Adrian
The knock on my study door came at precisely seven in the morning. I didn't look up from the treaty documents spread across my desk when Mrs. Crawford entered.
"Your Majesty has summoned you to the throne room, Your Highness," she said, her voice carrying that particular tone of barely concealed curiosity that meant gossip was brewing. I set down my quill with deliberate care. "Did he say why?"
"Something about servant assignments, Your Highness."
My jaw tightened involuntarily. Father's "servant assignments" were never random. They were tests, manipulations, power plays disguised as domestic arrangements. I straightened my doublet and walked to the throne room, each step echoing in the stone corridors.
King Magnus sat on his throne like a cat with a captured mouse, his weathered face wearing that expression I'd learned to dread, cold amusement mixed with calculated cruelty. He was enjoying whatever game he was about to play.
