The palace hall was still filled with the sound of debate when Demian received the report.
He stood with one hand resting on the back of his chair, his expression calm, though his brows were faintly drawn together a sign only those closest to him could read. The castle messenger stood several steps behind him, bowing deeply, his voice trembling despite his attempt to remain professional.
"Lady Valerie requests a meat-filled roll from the outer district, Your Grace."
Demian turned halfway. "Go yourself," he said curtly. "I'm busy."
The messenger hesitated, but did not retreat. "Forgive me, Your Grace. Lady Valerie said… she wants you to be the one who buys it."
Demian let out a quiet breath, clearly impatient. "What difference does it make whether I buy it or you?" he said, his tone cooling. "It's just bread with meat."
The messenger swallowed, then forced himself to speak. "Forgive me, Your Grace. But… if you are the one who goes, I believe you will avoid trouble."
