The mountain winds had changed.
For seven months, Prince Lancelot had built and burned through the jungles, highlands, and coasts of West Africa. Cities had risen. Railways carved paths through ridges that once defied even wind. And with each hammerfall and electric spark, the Kingdom of Aragon stepped deeper into the modern age.
But Lancelot's eyes no longer lingered on the plateau.
They looked further—across oceans, beyond Africa, to the land of emperors and scholars.
To the East.
To the Qing Dynasty.
—
It began with a map.
In the early hours of morning, Juliette found Lancelot in the cartographic chamber, hunched over a sprawling scroll spread across the drafting table. Oil lamps cast a golden hue over the parchment—a detailed depiction of East Asia. From the Russian tundra to the jungles of Indochina, and in the heart of it all, the dragon-shaped dominion of the Qing.
"You're not sleeping," she said softly.
He didn't look up. "I don't dream these days. Just plan."
