The reinforced doors closed behind them with a low, resonant thud that sealed the chamber in quiet. The private hall was carved from dark stone veined with faint mana-lines that pulsed softly under the surface. A long, solid table of polished granite dominated the center, heavy enough that it looked like it had grown from the mountain itself. Three carved chairs waited around it. No servants remained inside. No guards lingered near the walls.
Only stone. Only firelight. Only them.
Balthor dropped into his seat with the ease of someone who ruled from it daily and reached immediately for a thick glass mug already waiting at his place. Noriel remained standing a moment longer before taking the seat at Balthor's right, posture straight even in privacy.
Noel did not sit immediately.
"I won't waste a king's time," he said evenly as he stepped forward, resting his hands lightly against the back of the chair across from them.
Balthor had just taken a long pull from his mug.
He choked.
