The nobles exchanged glances and all showed expressions of admiration.
Someone whispered in awe, "To thrive without joining the Red Tide… the Morkan family surely has confidence."
Feeling flattered, Morkan smiled even more smugly, "When my goods arrive, I will treat you all to the finest Southern tea. The Red Tide… its taste is too coarse."
A few people joined in laughter, and the lounge was filled with a relaxed air of those who believed they had control over the situation.
Until an urgent knock came at the door.
"Who is it? Can't you see I'm discussing matters?" Morkan frowned, his tone impatient.
The door opened, and it wasn't a maid who entered but the old steward accompanying the Morkan family.
He was soaking wet, as if drenched by rain and snow, or maybe he had run all the way.
His face was deathly pale, devoid of any color, and he even forgot the most basic courtesies, staggering a few steps to fall at Morkan's table.
