Aron adjusted the folds of his silk tunic, the garment slightly disheveled. With casual precision he straightened it, then reached for a sheet of parchment. He slid it across the polished oak desk until it lay squarely between himself and his guest.
"That," he said, voice clipped and formal, "is the latest packet of benefits the Crown has seen fit to extend to merchants willing to bind themselves to it."
Ivaylo's smile, bright and ingratiating only a moment ago, faded like mist burned away by the sun. The soft edges of his merchant's charm hardened into the sharp lines of business. This was no longer a game of pleasantries , this was about coin, and coin, as always, was the only true patron a merchant could serve.
"Would you prefer to read them yourself," Aron asked, fingers closing the lid of an inkwell with a soft click, "or shall I give you the summary?"
