Cherion let out a long, suffering sigh and rolled his shoulders, attempting to evict the knots that had apparently moved in sometime during the afternoon. His formal coat suddenly felt about three sizes too tight after enduring that entire political circus.
Zarius remained at his desk, loosening the high collar of his dark tunic and shoving aside a stack of reports for tomorrow's problem. The cold, unshakable Duke everyone had seen at court was gone. What remained was just a very tired man who had apparently decided the entire territory was his personal responsibility.
Instead of taking the perfectly good velvet armchair by the fire, Cherion walked straight past it. He rounded the desk, stepped into Zarius's space, and simply dropped himself onto the Duke's lap like that was obviously where he belonged.
