The leader of the envoys opened his mouth, and a melodic, calm voice flowed out—easily filling the entire hall without ever rising above a conversational tone.
"Greetings. King Ruger. The Empire sends its greetings."
The King suppressed the anger in his voice. He had to have had enough of people disrespecting his authority in his own throne room in a single day, but he showed no sign of it. His expression remained placid, almost bored.
'Impressive control.' Northern noted the slight tension in the man's shoulders, the way his fingers pressed just a fraction too hard against the armrest. 'Most men would have snapped by now.'
"And to what do we owe this... grand visit?" The King's pause before 'grand' was deliberate, pointed. "Hasn't it been—what? A hundred and thirteen years since envoys last touched this land?"
The leader spoke again, his voice still carrying that calm, sweet quality that made Northern's instincts prickle.
