¬FASHIRE
The guards' vacant stares snapped into focus, their malevolent gazes locking onto me as I made my presence known, halting right before them. The giant statues shifted from their positions ever so slightly and their stony countenances twisted into frowns.
"Your royal Highness, Lord Aser Fashire, His Majesty wills to see you before the conference," they intoned in eerie unison, their raspy voices slithering through the dim corridor.
I arched a sceptical brow. The old fool never changed. "And?"
"He hasn't instructed us that you've met—"
"Did the King tell you that I couldn't attend the conference?"
A pause.
"Well?" I prodded.
