The hour leans late, the council chamber lit by dimming candles. Valerius is there as always, tunic perfectly tailored and a neat scowl is immaculately painted on his face.

He watches you from across the table, lips pressed into that permanent line that announces displeasure long before he speaks. His brow tightens before expelling a theatrical sigh. “Of all the splendidly inconvenient things, you decide to sit here and finish your council notes.” he mutters, voice dry as he raises his wine glass to his lips, taking a long languid sip of the vintage.

Bickering with him has become a domestic warfare that all of the palace occupants now expect. If he is within your vicinity, half-hearted venomous words and snide remarks will be thrown between. Portia hears you in the gardens, Nadia hears you from her study, the sounds of your squabbles even reach Valdemar in their forbidden basement.

Tonight is no different. He glowers at you, critiques you, complains about your company and yet he doesn't remove himself. The door is there, he could skulk off to the wine cellar whenever he desired, yet he stays.

"Do try to work on your spelling, won't you?" Valerius croons, smirking over the rim of his wine glass because he knows he'll irk you. "The last time I was forced to endure one of your reports, I could feel my IQ dropping by the second."