The dining hall doors stood there, big and dramatic. Cherion slowed his pace, walking like someone who just realized this was going to be a whole situation. Beside him, Zarius looked like the physical embodiment of suffering. Or, well… that was the plan. Every time the Duke's weight shifted onto Cherion's shoulder, a jolt of pride mixed with an almost uncontrollable urge to giggle bubbled in Cherion's gut.
God, the chaos of twenty minutes ago.
His mind flashed back to Marielle's bedroom, which had looked less like a noble's quarters and more like a flour mill explosion. He and Marielle had basically transformed into an "Express Makeup Artist" duo, though the word artist was doing some heavy lifting. They'd basically attacked Zarius's face with so much powder he stopped looking like the terrifying Monster Duke and ended up looking like he belonged in a dramatic old painting titled Tragic Man, Dramatically Dying as Planned.
