although the russians and vikings were central to the ongoing conflict, it had been auguste’s brother who had collected the nobles in one place. this was enough for him to be on guard––and the fact that violence always seemed to snowball––whether or not you started fighting, you’d end up doing so. his talent, usually warm and energetic inside him, felt cold and empty. luckily, his talent had never been very physical, which meant he had been well trained in all sorts of weaponry. now, he had a sword in hand as he crept through the hallway, looking for any sign of his own people so perhaps they could discuss a plan. instead, he found his soon-to-be husband, the emperor. auguste lowered his sword as to not be directly threatening to his betrothed but still be ready in case someone else came around the corner. “uh, sir––” oh my god, his name. his fiancé’s name. what was it? “dragon emperor,” auguste said with a blanch, bowing as he’d seen others do throughout the night. “auguste, prince of france. it’s not . . . it’s not safe out here.” ( @glassapples )
