Blacken nails rap impatiently against the armrest of the frozen throne. Mobei Jun sat with a cold, disinterested glare while some sniveling noble from the south lands ramble on about opening new trade routes. He hasn't been listening to a single word all day, not since Shang Qinghua roused him from sleep. His dream was surreal, images flash through his mind of a remote island that gave him the sense of familiarity. It was impossible to be there and here.
Or was it? Needless to say, he doesn't retain anything anyone says as his thoughts wander to some far away island.
Morning court was much of the same with "Your excellency this" and "Your excellency that" or even “I come from distant lands and have travelled far and wide-”
There was even a small time demon who apparently sought to gain favor by pawning off painted pigeons as iron crowned griffins. The daft fool wasn't well versed being in the presence of royalty- griffins, or rather poorly imitation ones, aren’t the most interesting gifts this court has seen.
Mobei Jun happens to glance over at his advisor, and sees him bristle under that cool gaze, looking nervous and fumbling with his scrolls. The Winter King is about to beckon Shang Qinghua forth when the room starts to shake, shards of ice from the ceiling begin to splinter and crash down in uniformity around the hall. The court startles, and then a shout is heard, followed by a panic scream when the ceiling caves in and a shrouded form smashes into the floor.
"Enough!" Mobei Jun booms and there's something chillingly sharp in his voice that silence everyone. Then it becomes clear that there are actual chills that engulf the entire throne room, the floors, the walls, even the very air turns bitter cold. Mobei Jun stands, and the temperature plumets severely, ice crackles as a layer of frost coats a wide diameter around the throne. A shade of something positively terrifying falls across his features,
"Who are you?"
@redhorseman