For Philia, the "Golden Palace" was a myth, a shimmering hallucination that existed somewhere beyond the limestone walls of the State Orphanage.
Philia was just a boy who had learned early on that silence was a shield and a straight back was a weapon. While the other orphans slouched under the weight of their own hopelessness, Philia moved through the yard with a haunting grace. He didn't have much, his clothes were a patchwork of coarse linen and desperation, but he carried himself like a man who was merely visiting the slums on his way to somewhere better.
The day had started like any other, with the heat rising off the clay floors in shimmering waves. But then, the heavy, iron-shod gates had creaked open, and the world changed.
Royal carriages didn't often venture into this district. When they did, they were usually surrounded by enough guards to invade a small country.
