The King watched with quiet amusement as the old man's expression soured, line by deep line, like milk left too long in the sun. Alpheo acted as though he hadn't noticed, shifting casually on the hard wooden pew to sit right beside him.
The chapel was small, but the business to be conducted within its stone walls was vast. Outside, heavy-booted guards stood at the iron doors with strict orders to keep any inquisitive ears far from the King's affairs, though even their presence felt like an unnecessary precaution against the walls of slate.
"I see my answer displeases you, your Excellency?" Alpheo asked, his dark eyes drifting upward toward the veiled statue of the Weaver.
