In a hidden chamber within Sol-Regis—neither a palace nor a lavish estate, but a strictly guarded neutral ground—Alistair Solari and Queen Eleanor sat facing each other.
The room was modest by the standards of high nobility. Dark wood floors, bare stone walls. Yet, an air of luxury remained—a thick carpet beneath the table, two plush crimson chairs, and a silver teapot filled with warm tea that remained untouched.
Two guards stood in each corner of the room. They were statues of iron, hands resting on sword hilts, gazes fixed forward. They did not move. They did not blink. They were simply... there.
Alistair leaned back in his chair, his expression as cold as ever. In his hand, he held a delicate porcelain cup of tea that had long since stopped steaming. He didn't sip it; he merely held it.
