Revival Palace was just as it had always been.
Cold, gloomy, desolate, and grim.
Thud, thud, thud...
Tales followed behind the Court Steward, Baron Quentin, listening to the echoes of his footsteps. Once again, he felt that suffocating oppression, so airtight that not even a breath could pass through.
It was a dimness even the Eternal Lamp could not illuminate.
Behind the Duke, Marius remained as composed and proper as ever. In truth, quite a few people had escorted Tales out of Mindis Hall, but of those permitted to accompany him into the palace, Marius was the only one.
That was not a good sign.
Yet unlike the treatment he had received last time, when he had been quietly watched as he received the ceremonial salutes, everyone they passed along the way—guards, servants, nobles, and vassals alike—bowed respectfully to him and addressed him as "Your Highness." Their faces were solemn, and their manners were utterly impeccable.
He had no idea why.
So how great a price would he have to pay for the choice he had made last night?
Tales's thoughts were in turmoil.
The Court Steward ahead of him gave a light cough. The Prince instinctively straightened his chest and pulled in his stomach, his bearing becoming flawless.
After winding through several turns, they did not head for the Council Hall they had visited last time. Instead, they arrived on a higher floor.
Portraits of kings from every era hung all along both sides of the corridor, opening Tales's eyes wide:
John the First, son of King of Revival and creator of the Nine-Star Crown, looked spirited and dashing. Despite his nickname, "Black Eye," he had a pair of clear, captivating green eyes, and his handsome features seemed almost capable of stealing one's soul.
The "Blade King," Tomond II,