"What makes you think we would stand by your side?" Zavren asked nonchalantly, legs crossed with arrogant ease as he leaned back in his chair. King Jude sat across from him in the vast room, while Lucas stood quietly in the corner. It was rare for one king to visit another—letters typically sufficed—unless the matter demanded a face-to-face conversation.
"King Zavren, we would be honored to partner with your kingdom in the upcoming war," King Jude said formally.
Zavren chuckled lightly, his gaze steady.
"Always for your benefit. If I recall correctly, your kingdom hasn't had any communication with mine for years. Now, you suddenly show up and expect me to say… what, exactly?" His voice was low, his expression devoid of warmth.
King Jude, who looked to be in his late thirties—though his youthful appearance, brown hair swept neatly back, and dignified aura contradicted his age—answered calmly:
"That is precisely why I came in person. To offer my apology."
