That evening, a peaceful quiet settled once again over the city of Iron Hearth.
Raphael trudged through the main gates of the castle—his face still flushed crimson as he continuously muttered curses at his own stupidity the entire walk back.
Meanwhile, in another wing of the castle, King Lucian Sudrath leaned back in his study.
At the sill of the open window, an aromatherapy candle burned softly. It wasn't lit for illumination, but to release the soothing scent of pine sap to calm frayed nerves.
On the King's massive desk, thick stacks of documents were organized into three neat towers: military reports, state treasury ledgers, and diplomatic correspondence.
Tonight, however, Lucian's focus was locked entirely on a single sheet of paper he had reread until the edges were frayed. A high-level intelligence report from the northwestern border. The Khanate territory.
