The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows across the rolling hills surrounding Roan Larue's secluded cottage. As the evening breeze whispered through the trees, Roan sat at his writing desk, a stack of parchment spread out before him. His brow furrowed in concentration, he scribbled notes furiously, his quill scratching against the paper in rhythmic cadence.

But despite his best efforts to focus, Roan found his mind wandering, his thoughts consumed by the weight of the diplomatic issues that weighed heavily upon his shoulders. With a frustrated sigh, he set down his quill and leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his fiery red hair in agitation.

Roan pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling the familiar ache of exhaustion settle into his bones. The intricacies of fae politics were enough to make even the most seasoned diplomat's head spin, and Roan was beginning to feel the strain of the constant juggling act required to keep the delicate balance of power intact.