"Honestly, Your Highness, they were practically trembling. They kept saying how worried they were about me venturing into that... that desolate frozen wasteland. They're just so relieved I made it back in one piece. They..."
Philia's voice, normally all smooth and melodic like it couldn't possibly stress anyone out, slowly trailed off into the thick, quiet air of the dining hall. After that, the only sound in the room was the painfully slow skritch-skritch of a knife scraping against a plate.
Yerel wasn't eating. He kept picking at the fish, breaking it down until it looked more like scraps than something you'd actually want to eat. His eyes, usually sharp enough to pierce through the thickest political smoke, were vacant. Flat. It was as if the Crown Prince of the Auzelian Empire had left his body behind and gone wandering elsewhere.
"Your Highness?"
The Prince didn't blink.
