The heavy, iron-studded double doors at the end of the dining hall groaned open, breaking the stifling silence. Neris's aged butler Vincent stepped into the room, his head bowed low as his soft slippers hurried across the stone floor. He halted three paces from the king's chair.
"My liege," the butler murmured, his voice echoing softly against the cold walls. "The Prime Minister, Ser Lucen Icewyn, requests an immediate audience. He states that urgent dispatches have arrived from the East."
Neris did not raise his head immediately. He picked up his linen napkin, dabbing slowly at the corner of his mouth before setting it beside his plate.
"Let him enter," Neris said, his voice smooth, cold, and entirely devoid of warmth. "And bring a fresh cup for Ser Lucen."
