The steward materialized at their side before Soren had fully processed Lord Callen's dismissal, his thin frame appearing as if summoned by the word itself.
"Lord Veyr, Master Thorne," the man intoned with practiced deference, "if you would follow me. The dressing chambers have been prepared for tonight's gathering."
Soren glanced at Veyr, searching for some indication of what this entailed, but the young lord's expression revealed nothing beyond mild boredom.
The corridor stretched before them, each step carrying them deeper into unfamiliar territory. Servants darted past with increasing frequency, arms laden with silks and silver, the entire household transformed into a war camp preparing for battle.
"Dressing chambers?" Soren finally asked, keeping his voice low.
