The classic-cut olive-green suit was reserved for formal occasions, and Alec hadn’t realized until he’d squeezed into it for this evening’s state dinner just how long it had been since he’d last worn it. About fifteen pounds of muscle ago, judging by how tight the shirt felt around his neck. He couldn’t take a deep breath, and he felt a tingling sensation in his fingers every time he tried to bend his arms at the elbow. The warm weather of the June evening didn’t help, though Alec was at least accustomed to heat. His last deployment, a humanitarian mission in the deserts of North Africa, had required daily physical labor. Alec hadn’t appreciated how much the work had transformed him until he’d returned home to Sardis, Lydia’s capital city, the day before and found that none of his old clothes fit the same. The limousines began to line up for the motorcade, and Alec watched his parents descend the palace steps with the rustle of sashes and silk.
