The Imperial Palace was designed to make you feel small.
Everything was built on a scale of obnoxious, unnecessary grandeur. The vaulted ceilings were painted with frescoes of ancient conquests, the floors were seamless white marble that reflected the light like a mirror, and every door looked heavy enough to withstand a siege.
It was intimidating, opulent, and completely suffocating.
Elian walked a half-step behind Cassian as they were escorted down the Grand Corridor. The Northern Prince looked like a dark, jagged shadow moving through a jewelry box. He was still wearing his travel-stained armor, the Warlord's Mantle dragging slightly on the pristine marble.
Cassian's jaw was locked so tight Elian thought his teeth might shatter.
"Breathe, Sire," Elian murmured, staying firmly within the five-meter [WiFi Zone].
"I am breathing," Cassian replied, his voice a low rasp.
