Returning to the palace, Amalia had just finished a meeting. With the frontlines tense, the situation required constant attention. Amalia had mandated that messengers depart every twelve hours along the route from the Northern Border to the capital, ensuring intelligence could flow like water, allowing the imperial court to respond promptly at any time.
This was a small compensation for the inevitable delay in information. Uninterrupted transmission would at least make the changes in the battlefield seem traceable.
In the Empress' private chambers, a small council hall for meeting ministers, the sharp sound of long, slender heels clicking against the marble floor tiles could be heard. Hearing the familiar footsteps, Amalia put down her feather pen and looked up.
