"Why haven't I ever seen her before, Harlond?"
The birthday party had ended three days ago, but the heavy, warm smell of spilled wine and crushed flowers seemed to linger in the corners of his study. Alderon sat sprawled sideways across a leather armchair by the unlit hearth, his long legs stretched out, lazily twirling a half-empty glass of dark red vintage between his fingers.
Harlond didn't look up from his desk. His quill moved with steady, dry precision across a thick stack of regional grain reports, leaving neat lines of black ink on the rough paper.
"Lady Nerissa rarely comes to the Capital, Your Highness," Harlond said, his voice flat and unhurried. "Count Delvaris keeps his household almost exclusively at their eastern estate in the valley."
