"Your Majesty, Aeron Tavish is here, just as you requested," Lady Isolde said, stopping before the towering doors of the atrium.
"Send him in," Nheera replied at once. She turned, watching her lady-in-waiting retreat back through the slightly opened door. Barely a minute passed before the doors opened again, their heavy hinges groaning softly as the man she had been waiting anxiously for stepped inside.
After dispatching letters to the nobles, informing them of Irah's death and the cancellation of the final day of the festivities, Nheera had penned one last missive. Unlike the others, this one was intended for one man alone. Aeron Tavish. In it, she requested his presence the following morning.
