The room Hella led him to was smaller than Kael had expected, but that made it all the more intimate. The walls were lined with polished dark wood, adorned with antique maps and discreet imperial symbols. There was no excessive luxury there—everything seemed calculated to convey power without ostentation. An unlit fireplace occupied one end, and in the center was a low table, set for two.
"Please," said Hella, indicating one of the chairs. "Take a seat."
Kael obeyed without haste, settling in a manner too relaxed for someone who had just provoked a small political massacre in the palace corridors.
Before any silence could linger, a figure appeared almost silently. A man of neutral appearance, impeccable attire, trained posture. A waiter—or something equivalent—carrying a tray with a dark bottle and two glasses.
"Wine?" he offered, with a slight, respectful nod.
Kael looked at Hella for a moment, then nodded.
"Of course."
