The dining hall emptied into the high-arched corridors of the inner palace. The lunch had officially drawn to a close, leaving a lingering atmosphere of quiet tension in its wake.
Cherion walked side-by-side with Zarius down the wide hallway, the rhythmic clink of Zarius's ceremonial saber against his hip matching their slow pace.
Inside his head, Cherion's mind was spinning through novel plotlines like an overloaded archivist. The border dispute in the South, he thought, adjusting the high collar of his coat. I remember this exact arc.
