Word reached Eldralith Palace about the caravans from Mendez manor.
Whispers wound their way into the court: The Mendez heir was too bold. The Alpha of Dravenmoor had tied himself too tightly to him. If their venture grew, it could shift the balance of trade.
And when whispers reached the throne, they became questions.
An envoy arrived at the manor three days later.
He was dressed in royal livery, the crest of the High Crown glinting on his cloak clasp. His horse was fine-bred, his bearing sharper than any common messenger. The guards at the gates straightened, nervous, as he demanded entry.
Tristan met him in the hall, Shannon and Tara at his side. Therese lingered near the hearth, listening.
The envoy bowed stiffly. His voice was smooth, but it carried the weight of the throne.
"Lord Mendez. Lord Dravenmoor. By order of Their Majesties, King Aldric and Queen Isolde, I am instructed to inquire into your caravan venture.
