King Alderon rubbed the bridge of his nose, leaning back into his high-backed chair. The desk before him was littered with rolled parchments, wax seals, and half-drained crystal goblets, but his mind wasn't on the reports.
A quiet rustle of fabric came as the door opened. Harlond stepped into the room from the dim space near the bookcases, his boots barely making a sound against the floor. He held a leather folder against his hip, his face showing little emotion in the low light.
"You called for me, Your Majesty," Harlond said, his voice flat and even, completely devoid of the performative deference most court nobles put on.
Alderon didn't open his eyes immediately. He let out a long, heavy breath that smelled faintly of sour wine and old paper. "The reports. What did the guard captain say?"
