He saw racks of suits woven from spider-silk, cloaks lined with drake-scales, and waistcoats threaded with actual spun gold.
"I need a new wardrobe," Julian announced, his voice cool and detached. "My current attire lacks the necessary... menace."
"Of course, Your Highness! We have a magnificent selection of—"
"I don't think you understand," Julian interrupted, pulling the Black Card from his pocket and casually tapping it against the crystal display counter. "I don't want a selection. I want everything in the store that fits me. And everything that doesn't fit me, I want you to burn."
The master tailor's jaw unhinged. "B-Burn it, Your Highness?"
"Did I stutter?" Julian smiled, a sharp, terrifying expression that looked entirely too much like his wife's. "I am compensating for emotional distress. Bag the inventory. And while you're at it, how much for the building?"
