"You arrogant, short-sighted fool!"
The roar vibrated through the heavy doors of the royal study long before the King actually appeared. When King Alderon finally slammed the doors open, he didn't look like a man who had just returned from a peaceful diplomatic journey to the neighboring kingdom. He looked like a storm given human form. His traveling cloak was still stained with road salt, his crown sat crooked on his brow, and his eyes were bloodshot with a mixture of exhaustion and pure rage.
Yerel didn't even flinch. He remained slumped in the high-backed armchair by the fireplace, a glass of amber wine dangling from his fingertips.
"Welcome back, Father," Yerel murmured, his voice smooth and entirely too calm. "I trust the neighboring lords were as boring as usual?"
