A cup slid softly across the table, its metal base whispering against the polished wood like the rustle of silk in a quiet chapel during morning prayer.
Small, pale fingers wrapped around it.
"Thank you," Pontus murmured, lowering his gaze as he bowed his head toward the figure standing across from him.
Alpheo made no reply. He raised his own cup with deliberate slowness, took a long, quiet sip, and set it back down with precision. His eyes never left Pontus's face.
After a moment of silence thick enough to weigh on the chest, Alpheo spoke. His tone was calm, and soft.
"Have you rested well?" he asked, voice cool and even. "It's been a long campaign."
Pontus offered a slight smile, tight-lipped."If it has been hard for me, Your Grace, then I dare not imagine how you endured it. It was but your great skills that carried the campaign forth to success, mine was only but a stone compared to a mountain. "
