Mikyle left the bathroom, rubbing a towel to his hair in an attempt to dry it. He walked into the large closet where he picked out his clothes for the night. Unlike most nobles, Mikyle preferred to dress himself instead of leaving it to someone else. It was safer, and he felt more comfortable doing it that way.
Phillip, who had just returned from delivering Mikyle's letter, knocked on the bed chamber's door. "Sire, the King is here to see you."
"I'll be there in a minute." Mikyle finished getting dressed, not caring if he seemed improper because he was going to host the king in his sleepwear.
Mikyle walked out of his bed chambers and into the small reception area that was attached to it. "Greetings, Your Majesty."
"Kyle," his father used his nickname, a smile softening his handsome features. "Who was the target in today's assassination attempt?" His father asked, getting straight to business.
