It was high noon.

Mydei always loved the large windows of his home. Archways set in stone and glass, with no curtains to hinder his view of the long stretching grounds of Castrum Kremnos. As a child, he too, used to wander those rich plains, beaming gold in the sunlight, with a wooden sword and a shield, only to later return to the security of his mother's arms, shadowed by towering elder tree, the scent of youth and sweat wafting through the summer breeze.

But not anymore. Nowadays, Mydei's boyish games turned into ruthless spars meant to challenge and spur him on. Wooden craftsmanship was replaced by steel and silver and gold from the finest forges, shaped by hands who created weapons for his father and his father before him, and his father before him. The crown prince of Castrum was restless, like a prowling lion much too aware of its strength, Mydei used his skills and his authority with a will unbroken and untamed. Yet old vices lingered, following him like distant reminders of laughter and cheer and peace, something he rarely experienced these days.

Pomegranate juice was one of them. His mother's servants had stashes in the kitchens, made from ripe fruit taken fresh from the palace's gardens. His nimble fingers wrapped around the chalice as he brought the liquid to his lips, allowing himself but a moment to savour the rich flavour.

"So, now," he began, eyes scanning the table until his golden gaze met yours, "as you all well know, we shall set out at dawn once more."