Royal Seneschal Prexus was a very worried little man. The Investiture Celebration could either catapult him to a position of unassailable power or banish him to the lowest depths of the dungeon.
Each goblet must sparkle like a miniature sunburst. Each minstrel must serenade with the voice of an angel. From finger foods to dessert wines to something as innocuous as a juggling lemur, all must be remarkable. Anything mundane or generic was unthinkable.
Prexus sighed at the spectacular waste of effort. He'd been poisoning the prince's wine long enough to think it unlikely the lad would live out the week.