Lucius leaned back, the leather of his chair creaking—a slow, agonizing sound that cut through the heavy silence of the war room. He didn't spare a glance for the maps or the tactical markers spread across the desk; his eyes were pinned on Alister, a gaze that seemed to peel back the Duke's practiced poise like skin from a grape.
"Your sudden enthusiasm for this campaign is... touching, Alister," Lucius began, his voice dropping to a dangerous, silken thread that vibrated with unspoken threat. "But let's not insult each other's intelligence. We both know the blood between you and Mathias has been boiling for years. I have no use for your personal vendettas, but I have a great deal of concern for my borders."
He leaned forward, moving into the pool of candlelight. His shadow stretched across the parchment maps like a shroud, eclipsing the very territories they were discussing.
