It began in the King's private audience chamber, where the air always carried that gentle hush of old stone and old power. One could almost pretend the palace was dozing, quiet, harmless. A beast with its eyes closed.
And then Duke Vernhardt walked in, and the entire room felt more… awake.
The Duke stopped several paces away, bowed just the right amount and lifted his head with a gentle, almost remorseful smile. The kind that would've convinced anyone who didn't know better.
"Your Majesty," he began, "I thank you for granting me this audience on such short notice."
The King folded his hands on his lap. "You said the matter was urgent," he replied, calm as a lake on a windless morning. "Let us hear it, then."
There was a small pause where the Duke composed his expression into something fatherly, concerned, mild.
"It concerns my daughter," Vernhardt said quietly. "Verona."
The King didn't move, but one eyebrow lifted just slightly. Enough to say, Go on.
