The sun rose over the capital, indifferent to the fact that the political landscape had imploded overnight.
Elian woke up with a numb left arm. Prince Cassian was using it as a pillow, his heavy frame sprawled across the bed like a dragon guarding its hoard.
'He drools,' Elian noted with a sleepy smile. 'The Tyrant of the North drools.'
He checked the time.
[Time Until Death: 74 Hours (Paused).]
He had slept well. Too well.
"Sire," Elian whispered, trying to wiggle his arm free. "I have to go. If Mrs. Gable catches me here, she'll have a stroke."
Cassian grunted, tightening his grip. "Let her. She answers to you now, Steward. If she complains about where you sleep, fire her."
Elian paused. He blinked.
'Right,' Elian thought, a slow grin spreading across his face. 'I forgot. I'm the boss. I can sleep on the chandelier if I want to.'
"Power trip noted," Elian whispered. "But I still have work to do."
