But a soft knock at the door shattered that silence.
Aithur growled.
"Enter," he said lazily, swirling the contents of his cup.
The door opened, and a guard stepped in—nervous, rigid, his armor polished to perfection but his posture betraying unease. "My lord," the guard began, bowing low. "Forgive the intrusion. A message from the palace. It's… urgent."
Aithur arched a brow and set his cup down on the side table, crossing one leg over the other. "Urgent, you say? Either the Emperor has finally decided to retire, or someone's misplaced his crown again."
The guard hesitated, unsure whether to laugh. "No, my lord. It's regarding… an assassination. The prisoner, Hans was found dead in his cell yesterday at dusk."
Aithur's hand froze for the briefest moment over the armrest, before he leaned back again, expression cool. "The temple traitor, dead? Hmph. I guess that man was just bound to die as secrets and temples never mix. How unfortunate."
