"They've all confirmed," Lucius said, his voice calm but clipped as he stood near the map-lined wall of the office. The golden sunlight from the stained-glass windows slanted across his pale features, casting long shadows onto the table. "All five dukes will be attending the Sovereign Summit."
Florian sat quietly at the end of the long obsidian table, fingers loosely laced in front of him. The weight of the room pressed against his shoulders like an invisible yoke. Across from him, Heinz leaned back against the side of his throne-like chair, arms crossed, jaw tight, his expression unreadable but his displeasure palpable.
"As expected," Lucius continued, adjusting the cuffs of his pristine white sleeves with mechanical precision, "they've sent a list of… requests. Mostly regarding accommodations, food preferences, preferred room distances—nothing unexpected."
Heinz scoffed, the sound sharp and derisive. "Do whatever the bastards want."
