Alpheo watched silently as Lucius smoothed the page, noting that his spymaster wore a heavy, midnight-dark woolen cloak even in the barely hinting cold of late afternoon.
The crisp, dry sound of parchment rustling against the dark oak table broke the quiet of the royal solar.
More dark news, the King assumed with a heavy breath.
Alpheo reached across the timber, took hold of the report, and quickly skimmed the dense, neat cipher. Halfway down the page, his brow furrowed, his dark eyes pausing over a series of unexpected names and coastal ports. He looked up, the usual grim expectation fading into mild surprise.
Not the usual squabbles, then.
He met the striking blue eyes of his spymaster, reading the unvoiced question hanging between them.
