Emeral In Shadow

The Magician and the Bunny [#7]

Marcellus Hagen believed himself to be a magician; He was no diviner, no prophet of any sort. Nor did he believe in magic in the normal terms of white and black magic.
More like the beguiling travelling devils with brilliant sleight of hand, swapping coins out of your purse into pebbles without you even batting an eye.
Sometimes these magicians would show off the trick they had performed, brandishing the money or other valuables stolen, then give them back; Marcellus figured he preffered his tricks secret and lucrative.
Considering it got him to the highest point of the kingdom without royal blood, he wasn't stopping anytime soon.

Marcellus walked up to the main gate of the palace, two huge wooden doors double his height and wide enough to fit at least a dozen horseman.

It was nearing midnight, after walking back from the Chef Bordeaux half across the city. He knocked on the guardhouse door, wooden with metal studs up and down the sides against the mossy gray stone walls.
A slide opened at eye level of the door, tired and weary eyes staring out at Marcellus' "Name, and..." The guard widened his eyes a little, "Ah. Marcellus. I'll tell them to open the doors."

Marcellus nodded, and turned back to the two large doors, once again standing in front of them watching as they slowly pivoted open on creaking hinges.
He walked past the door and up the drive to the Royal Palace, a long brick-hewn pathway that leads up to the main Palace entrance, than loops back in an oval shape.

The Royal Palace itself shone before him in all it's beauty; Green and gold stained glass panes between tall marble pillars and walls, a set of brilliantly jewel encrusted double doors, only slightly smaller than the Palace gates. The building went up three stories, at the top three curvaceous gold and copper coated spires lead up into sharp points, the middle-most spire being the widest and tallest among the three.

Marcellus pulled out a key for the Palace doors, gently putting it in a obscure keyhole and turning it. He pushed the doors open, into the foyer. Hardwood floors gleamed on the floor, veneered and finished to a handsome deep brown, velvety emerald green rugs with golden edges ran throughout the Palace floors, slightly worn with constant foot traffic.

Two staircases led to the second floor off to his left and right and curving up to near meet each other in the middle at the roof of the first floor, and three hallways left out of the foyers, two on his left one on his right. The room in front of the foyer, technically behind the staircases, was multipurpose; rows of pillars acted as structural support, but with glass cases hewn into the centers of each to show off various riches and artifacts. Guests would often lounge in the room while waiting for an appointment with the King, or if he decided it wasn't worth his time, the Congress; or if Marcellus believed it to be better handled to his favor, he'd just tell the servants stationed in the foyer to direct it straight to him, and with a few coins here and there, it worked well to his favor.

Marcellus ascended up the stairs, feet making muffled clacks against the carpeted floor. The second floor opened straight into the dining hall, also known as the revelry hall during celebrations. A long well-adorned table took up the center of the room, like a tight square without the bottom line. In the exact center of the room inside the shape of the table, stood a long clear crystal, stretching from the floor to the roof.
A single tired servant who swept the floors aimlessly gave a quick glance to Marcellus before continuing her duties.
Marcellus head down a hallway near the back of the room, down past the bedrooms and washrooms, into the court.
The eleven other congressmen spoke in fragmented groups, mixed tones of anxiety and muted excitement sounded from their conversations. Hearing the door to the court open, they all turned their heads and congregated towards him.

"Marcellus," A few of them said,

"Welcome," a few more, "Back Marcellus." a few more.

"Is it finished?" The whole lot asked, voices like a choir of serpents.