The double doors of the Duke's private study were locked from the inside, sealing out the damp, midnight draft that crept through the outer hallways of the northern wing. Inside, a fire burned quietly in the stone fireplace, filling the room with a comfortable warmth.
Zarius sat behind his massive carved desk, a plain wooden cup of cooled mountain tea resting near his right hand. Across from him stood Flio. Flio held a thin, leather-bound portfolio under his arm, his usual immaculate posture looking slightly weary after hours of administrative work.
"That covers the perimeter guard rotations for the western gate," Flio said, his voice quiet and crisp in the silent room as he set down a folded stack of requisitions on the desk.
Zarius leaned back in his tall leather chair, resting his forearms against the dark wood. His sharp, dark eyes followed Flio's hands. "Is there something else, Flio?"
