Setting a trap

Morning broke over the Myrain Viscounty in a silent haze of gold and amber.

Inside his private chambers, Craig stood before a full-length gilded mirror, meticulously dressing himself in his ceremonial crimson noble suit.

The dark red silk fit his tall, athletic frame perfectly, embroidered along the lapels with intricate gold-thread sigils of House Darkstar.

Since he had two full days before his clandestine departure to the Northern Continent, he intended to dedicate today entirely to administrative duties.

He had issued a formal summons to all ten ministers—the administrative masters of his fief—commanding their presence in the Audience Chamber early this morning.

As he adjusted the silver buttons along his cuff, a soft, polite knock echoed against the heavy oak door.

"Who is it?" Craig asked calmly, his reflection remaining completely motionless in the mirror.

"It is Arya, My Lord," a gentle, sweet voice filtered through the wood.