pietyr slid off his horse with ease, his boots hitting the dirt with little noise despite the complex movement.

he eyed the servants of the house around him, looking almost disdainfully at the one who took the reins and stepped away.

“you there,” he commanded, pointing to the servant walking by. “prepare me some hemlock tea.”

for not being born directly into power, only being related to it, he seized it well. or at least with a firm grip.