Ragnar sat at the long oak table, nursing a mug of herbal tea. He watched his wife.
Princess Gyda sat across from him. She was dressed in a simple grey tunic, her hair tied back in a severe braid. In her hand, she held a heavy iron stamp. She was methodically approving the payroll requisitions for the Broken Men.
To anyone else, the sound would be annoying. To Ragnar, it was a symphony. It was the sound of a system working without him having to grease the gears.
He felt a strange sensation in his chest. In his previous life, he had been a workaholic engineer who ate takeout over a keyboard. Now, he had a partner who could balance a budget and shoot a crossbow with equal proficiency.
Gyda paused, the stamp hovering in mid-air. She didn't look up.
"You are staring, Director."
"I am observing the workflow," Ragnar lied, taking a sip of tea. "It is efficient."
