The smell of old parchment and leather bindings embraced me as I sat hunched over the ornate desk in the Thorne family library. Dust motes danced in the pale light streaming through tall windows, highlighting the organized chaos that surrounded me—stacks of ancient texts, star charts, and crumbling journals.
"Duke Evander?" my steward's voice broke through my concentration. "The ambassador from Easthold has arrived. Shall I tell him you're indisposed again?"
I looked up from the coded journal I'd been trying to decipher for weeks. Theodore stood in the doorway, his expression a mixture of patience and exasperation. I knew that look well—it was the same one he wore whenever my scholarly pursuits overshadowed my ducal responsibilities.
"How long has he been waiting?" I asked, already knowing the answer wouldn't reflect well on me.
"Three hours, Your Grace. The third time this month."
