"Your Highness, stop! You cannot enter the Regent's private quarters without an audience!" a guard's panicked voice shouted from the outer room, followed by the heavy thud of spears crossing in front of the door to stop him from actually breaking the lock.
"Move aside!" Julian's frantic baritone voice echoed through the thick wood. "I don't care about your protocols right now! Tell regent it's an emergency regarding the northern trade routes!"
Elara opened her vacant, glass-bead eyes. Her mind instantly calculated the noise and the interruption. "Ken, Mahir. Stand down," she ordered, her voice a flat, freezing monotone that brooked no argument.
She slid out of the heavy blankets, her movements precise and unhurried. She quickly pulled on her black linen shirt, buttoning it up to the throat, and slid back into her structured charcoal uniform trousers. She didn't bother to pin her hair back perfectly, letting it fall slightly loose around her shoulders.
