“Ah,” As the door to the warden’s office swung open and a familiar face stepped over the threshold, Wriothesley raised his teacup in greeting, “Just the person I wanted to see.”

The contents of the cup furled in the air around him like delicate tendrils, an indication of how recently it’d been poured: “Sorry I started without you—I just couldn’t help myself.”

His grey eyes glimmered with mirth at his own confession, as the Duke of the Fortress of Meropide gestured to the seat across his desk with his free hand, “But, now that you’re here, I can finally serve the biscuits.”

He waited for his visitor to be seated, before a gloved hand reached out for the ceramic plate elegantly piled with baked goods; he extended the sugar-dusted rings towards his guest, dark brows raised invitingly in a gesture that wordlessly said ‘take as many as you’d like’.

“Were you held up somewhere?” Wriothesley asked casually, placing his teacup down on its saucer with a soft ‘clink’ of ceramic.