Night settled slowly over Auristella, wrapping the imperial palace in a hush only its marble halls could conjure, vast, echoing, and alive with the measured steps of guards on watch. In his room, Dietrich Maximillian stood before a towering mirror framed between two marble pillars. The lamplight bounced off the glass, carving his reflection in sharp contrast.
That evening, he wore a pristine white suit beneath a black coat traced with silver lines that flowed across his shoulders, embroidered with the imperial crest of Auristella in fine thread. A high-collared white shirt sat neatly beneath, a thin jabot spilling down to cover his chest. Black gloves hugged his hands, the imperial ring gleaming on his forefinger. At his waist, a dark leather belt with a silver clasp held a short stola draped to his left side. Slim black trousers sharpened his tall silhouette, and polished leather shoes sealed the look without flaw.
He looked every inch a man the night itself refused to forget.
