The atmosphere inside the room was suffocating despite the silence. Brutus rested his elbows on the arms of his chair, massaging his temples. In just a few minutes, he seemed to have aged five years. Rosalind kept her head down, her face pale as sweat began to bead on her skin, while Beatrice looked completely lost, unsure of what to do.
Ard and Eva could only wait in silence to see who would speak first. Suddenly, "knock... knock," there was a rap at the door. A palace official entered, and everyone turned to look. As he stepped inside, the official immediately felt the tension—it was thick enough to cut with a knife.
"Forgive the interruption, Your Majesty. There is a letter from the Elf Tribe Chief," the official said.
"Fine. Just leave it on the desk," Brutus replied.
The official walked quickly to the desk, set the letter down, then promptly excused himself and closed the door. Once the door was shut tight, Brutus spoke.
