subject15
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Fane shifted, his skin prickling at the heavy embroidery rubbing along his scars. He still wasn’t keen on the new clothes, though he was getting used to them. He studied himself in the mirror hung on the inside of his wardrobe. Black kurta, black churidar, black leather jutti. He had to admit, it all moved…
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A light rapping at his door woke him. Thankfully he had slept through the rest of the night, and dreams had taken a hiatus, to his relief.
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Shelly left Fane at his room after their evening meal, promising to show up the next day. She had reserved several hours with a local wise man who supposedly had some old scrolls she was chomping at the bit to see and was unsure when she would come to him.
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The door clicked shut behind Fane. Zephyr, after regaining his startled senses, looked down at the blade in his hand. Ornate in nature, it was a high-end piece that could only have come from the Prince. He mused for a second before observing the man. Orlov stood unphased after the encounter. Zephyr approached the royal.
Chapel Orahamm 