Tharionson moved through the palace corridors with the same measured stride people had come to expect from him, but the steadiness in his steps did little to hide the pressure gathering behind his eyes. The royal palace of Ilis had always been a place of controlled grandeur, all polished marble floors, tall archways, golden flame-lamps, and banners bearing the mark of House Magna, yet lately even its beauty had begun to feel strained.
The corridors were clean, the guards were positioned where they were supposed to be, the servants moved with practiced obedience, and the palace still carried the appearance of order, but beneath that surface, something had changed. It was not dramatic enough for anyone to point at directly. It lived in the small things.
