The dawn over the Northwest was an annoying thing, cutting through the curtains of Zaliyah's bedchamber. For the first time in months, he didn't wake to the soft rustle of silk or the smell of jasmine tea. He woke to the cold reality of a new life.
The maids moved with a quiet, practiced urgency today. They presented him with a set of clothes Thalassa had dropped off while he was still locked in his nightmare-ridden sleep. Gone were the flamboyant, flowing silks that trailed behind him like liquid light. In their place was a simple, sturdy suit of warrior's leathers, charcoal gray, fitted to his frame reinforced with silver-thread runes at the joints.
"It feels... heavy," Zaliyah muttered, testing the weight of the boots.
"It is meant to keep you anchored, Your Highness," a maid whispered.
Pl
