The summons came at the worst possible moment, they always did. Veyr's fingers froze above the chessboard, one move away from checkmate, as the page cleared his throat from the doorway.
"Lord Veyr," the boy said, his voice cracking on the title. "Your father requests your immediate presence in the west study."
Veyr glanced at the board, calculating. One move to victory, but Father's summons meant the game would go unfinished. He sighed and straightened, offering an apologetic smile to his opponent, an elderly scholar whose name he'd already forgotten.
"It seems we'll have to continue this another time," he said, rising with deliberate grace that concealed his slight limp. The old injury only bothered him when he sat too long, a flaw he'd become adept at hiding.
The scholar nodded, seemingly relieved at the reprieve from imminent defeat. "Of course, my lord. Another time."
