Herick collapsed into the chair before Caroline with a broken look, his broad shoulders slumping as if the weight of empires crushed him.
Sunlight poured through the arched windows of the solar, bathing their faces in a merciless golden glow that illuminated every raw edge—his dishevelled dark hair, her poised figure in emerald silks, the faint sheen of sweat on his brow.
"Are those papers true, Your Majesty?" His voice cracked, hoarse from strain, as he shoved a crumpled stack of parchments across the table. They scattered like fallen leaves—sealed missives stamped with rival crests; ink scrawled with accusations and divided affections. His tired expression etched deep lines around his eyes, red-rimmed and swollen. It seemed he had cried; tear tracks glistened faintly on his stubbled cheeks, a knight unarmoured, vulnerability laid bare. It was very vulnerable image for the knight commander of the empire.
