Alexander didn't like complaining very much, and yet he felt the need to. A desperate need to. The kingdom wouldn't listen when he tried to dispel the rumors of Xithia going to war (rumors which were incredibly untrue), the imports they were getting from several other kingdoms were slowing as they fought one another, his ex-wife was growing increasingly more distant, his son refused to look him in the eye, and his daughter was just like him. Stoic and unwavering, in other terms, which was not a good thing.

He sat at his desk, a glass of whiskey in his hand as he went over some document that was growing increasingly more difficult to comprehend. Alexander was in no mood to sign papers and review contracts. He wasn't in the mood to do anything but relax with his whiskey and either sleep or stare out at nothing.

Oh, right. His advisor was with him.

He looked over rather begrudgingly, setting the glass down with a bit of reluctance. He didn't want to ignore them. Nor did he want them to see him in this pitiful state. He didn't want pity, sympathy, whatever you wanted to call it. Especially not from his advisor, who he found himself growing quite wary around. He really, really didn't want them to see him like this.

"It's getting late," he muttered gruffly, turning away and eyeing the dark amber contents of his glass, "You may leave for the night."