The heavy oak door slowly closed behind him, completely isolating the noise and debates from the meeting hall.
The corridor was silent, with only Duke Edmund's footsteps echoing steadily and heavily in the vastness.
In his mind, the words of the battle reports continued to surge; every troop forced to retreat south, every fallen town, pressed coldly against his chest, turning his breath heavy and labored.
Then he returned to his room and pushed open the heavy wooden door. Inside, the warm fireplace flickered, casting a golden glow on the stone walls, and the air held the faint scent of holly and dried lavender, a fragrance Lady Irina favored.
Duke Edmund tried hard to shake off the heavy mood that accompanied him, forcing a gentle smile onto his face.
The large scar on his face made the smile somewhat peculiar, but he did his best to appear less like a man just returned from the battlefield.
