Pride.
The banquet hall buzzed with soft whispers and the quiet clinking of goblets.
Nobles shifted in their seats, fine silks and embroidered robes rustling as they spoke in voices just loud enough to be heard by those beside them, but low enough to avoid prying ears. They spoke of the princes, their futures, their triumphs and tensions.
But, here and there, in the quietest corners, behind jeweled fans and silk-gloved hands, a different topic slipped between the lips of only the most daring: the emperor's rumored illness.
"Do you think he—?" one noble muttered, his words half-lost in the dimness.
"Hush," his companion warned, glancing around with a flash of fear. Heads turned away quickly, eyes darting to each other with guarded suspicion, for even the mere hint of sickness in the emperor was enough to lose one's standing—or worse.