Everything at the royal palace on Hapes was business as usual. Handmaidens were tending to their Queen Mother, all of the workers milling about their postings. Nothing was out of place. And yet when the Queen Mother walked into her grand hall and gazed upon her throne, she would find it occupied. The wraith was casually seated upon it, slanted over in a relaxed poise with his chin resting above curled, slender fingers. His crimson gaze would meet hers. There was no warning about his arrival, no discussion made in advance, no regard for her schedule. But there he was.
“You do not have any imported wines?” His voice was velvety smooth as he raised a jeweled chalice in his hand, taking a sip. Hapans were jealously proud of their heritage and traditions, and he found their drinks lacking for his tastes.
@Valen Pelora