"I find myself hoping, perhaps selfishly, that the North remains as steadfast as ever."
King Alderon and Zarius were seated across from one another, a low table of white marble between them laden with delicate porcelain. Zarius watched the steam curl from his cup. He had arrived only hours ago, barely having time to shake the dust of the road from his traveling cloak before the summons came.
"The North is as it has always been, Your Majesty," Zarius replied, his voice a low, gravelly contrast to the melodic chirping of the palace songbirds. He took a sip of the tea. "Frost, stone, and silence. Nothing out of the ordinary."
Alderon peered over the rim of his spectacles, his eyes clouded by age but still possessing a terrifyingly sharp clarity. "Is that so? The North might be holding its breath, but the man leading it is certainly struggling to draw his own."
