The jetliner eventually landed in the Peonic capital.  Eventually, a man in his early thirties disembarked the plane.

That man was Septimus Drakar, youngest sibling of Empress Hestia of Pax Dracon.  He walked out of the terminal, carrying a suitcase in each hand as he looked around at the city of Lián with wide-eyed wonder.  Like many of his people, he stood well over six feet, and he had a head of closely cropped hair that bore the greyish-silver color that was common to the Imperial family.  He found that the architecture was beyond beautiful and marveled at the various flowers that were in full bloom.

The locals gave the Drakari prince curious but welcoming looks on occasion as they went about their daily lives.  Some were engaging in fascinating religious rites that he was not yet familiar with.  It was beyond inspiring for the artist in him.

After being pointed in the direction of the Peony's palace, he paused a moment at the gates, noticing a handful of other foreigners like him awaiting entry.  Were they dignitaries seeking an audience with her Majesty the Peony, he wondered.