Argider sat at the edge of the massive bed, its velvet covers feeling foreign beneath his calloused fingertips. The sheer size of the room overwhelmed him; the vaulted ceilings adorned with golden filigree, the massive windows framed by heavy brocade curtains, and the chandeliers casting soft, glowing light. It was nothing like the cramped, damp whorehouse he had known his entire life. For the first time, he allowed himself a small, fragile smile.
"I'm an Imperial son," he whispered to himself, testing the words as if they might shatter. The truth had hit him like a thunderclap when his mother spoke it, and though fear lingered, a cautious hope began to bloom in his chest.
No longer was he the boy mocked for his mother's occupation or his thin, gaunt appearance. Here, he thought, he could finally belong.
Here, he might command respect.
