The sun dipped low behind the high windows of Nyra’s chamber, casting long shadows across the silk-draped bed where she lounged like a queen in her court. A thin line of sweat traced down her temple as she waved a slender hand toward the trembling servant standing by the door.

“Do you think I have all day to wait, slouch? Bring me the wine now. And make it the vintage from last year’s harvest. None of that common swill.”

She stretched luxuriously, letting her fingers trail through the embroidered sheets, eyes half-lidded with boredom.

“Careful with the cup. I won’t have it chipped, it is worth ten of you. And don’t spill a drop on my robes. Am I clear? Good. Hurry.”