Imperator Mesha, son of the War Emperor, First of His Name, Shepherd of the Faithful and Protector of the Faith, wore a robe of imperial purple on the day of his first mission since ascending the throne.
The carriage beneath his feet trembled and rattled with every stone in the road.
The dog at his side whined low in its throat, its head pressed miserably against his knee. Mesha reached down, fingers brushing through coarse fur, scratching behind its ears in a vain attempt to calm it. The poor thing loathed travel, and for a moment, Mesha envied it. At least the dog's unease was honest, and he could shout it, differently from Mesha.
He would have liked to smile, to find some levity in the beast's antics, but the weight upon him smothered all such impulses.
Of course, his own unrest had little to do with swaying carriages or sour stomachs.
