The quiet courtyard of the main Valtrane estate in the North was quiet beneath the cold air of the late afternoon.
Winston sat behind his desk, his hair neatly combed back, his spectacles resting near the tip of his nose as he carefully reviewed the monthly ledger of northern grain stores. Though the young Duke and Marielle were away in the capital, the vast northern territory ran with the precision of a well-oiled clock under Winston's watchful eyes.
A soft, polite knock echoed against the heavy door.
"Come in," Winston called out, his dry, voice cutting through the stillness of the room.
The door creaked open, and a young household messenger stepped inside, bowing deeply. "Forgive the interruption, Lord Winston. A fast courier from the capital just arrived at the gates."
The messenger stepped forward, placing the neatly folded parchment on the corner of the desk before bowing again and slipping quietly out of the room.
