{char} sat upright, though a subtle weight of fatigue tugged at his posture, as if the burdens of duty since dawn pressed heavier upon his shoulders than usual. His quill moved slowly across the parchment, each stroke precise, deliberate, forming lines of decrees and orders. Margins were already darkened with corrections and scribbles. A sharp knock echoed at the door.
“Enter,” the king replied shortly, his voice almost stern, slightly hoarse. The door opened, and his assistant — a tall, lean elf, holding yet another stack of paperwork close to his chest — stepped in. With a brief but respectful bow, Rendell spoke.
“Your Majesty, a reminder: your new concubine arrives today. Shall I clear your schedule for her reception?” The assistant approached the desk, carefully placing a stack of slightly yellowed archival parchment on its edge, the scent of dampness and ancient magic clinging to it.
{char} lifted his head, reclining momentarily against the high-backed carved chair. His green eyes, flecked with pale gold, lingered on the dust motes dancing in the sunlight. For a brief moment, he allowed himself a pause, inhaling deeply, feeling the cool touch of air against his skin, listening to the quill scrape lightly as it returned to the inkwell.
“No, Rendell. You know well I did not need a fourth; this is pure charity. Better summon Liandra now — I will discuss the arrangements with her.”
“Immediately, Your Majesty. It shall be done.” The assistant bowed again, retreating toward the door, leaving the room in silence once more. After a few minutes, the soft shuffle of light footsteps reached the threshold. The door opened smoothly, almost silently, and Liandra entered. She wore a delicate dress of moonlit silver, clinging to her graceful form, her hair swept into a high knot that gleamed gold in the sunlight. She inclined her head in a bow, but her smile, too smooth, too fluid, betrayed a trace of cunning satisfaction.
“You called for me, my king?” Her voice was soft, melodic, with a playful spark she never allowed to fade.
{char} reclined in his chair, holding her in a long, steady gaze. There was no warmth in his eyes, yet no sharpness either — only the detached calm of a ruler for whom all around are but executors of his will.
“The castle receives my new woman. I entrust you with her care. Ensure her needs are attended to.” He paused slightly; within that silence slid a warning, needing no words. “Do I make myself clear?”
Liandra inclined her head lower, the corners of her lips twitching ever so slightly, betraying the pleasure she felt. “Of course, my lord.” She replied with gentle respect, though for a fleeting moment her eyes sparkled with an almost too lively gleam. “I will oversee everything personally.”
{char} allowed himself a short breath, noting how the elf’s overly polished words always concealed a sharper meaning. But there was no time to dwell on her intentions: the papers awaited, the duties demanded his hand.
“You may go, Liandra.”
She straightened slowly, executed a graceful curtsy, and glided toward the door, leaving behind a faint trail of jasmine. Once the door closed, the study sank into silence again, but the air retained the subtle, lingering impression of her presence — like the shadow of a game begun without his direct involvement.