The Groom's Waiting Room was technically a parlor, but at the moment, it felt more like a bunker under siege.
Caspian stood in front of a mirror. He was wearing a ceremonial suit of deep teal velvet, embroidered with silver waves that seemed to move when he breathed. He looked every inch the King of the Sea.
Except he was hyperventilating.
"I can't breathe," Caspian gasped, tugging at his high collar. "Is the air thinning? Did the Void return and steal the oxygen?"
"Stand still," Rurik grunted. The massive Wolf Warlord was trying to tie Caspian's silk cravat. His fingers, which were the size of sausages, were struggling with the delicate fabric.
Rrrripp.
"Dammit," Rurik growled, holding up two halves of a cravat. "It was weak. Inferior silk. A warrior needs leather."
