SOREN
I stood outside her chambers, attempting to project the kind of calm patience expected of emperors while internally counting the minutes with the restraint of a child waiting for festival sweets.
This was ridiculous. I was the Emperor of Nevareth. I had negotiated treaties that shaped the fate of nations. I had faced down military threats that would have made lesser men flee. I had survived Vetra's upbringing, which alone should have qualified me for sainthood.
And yet here I stood, nervous as a boy at his first formal dance, waiting for a woman to emerge from a room so I could walk her down a corridor.
Pathetic, really.
A bark echoed down the hallway, followed by the distinctive sound of claws scrabbling against marble. I turned just in time to see Bjorn come barreling around the corner, his entire body vibrating with excitement, tail wagging so hard his rear end swayed with the momentum.
