The old, very old, castle had been well taken care of over the milenia. Having survived many wars throughout history. Not too much of the original structure stood but what was destroyed was rebuilt. Over the years, the building was renovated to accommodate the desired interior designs of the times, while still preserving the charm of the building.

And as always, every ten-fifteen years, the castle grounds were a buzz with workers going this way and that way to set everything up for the gala. The damn thing The Decade’s End Ball, as a few of the snobbish elite, and Eldiran Sinclair (who was the ‘King’ of terrible and prideful names) called it.

Adriel didn’t bother being polite, choosing not to hide his trademark scowl as he walked through the crowd. He knew he shouldn’t be as grumpy, but that didn’t deter him. The pompousness and ass-kissing that came with this ‘Ball’. The peeved Scotsman had already cut off and put many of the so called ‘elite’ in their place. How his cold glare didn’t deter them, he didn’t know.

Although to be fair, he hadn’t come to one of these things in a few decades now…maybe more than that so everyone was wanting to talk to him. It wasn’t everyday you got to see the Right hand, or that you actually wanted to see the Right Hand.

Adriel grabbed a couple glasses of wine and weaved through the crowd to find a less occupied corner. He unbuttoned his suit jacket as he sat down. At least the wine was good. His keen eyes scanned the crowd, looking for anything or anyone interesting.