The dimly lit chamber was heavy with the scent of aged wood and flickering candle wax.
Lord Thane, a towering figure clad in dark velvet, stood with his arms crossed, his sharp gaze fixed on the shadowed silhouette across the room.
The man he spoke to remained obscured, his features swallowed by the gloom, only the faint glint of his eyes catching the light.
Their voices, low and measured, carried the weight of secrets too dangerous to be spoken aloud.
"The duchy tournament concluded in an unexpected manner," Lord Thane was saying, his tone clipped and precise.
"The young heir emerged victorious. The Duke's son proved his mettle, to the surprise of all of us."
His lips twitched into a faint, approving smirk, though his eyes remained cold, calculating.
The boy's skill with a blade and his raw, unpolished strength had turned heads, cementing his place as a force within the duchy.
The shadowed figure shifted slightly, the rustle of fabric barely audible.
