𝟓.𝟏: Candidates
𝐓he light in King Zachary's royal study was dim, filtered through heavy silk curtains that dulled the early sun.
The few light beams that managed to slip past the curtains glinted off the gold-leafed frames of maps and ancient tomes lining the walls.
The scent of burning cedar wafted gently from the fireplace, softening the solemnity of the place.
Azrin stood with his back to the arched window, swirling the stem of his wineglass like it were a goblet of secrets rather than vintage. A slow, idle motion.
He didn't look up when Zachary entered.
"You're late," Azrin said flatly, echoing the first words from their last meeting with deliberate mockery.
"Not in my own study, I'm not," Zachary replied, voice neutral as he slid off his cloak and tossed it onto a nearby couch.
Then his gaze sharpened as he fully regarded the Archmage. "And how many times must I tell you not to appear in my private space without permission?"
