Far from the smoke and screams of Elysia, in his serene, opulent study, Count Lazarus watched the shifting patterns of light on a polished marble globe. The room was a sanctuary of hushed luxury, insulated from the distant echoes of war.
Dexter, ever present yet almost invisible, stood at his side.
"The reports, Dexter," Lazarus murmured, his voice as smooth and unruffled as the silk tapestries adorning the walls. "What news from the provinces? Are the counties and duchies finally moving to aid their King?"
"As expected, Master," Dexter replied with a low voice, precise drone. "Messages were dispatched. Couriers from the Riverlands, the Summer Plateau, the Green Hills... they were all intercepted."
Lazarus offered a faint smile. "Intercepted? A rather quaint term for such effective work, wouldn't you say, Dexter?"
