The thick velvet drapes of the royal study were drawn shut against the autumn gale sweeping over the capital spires.
Inside the cavernous, oak-paneled chamber, the only illumination came from the dying embers of the hearth and three tall tallow candles burning in brass sconces.
King Atheron stood motionless before a floor-to-ceiling map of the continent, his broad, calloused fingers tracing the jagged contours of the northern frontier.
The solid mahogany door creaked softly on its brass hinges, admitting an elderly man carrying a silver tray with a steaming porcelain pot.
Elias walked with the silent, steady stride of a servant who navigated the bloody corridors of the palace for over forty years without ever losing his composure.
The head butler set the tray down upon the corner of the king's grand desk, pouring a dark, fragrant infusion into an enameled cup without making a single sound.
