His boots clicked sharply against the polished marble floor of the great hall as he paced forward. Minstrels, parasites, and whatever other fools chanced to meet his gaze quickly flashed a well-practiced smile and offered a low bow.
Basil replied in kind, his nods precise and smooth. There was absolutely no reason to break appearances here; in a room like this, the mask mattered far more than the ugly truth hidden behind it.
Yet right now, he couldn't help but think he would have infinitely preferred clashing blunt steel out in the muddy courtyard with the old commander of the Golden Steed. The legendary order had recently been broken apart and reinvented, absorbed as a heavy cavalry vanguard within the legions' apparatus. After a long, grueling two decades of iron service to the crown, the old commander had finally been given a sprawling mansion, a sturdy stone castle, and a handful of productive agrarian villages to secure his retirement.
