"Your majesty."
Ísar stared at his uncle's bowing form and made no response to the greeting.
After dismissing the maids and knights from the greeting room, Ísar sat on the sofa opposite the ancient man before letting him sit.
They stared at each other for a while. His uncle looked more worn down than usual and the man always looked worn down.
No one knew exactly how old he was, just that he was many years older than Ísar's late father. His birth date wasn't even noted on the family registry, considering the man was illegitimate and born in the slums of the Western banks, so it was hard to say.
All Ísar knew about the man was that he was his uncle, he was a recluse and that most people found him unsettling, Ísar included.