He was on his third goblet of wine as he went through the Crown's inventory with the Treasurer.
Yeren was bored out of his skull. Moonstone had asked for a private audience, which he declined. If it was up to him, Jarren would remain in the dungeons until he drew his last breath - not just for Claire, the man was a pain to everyone in court.
If privilege were based on merit and not birth, many of the Peers of the realm would find themselves on fishing boats, mines, and farms. Most of them had knowledge equivalent to that of cows in heat - no decision was made from an impartial point of view.
And he was starting to act like them, he reasoned. He was secretly protecting the interests of Miss Stenly, even when the Crown owed her no obligation.
Andon interrupted his reverie, a cool smirk on his face. The man was dressed for riding, Yeren noted. He was wearing black leather riding breeches, a grey woolen tunic, and leather gloves. Of course, he was carrying the Crown's sigil.
