He stepped into the carriage, the Golden Card burning a hole in the pocket of his pristine white and silver coat.
"Where to, Your Highness?" the cab driver asked, his voice trembling slightly. It was not every day the Prince Consort hailed a street cab.
Julian leaned back into the leather seats, a dark, utterly unhinged smile spreading across his face. He had realized that buying tailoring guilds and bakeries was far too respectable. If he wanted to execute a true menace protocol, he had to buy something so completely scandalous, so fundamentally un-spinnable, that not even the Empress Regent could put a positive PR filter on it.
"Let's go to the Red District," Julian commanded.
The cab driver's hands literally slipped off the reins. He whipped his head around, his eyes wide with absolute, unadulterated terror.
"The... the Red District?" the driver stammered, his voice cracking. "Are... are you sure, Prince Consort? The Regent's Vanguard patrols that border. If they see you..."
