Two days after I returned to Sestia, the familiar quiet of my library wrapped around me like a comforting cloak. The air smelled faintly of old parchment, sandalwood incense, and the spiced tea I had brought back from Denril. I sat reclined in the armchair—its velvet cushions shaped to the curve of my spine—one leg crossed over the other, a delicate porcelain teacup held loosely between my fingers.
Across from me, the three city lords—my loyal vassals—were seated on two opposing sofas, each exuding a different shade of barely veiled menace. It was strange how peace could coexist so naturally in a room filled with former underworld lords. They were dangerous men, molded by crime and fire—but under my rule, they'd evolved. Refined. Loyal.
"So," I began, taking a slow sip of the warm, fragrant brew. "How is everyone?"
