"I'm telling you, Your Grace, you really ought to be more wary of Lord Cherion."
Soren stood in the center of the study, his spine as stiff as a frozen pike. He had that particular look of pinched self-righteousness, the kind that usually preceded a lecture on why things were better done in the old ways.
Zarius didn't even look up from the ledger he was supposedly reviewing. Ten days. It had been exactly ten days since he'd dragged that Antel boy across the threshold of his fortress.
"Wary?" Zarius echoed. "Explain yourself, Soren. What has he done to earn such a dire warning?"
Soren stepped closer. "He got this notebook that he treats it like a holy relic, My Lord. That he brings it everywhere. To the kitchens, to the training grounds, I've even seen him tuck it under his pillow. He quickly snaps it shut and puts it away whenever I walk into him with it."
