"We haven't been hearing from the North as regularly as we should."
The air in the Royal Gardens was thick with the scent of jasmine, sweet enough to linger in your throat.
King Alderon sat at a circular table carved from a single block of translucent stone, looking every bit the benevolent patriarch. Beside him, Yerel and Philia, engaged in the morning ritual of tea. It was all very serene. Almost suspiciously so.
"The subjugation is well underway, but the weather has been particularly foul this year. Even for Valtrane." the King remarked, his fingers tracing the delicate gold rim of his porcelain cup. His voice carried that low, gravelly weight of a man who spent his nights weighing the lives of thousands.
