Lorraine no longer saw the easel, the half-finished lines, or the painter's furrowed brow. Her gaze rested on him out of habit, but her mind was elsewhere, far from this gilded chamber.
The letter Leroy had shown her still burned in her thoughts. It bore the seal of his father, the King of Kaltharion, commanding him to lead the delegation that would present the kingdom's annual tribute before the Emperor of Vaeloria.
The news was not yet public, but the royal circles had already been quietly informed. It should have been an honor, a visible post of respect. But Lorraine knew better. In Kaltharion's current state, it was an act weighted with humiliation. If the duty required bowing low or enduring the Emperor's condescension, Leroy was summoned. For any matter of true influence, however, he was cast aside like a worn slipper.
