The Imperial Ballroom
The Imperial Ballroom was designed to make people feel small.
The ceilings were high enough to fly a dragon through. The chandeliers were the size of small houses, dripping with crystals that refracted the light into a blinding, prismatic haze. The floor was polished marble, slick enough to see your own terrified reflection in.
And the noise. It wasn't loud. It was a low, buzzing hum—the sound of five hundred nobles whispering insults behind silk fans.
I stood at the entrance, clutching my satchel (which contained the Obsidian Case) like a lifeline.
Behind me, the Daycare Delegation was trying their best.
Luna smoothed her pink dress nervously, holding Clover's hand.
Jax adjusted his emerald tie, looking around the room as if calculating the value of the silverware. Finn looked dapper in his top hat, but he was currently vibrating with the urge to run.
Orion was misting himself with a small spray bottle. Psst. Psst.
And King Caspian.
