"What is that?"
Zalyric didn't lift his eyes from the pile of documents spread before him. His tone was composed, almost idle, as though the matter at hand was too insignificant to stir even mild curiosity.
Evan stepped closer, holding out a sealed envelope. "A letter from Her Ladyship Arwen, Your Majesty."
The faint scratch of the quill stopped. Ink gathered on the tip, darkening to a small pool that threatened to blot the paper. For a brief moment, even the air in the room felt still.
Without looking, Zalyric brushed the letter aside with a single, dismissive motion. The envelope slid off the desk and fell to the stone floor with a muted sound —
neither loud nor soft but enough to echo faintly in the quiet room.
