That morning, the sky above Valtherion was clear, the sun casting its warm light through the grand glass windows of the king's chamber. Yet, the tranquility outside was nothing like the atmosphere within.
Mathien sat on the edge of his lavish silver-engraved bed, still in his night robe. His black hair was slightly disheveled, but his face remained calm and cold—though his eyes betrayed something else: annoyance.
His foot tapped against the marble floor, slow, steady… but weighted.
Hana still hadn't come.
He had called her ten minutes ago. And today was important—the royal council, a meeting with his advisors, and a full agenda that demanded he look impeccable. Yet he hadn't even bathed. And the hot water still hadn't been prepared.
Mathien let out a heavy sigh, his gaze fixed on the door that remained closed.
Then suddenly—creak!—the door burst open in panic, and the figure he had expected appeared, rushing in with hurried, clumsy steps, breathless and wide-eyed.
Hana.
