Prince Syla had become a joke without even trying… The whispers had started as hushed murmurs, but they quickly grew, rippling through the crowd both inside the room and in the whole land like a cruel tide.
They all remained kneeling but couldn't help but exchange glances with each other.
The Faes couldn't help but compare the two scenes … one from before and the one unfolding bore them.
Those who had witnessed it could still see Syla in their mind's eye, in all his glory and grandeur, climbing up the same stairs, woven in his own sweat as if he was about to collapse - his desperate, floundering attempt that had nearly cost him his life but had cost some of them their lives, versus the effortless ease with which this other man had done it. The contrast was almost comical, except there was no laughter, only silent scorn.
