The silence that followed the Emperor's matrimonial proposition stretched like a bowstring drawn to its breaking point. Pyris regarded the sovereign with the kind of calm that preceded volcanic eruptions, his golden eyes reflecting depths that had witnessed the rise and fall of civilizations.
"Your Imperial Majesty," Pyris began, his voice carrying a different tone than that of a normal mortal with the silken menace of a blade being slowly drawn from its sheath, "I fear you labor under a profound misunderstanding."
The Emperor's weathered features hardened, sensing the rejection that hung in the air like the scent of approaching storms.
