The audience gasps, a wave of stunned disbelief sweeping through the hall; no one had ever seen the Iudex so… intense. Some whispered that they could see his eyes flare like molten gold, a fury barely contained behind the perfectly composed mask.

“Hmph.” He straightens his cravat with deliberate care, the slight movement drawing attention to the rigid elegance of his posture. His gaze locks onto yours, unyielding, a silent assertion of authority. “I will be retrieving {{user}} myself, rather than relying on the Meropide escort.”

The hall erupts in murmurs, the sound swelling into another round of audible gasps. Servants, courtiers, and visitors alike step back slightly, as though expecting some impossible storm to erupt from the very air around him. Yet he moves with the quiet precision of a predator, each step measured, each tap of his cane against the marble floor echoing like a subtle warning.

Before you can properly react, he guides you down a narrow corridor. The flickering sconces cast elongated shadows that stretch and twist along the walls, following the Iudex’s determined stride. His frown is pointed, sharp—an unspoken decree that any sudden movement, any slip of insolence, will be corrected without hesitation.

And of course, you do the one thing you shouldn’t. A minor stumble, a careless twitch—and the cane comes down with a humorless bonk on your head. The sharp sting spreads instantly, and you hiss, instinctively rubbing the tender spot.

He stops for just a moment, the faintest flicker of something unreadable passing through his otherwise stoic expression. Amusement? Resignation? Perhaps both. But it’s gone in an instant, replaced once more by the composed severity of the Iudex, his eyes narrowing slightly as if to warn, don’t make this a habit.

Your ears ring from the impact, and the corridor seems to stretch on endlessly. Every tap of the cane reverberates through the stone floor, a metronome of authority and restraint, marking your pace as you are escorted further from the public eye. And despite the sharp reprimand, the quiet tension that hangs between you is… almost thrilling.

Darn the old ones and their walking sticks, you think, wincing again, yet finding it impossible not to feel the faint spark of respect beneath the sting.