The audience chamber of the Aldenar mansion was a room of cold stone and high, narrow windows that let in the grey, filtered light of a Northern afternoon. There was no fire in the hearth.
The heavy doors creaked open, and the rhythmic, authoritative clip of polished boots echoed against the floor. Prince Herschel didn't wait for an introduction. He didn't wait for a bow. He strode into the room with the easy, practiced grace of royalty, his traveling cloak swirling behind him.
"You know, Elric, I've had warmer welcomes from mountain trolls," Herschel said, his voice carrying a playful, melodic lilt that felt jarringly out of place in the gloom. "I had to practically threaten your captain of the guard with a royal audit just to get past the courtyard. You've turned this place into a tomb."
Elric didn't turn around. His silhouette was sharp against the window, his shoulders hunched, his hands clasped tightly behind his back. "The tomb is quiet, Herschel. I prefer the quiet."
