Elliott Lancaster, Emperor of the entire continent, was drunk.
By the time he wandered out into the hallway-much to the horror and surprise of the guards stationed outside his chambers- the wine was already making his head hazy. He'd assured them he was fine and in no need of assistance. Naturally, they had insisted on at least one of them accompanying him on his... midnight expedition. But Elliott had refused, claiming, with great dignity, that he wished for solitude.
And really, what were they supposed to do? They could offer the emperor assistance, not force it upon him.
So off he went.
Elliott stumbled into a hallway, barefoot and with all the solemnity of a saint on pilgrimage. His steps were oddly still, stiff even, but his balance was laughable. The wine was clearly doing wine-things to his psyche. The result? A very wobbly Elliott.
A very smug Elliott.
And a very lost Elliott.
He had a tendency to accidentally sneak up on people when left to his own devices-tonight was no exception. He was currently attempting to locate Aiden's chambers through sheer force of will and a vague sense of direction. He was fairly certain Aiden's rooms were... somewhere. North. Maybe east. Possibly west. It had been a long time since he'd gone there himself-Aiden was always the one coming to him. His spatial skills were, and always had been, questionable at best.
It had been about ten minutes of noble stumbling before he encountered his first victim: a red-haired knight. Probably part of the additional security measures recently put in place. His uniform was gold and purple.
Ah. Imperial Knights under Commander Lira. Probably.
The poor knight had his back turned, completely unsuspecting, as Elliott approached from behind. He wasn't even trying to sneak up-he just wanted to tap the poor guy. Because he didn't feel like speaking. His throat was groggy. His head felt fuzzy. His heart-well, he wasn't thinking about that. So he tapped.
Tap tap tap.
The knight nearly stumbled at the sudden contact, jerking back instinctively. He turned-and then his eyes widened to the size of saucers. A natural reaction, really, considering the emperor of the empire had just materialized from the shadows like a disheveled ghost: barefoot, crownless, and clutching a pillow. Rather dearly. As if the fluffball had personally saved his life and now held the honor of being personally escorted by him. (He didn't realize how accurate that sentiment was.)
Elliott finally spoke. "Where is Prince Aiden?"
The knight blinked. Scrambling out of his stunned daze, he quickly bowed. "I... presume he must be resting in his chambers, Your Majesty."
"Yes," Elliott nodded sagely, with the gravity of a man contemplating empire-altering decisions. "Those. His chambers. I don't like them."
"You... don't?" the knight gaped.
"Hm." Elliott nodded again, slow and deliberate, the wisdom of a weary old scholar etched into his face. He reached out to pat the knight's shoulder-only to realise, belatedly, that he was far too short. So instead, he patted the man's bicep. It worked. "You'll understand when you're older."
The knight had never been more confused in his life. "I'll understand why you don't like the prince's chambers... when I'm older?"
"Mhm." Elliott blinked up at him, eyes unfocused and a little too shiny for no good reason. "Anyway. Where are those? Aiden's chambers?"
"Third corridor to the left-"
Before the knight could finish the sentence, or offer to escort the obviously inebriated emperor, Elliott had already begun gliding away. His white robes fluttered behind him like the train of a bridal gown, or a monarch's cloak-lace and satin shimmering in the moonlight spilling through the palace windows.
He made two wrong turns in a row.
Naturally.
It was on his second wrong turn that he encountered his second victim.
He'd wandered into the royal hall of portraits-of course, in the exact opposite direction of Aiden's chambers. He paused there, standing solemnly before the enormous oil painting of his great-grandfather, Valeryk the Fair. Elliott stood perfectly still, one hand to his chin, nodding slowly like the painting held the answers to all his problems. Or like he was trying to deduce why Valeryk's nose looked vaguely crooked.
Another knight appeared-this one clad in the cobalt blue uniform of the Nightshade Order. He'd turned the corner expecting the hall to be empty, like it always was at this hour. But instead, he found a pale figure standing dead-centre, lit by moonlight, wrapped in white, hair glinting like starlight.
He yelped. Drew his sword on reflex. "Halt-!"
Elliott turned, dramatically. The candelabra in his hand cast long shadows across his face, making him look eerily ethereal.
He pointed at the painting. "This... is not Aiden's room."
He sounded like a man who had just experienced the greatest betrayal of his life.
The knight might've dropped his sword from the sheer surprise had he not been trained in grace under pressure. In responsen to Elliott's question, he nodded quickly. "I-I'm afraid not, Your Majesty."
"Why?"
"Because... it's not a room."
"Why not?"
"Because it's a painting."
Elliott blinked.
He nodded slowly, the answer satisfying him. As if he had asked a perfectly reasonable question and had now received the most reasonable response.
He sighed. Loudly. Apparently, the painting not magically transforming into a doorway to Aiden's chambers had caused him great and unprecedented inconvenience.
This time, he didn't ask for directions.
Even a drunk Elliott didn't repeat his mistakes.
"Take me to Aiden," he said instead, with great and drunken nobility.
The knight, wisely, did not ask any further questions.
He obeyed.