Analin trod swiftly down the halls of red palace. Well to say Analin trod anywhere was an over exaggeration at best.

Prince Analin strode through the white hallways of red palace with purpose, surefooted and swiftly. His feet did not dance and glide, they clacked on the cut stone. Analin strolled through the hallways stiff backed in prefect posture, his hands resting by his sides in the gestures of power. His suit was gold with a black trim. The dark buttons absorbing the light and his shoes fading between the contrasting shining gold and void black in seemingly random patterns.

Analin strode down the white passageways resplendent. The foolish prince walked down the barrows of his kingdom drawn taught, and regal. The man that stepped down the pristine hallway was the perfect image of nobility-one all royal instructors strived to reach. The true form of prince travelling to where he needed to be. And yet, to those that knew him, Analin trod.

Analin pulled at his strangling collar. His shirt was made black yes, but he couldn’t help but sift it between it’s original selected colour and a bright green that risked throwing off his attires fragile equilibrium. He slipped back into the role and slid his feet deftly to avoid clacking as he stepped. He blinked twice and and shook his hands out of their forms. The foolish prince strolling down the hallway still debating wether or not to alter the lovely composition of his outfit-it wasn’t everyday,after all, that suits of gold and black were created.

Analin switched from altering his tight fitting shirt to shining the floor beneath his feet. The red palace was in truth much more the white palace. It was estimated to be just under a century old and was made of beautifully cut blinding stone. It had marbled floors in place of the usual white where it was the royals and their similarly esteemed visitors place to trod. The servants were confined to flitting white alleyways that wove all around the palace, intertwined with the walkways of the higher stations.

The marbling slowly flowed from black twisting patterns to a rich red. These areas were nobility only and required a right of pass from those commoners rich enough to garner a famacile of noble authority. Even deeper in the palace was the deep purple of true nobility, there only the feet of the royal family where allowed to tread. The fabled marble of the red palace was one of the reasons Shanlax stood out from its neighbouring kingdoms. It’s artificed floors a fascination for noble and common alike. It was now as Analin walked onto this marble path that the patterns of a thousand shapes shifted.

The black marbling swirled where each foot touched the floor, the spiralling lines forming griffins hunting panthers and other predators outwards from his feet like ripples in a pond. Each image flared gold as the griffins struck killing blows before fading back into new coherent patterns. This was the renowned floors of the red bastion in full action. The floor briefly pulsing purple as each image was created out, the effect stretching from Analin’s feet.

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Usually, Analin would be worried to be seen walking the hallways with anything but the relaxed stroll he was know to walk with. The slight sway in his movements subtly conveying the message that he was either currently slightly drunk, or was recovering from being. Today however was different, today was a royal wedding. That meant when Analin wasn’t shamelessly flirting with whatever female member of nobility he could find, drinking just the right amount of champagne to remain congnent or loudly joking with whoever was in the immediate vicinity, he was tugging at his fancy clothes. Analin had learned early on in life that it was the subtle things that mattered. Let people know you were about to pour flower over the bakers head and they would laugh off your plans and attribute it to youthful luster. The punishment would be less severe they wouldn’t realise you had actually poured the flour over porkie’s head to steal the scones he was cooking. Come to dinner not hungry however and be caught with crumbs around the mouth, suddenly you were under investigation for juvenile heist. People saw the subtle things and they used them to deduct what they think is hidden.

Nobility saw each other as enigmas, they shared status and wealth and importance. They were wary of each other because they all ruled and therefore would not be ruled over by those of similar status. They feared to be reduced to the existence like the serfs they possessed, a station of no recognition. They were organisms in an ecosystem of man’s making, and they would go to extreme means to expand their territory. They saw each other as enigmas as they were used to the simple commoners they could control. To them there was no bigger mystery then a superior, and therefore no bigger enigma then a prince.

Analin loved subtly, he loved leaving the little clues for them to follow. He shifted his collar so that people would see he uncomfortable to be in his station, he shifted his collar to let them know he wasn’t a threat. To them Analin was a fool, and to his people he was an idiot who loved his kingdom. He slowed his steps as he reached the massive doors of the east ballroom.

They were a deep blue with gold smeared generously across their service. Little otter floated about the surface, welded on as if mid swim. The diamonds in their eyes sparkled in the low torchlight. Analin placed his hand on the door and smiled as it was pushed away slightly. The face of buster pushed itself out of the right door where he laid his hand. He gave its forehead a quick ruffle before scratching it under its strange textured fur. Staring deep into its emerald eyes inspiration struck. ‘thanks buddy’ Analin whispered.

He took a deep breath and stretched his reach out over the whole outfit. He changed the shirt to a paler but vibrant green and changed the buttons to dark green ones. He coloured the gold a little closer to burnished bronze and changed his shoes directly to that same bronze. For the finishing touch he took some black gloves from his back pocket that he didn’t want to wear and threw one on his right hand. He turned it a deep bronze like he imagined the hull of the venture would look, a ship from a beloved book, and stepped away from buster as he did so. The otter whimpered in protest but he simply smiled at the devious otter in response. He spoke as it’s navy blue head faded back to hide in the painted door, his outfit sure to stand out the desired amount.

‘it’s time to be a fool’

Analin stood ready as the doors slowly opened.