In a dimly lit chamber beneath the marble halls of the royal court, the stale air was thick with tension.
A few flickering candles cast uneasy shadows on the faces of the assembled nobles—men and women cloaked in silk and secrecy.
Only a handful of them had dared to come tonight, each one pacing or sitting stiffly in their chairs, waiting for their leader to arrive.
The sound of approaching footsteps made every head turn.
The door creaked open.
Duke Terevin stepped into the room, his face pale but composed, his robes finely pressed but heavy with the scent of incense. The nobles rushed to him, speaking over one another.
"Did it go well?"
"Did he listen?"
"What did he say about the offering?"
Terevin held up a gloved hand, silencing them all. He moved to the head of the table and sat down slowly, taking a moment to gather his breath before finally speaking.
"My attempt to convince Duke Armstrong has failed."
He said grimly.
