The hall had long been cleared out, with the original tiered benches moved to either side, leaving only a walnut long table in the center.
Two silver tea pots were placed on the table, steam rising gently from their spouts.
Standing in front of the long table, having mutually deferred a bit, the two most powerful young men in the current Empire each took their seats.
Horn and Charles faced each other, with Armand and Cambert seated on either side, the Document Monks holding rolls of papers seated at the ends of the long table.
The tips of feather and fountain pens hovered over the paper, waiting for someone to speak.
Sunlight streamed through the stained glass, casting colorful spots on the ground.
Horn picked up the teapot and poured a cup of black tea for Charles: "Your Highness, the Falan border legion was indeed quite careless.
They lost two thousand five hundred men in Spark Town, and even misplaced nineteen clockwork cannons.
