Usually, when a King entered a room, all those within were bound to rise from their seats. But Archon Vesperian was an exceptionally old man, and few in the realm expected the Fox of Yarzat to have a sudden penchant for rigid courtly manners.
It had been a full week since the Pontifex's emissary had arrived at his court. Alpheo had been monstrously busy during that time, manly orchestrating the massive, secret relocation of the Yarzat manufacturing industry to the rocky cliffs of Corna, so he had comfortably steered away from the holy man for days. It had been much to the Archon's growing displeasure, as the King had been repeatedly told the old man was practically vibrating to meet him.
That desire was finally being satisfied now. With the most pressing matters of state safely tucked away, Alpheo could find no further excuse to deny some of his day's time to the very man who had traveled across the map to put a crown over his head.Nor really did he found it wise to do so.
