I was immersed in reviewing meticulously arranged documents at my mahogany desk when a soft knock at the office door interrupted the quiet ritual.
The familiar, measured timbre of Abelard's voice followed: "Your Grace, the Grand Duke wishes for your audience." In that instant, my thoughts flickered to Anwyl—why was he here?
His presence in my manor was never taken lightly, and I wondered what urgent matter could have compelled him to arrive unannounced.
"Come in," I commanded curtly, though my mind churned with questions.
I rose from my seat and moved with deliberate grace toward the settee, where I quietly signaled Abelard to take a seat before me. Almost as if on cue, a housekeeper glided into the room bearing a tray laden with freshly baked desserts and a teapot whose aromatic steam filled the air with gentle hints of spice and earth. Even these small gestures could not mask the subtle tension that preceded what was to come.
