It was an unfortunate thing.
In fact, for one human aide, it was an unfortunate day.
If Riley had remembered that opening his mouth tended to land him in trouble, he might have saved himself from what was now several hours' worth of political history lessons.
Don't get him wrong—he loved learning. He really did. But there was a time and place for everything, and listening to an elven king recount the tangled gossip of who feuded with whom was not ideal in the middle of an investigation.
Instead of hearing about missing artifacts, Riley was being spoon-fed tales of ancient arguments, whispered betrayals, and that one great love-related spat that split the elves into factions.
Three hours. Three. Hours.
And they still hadn't gotten to the one crucial detail: how that spat ended up splitting the readers into several factions. In particular, who exactly got them and how many there were in the first place!
That was the information he needed. Not who ran off with whose lover.
