The Request

A day later.

Lord Reginald stood by his desk, staring out at the rolling grounds of his estate as the sun dipped lower, casting long shadows across the manicured lawns. The air in the room felt thick with the weight of his next decision. His fingers drummed lightly against the wood, a habit he picked up during moments of deep thought. Adrian's suggestion still lingered in his mind: apply pressure. But now was not the time for overt force.

He turned slowly and moved back to his desk, where a blank sheet of fine parchment waited in front of him. His fountain pen rested beside it, poised for action. It was time to make his next move. If Valoria continued to evade a formal meeting with their ruler, Triesenberg would lose the upper hand in this diplomatic chess game. A direct approach was now required.

Sitting down, Reginald dipped the pen into the ink well, watching as the dark liquid clung to the nib. Then, with a precise hand, he began writing.