The private study smelled faintly of burnt wax and old parchment. Sunlight streamed through the tall windows, slipping between the heavy velvet drapes. It felt less like a seat of power and more like a cage.
Alderon sat behind his massive desk, his fingers dug so tightly into his temples that the skin showed white. Scattered across the dark wood before him were the official night reports, a couple of freshly broken wax seals, and a small, leather-bound book with frayed corners.
The maid's diary. To anyone else, it looked like a trivial thing, but right now, it was a political explosive sitting right in the center of the room.
Standing in a loose semi-circle before the desk were Yerel, Karson, and the Captain of the Imperial Guard. None of them looked like they had slept. The Captain kept his helmet tucked under his arm, his jaw set in a rigid line that screamed internal panic, while Karson stood with his arms crossed, his eyes fixed on the floor.
