right, with skin as smooth as velvet. Syraphos nodded his head, his thoughts flitting to more pleasurable occupations as he awaited for Delphine to be brought to the hall.