There were guards everywhere. They were stationed at every entry and exit, posted at every corner imaginable. They moved across the palace grounds in an endless, restless stream, much like ants swarming over a discarded loaf of bread. The queen had tightened security in preparation for the festivities that were set to span the next three days, as well as for the influx of noble guests who would soon flood the palace halls. No detail had been left to chance.
Hairan watched them absent-mindedly from his open window, a cup of rum clutched loosely in his hand. It was his third cup already and the sun had barely climbed high enough to warm the palace spires but he hardly cared as he lifted it to his lips once more. If anything, he hoped to be blissfully, blackout drunk by the time his sham of a betrothal was announced at the banquet. At least then, he wouldn't have to suffer through the ordeal while being fully aware of it.
He was not alone in the room.
