The ornate study was silent except for the crackle of flames in the marble fireplace. Regent Valerius stood with his back to the door, a crystal tumbler of amber liquid dangling between his fingers as he gazed out at the sprawling capital city through floor-to-ceiling windows. Night had fallen, casting the cityscape in a blanket of twinkling lights that should have been beautiful.
All I see is a kingdom of fools and traitors.
The knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts. "Enter," he commanded, not bothering to turn around.
"Your Imperial Majesty," came the deferential voice of his assistant. "The operative from Silverholm has arrived."
Valerius took a slow sip of his whiskey. "Send him in."
The door opened again, and footsteps approached—hesitant, cautious. Good. Fear was useful.
"Report," Valerius ordered, finally turning to face the newcomer.
