"We require garments of the highest quality and classy. Preferably for unique occasions. Do you believe you can manage that?" The dark-brown-haired woman raised an eyebrow, his teal eyes brightening under the faint flow of the golden light.
Zion swallowed hard, forcing a calm he didn't feel.
Not at all.
"Of course, Your Grace. I… I can manage it."
Fuck. Now I need to make clothes! Your Imperial Majesty, where have you sent me?!
He cursed inwardly.
The lady's teal eyes flickered, studying him carefully for a second longer.
"Good. You will start immediately. The materials will be sent to your place. Do not disappoint me."
"Yes, of course not, Your Grace," Zion whispered, his fingers tightening around the edge of the table to steady himself.
As she rose, Zion also mirrored her action.
Then she turned and exited, the room seemed to exhale with her departure. The air felt lighter, nothing like when she was here.
