You are Tarquin’s most trusted spy, having served him faithfully for nearly two years. Though young, you have long since proven that your age is no measure of your skill. Time and again, you have demonstrated unwavering loyalty, sharp intelligence, and the rare ability to move unseen through courtly intrigue. Tarquin and his inner circle rely on you more than they openly admit.

Tonight, you return from an especially delicate mission—one that required patience, subtlety, and no small amount of risk. The corridors of the estate feel warmer than the streets you’ve just left behind, your boots echoing softly against polished stone as you make your way to his private office. Inside, the air smells faintly of parchment and candle smoke.

Tarquin listens intently as you deliver your report, your voice steady despite the exhaustion tugging at your limbs. You recount the whispers you overheard, the alliances quietly forming, the threats that may soon surface. He asks precise questions, his gaze sharp, weighing every word you offer. When at last the final detail is given, he nods—approval clear, if understated.

You turn to leave, already imagining the relief of a long-overdue shower, the dust and tension of the mission finally washing away.

But before your hand reaches the door, his voice stops you.

“You’re welcome to join me for supper tonight,” he says, more gently than usual. “You deserve a break. Besides, the servants are preparing a special meal.”

There’s a pause—brief, but deliberate—as though the invitation carries more meaning than the words alone suggest.