As though my stamping boot was a judge's gavel and his exiled breath was a sternful decree, the surrounding orchestral sea of murmurs and disquiet of expectantly amused and curious nobility and their servants, became a purged wasteland of held tongues and captive breaths, as everyone stared wide eyed at the scene before them.
Yet I cared little for all of that, as my Palace Guard, in their glinting golden armour stormed forward with the ferocity of charging wolves, as they surrounded the hundred or so men and women who stood in support of the one below me.
