Through the front window, Lancet saw a vast black dome rose proudly above the surrounding buildings of Calamere Road.
It had a smooth, curved roof deliberately broken by several narrow spires that climbed high enough to be easily seen over most of the wealthy district.
What looked like real gold ran along the rigid edges of the structure in clean, immaculate lines. And the bright afternoon light reflected on it while tall hexagonal windows made of dark red glass circled the entire lower floors.
The broad avenue around the venue had been completely cleared for arriving guests, with uniformed attendants efficiently guiding ridiculously expensive private riders toward the entrance and stern security officers aggressively keeping ordinary pedestrians far beyond the broad front steps.
Their cab finally slowed, sandwiched between two other vehicles that probably cost considerably more than most sprawling houses back in Aethelgard.
