Lord Marius strode through the gilded halls of the imperial palace, his boots striking the polished marble with a measured cadence. The air was heavy with the scent of lavender oil and wax, the remnants of a morning cleaning that had transformed the palace into a gleaming masterpiece.
Towering columns adorned with golden vines loomed over him, their luxuriousness casting long, flickering shadows under the warm glow of the chandeliers.
Marius barely registered the luxury. His thoughts churned like a storm-tossed sea, drowning out the murmured greetings and reverent bows from passing servants.
The weight of Orion's words still clung to him, a cold and unrelenting grip around his chest: "Is it because I'm a Montclair?"
His hand tightened instinctively on his rope as he approached the emperor's study.
