In another part of the capital, Prince Milan received the news of Jolthar's approach with considerably more pleasure.
The prince was a man in his twenties, with the kind of presence that commanded attention without effort. His dark hair was touched at the temples, and his blue eyes held intelligence tempered by genuine warmth.
Beside him stood Arvant, his most trusted advisor, a man whose loyalty had been earned through years of shared trials.
"Why is he coming here?" Milan asked, looking out the tall windows of his chambers at the snow-covered city below. "Do you know anything about this?"
"I think its regarding the barony issue," Arvant replied.
"Then it must be the finance minister who made the summons in the name of imperial majesty."
Milan smiled. "I remember him the last time I met him in the barony. He is a strong individual."
"There are whispers already," Arvant warned.
