"Please wake up, My Lord. We're almost there."
Back. Forth. Side. Side. The motion was hypnotic in the worst possible way. Cherion's stomach did a slow-motion somersault, as if trying to escape without the rest of him.
When he finally pried his eyelids open, he expected the familiar dark ceiling of his bedroom in Valtrane. Instead, he got velvet. Plush velvet. The kind that whispered money and smelled aggressively of lavender and generational privilege.
Cherion pushed himself upright. Sitting across from him was a man in a stiff, high-collared uniform. He looked like he'd been professionally composed since birth. Except for the eyes that held something of... was that pity? Cherion blinked. He definitely didn't know this guy.
Wait. Where the hell is Zarius? What happened to him?
