Holy Lies

Aric waited in the shadowed corners of the meeting room…a place he found himself more often than not recntly, his gaze fixed on the flickering flames that danced in the hearth. 

The silence was a deep one, broken only by the occasional crackle of burning wood. Tonight, his study felt smaller, the walls pressing close with the weight of his plan. He allowed the silence to grow until the quiet murmurs of his assembled company took on a tense anticipation.

Maxim Sylmaris, first son of Eliron and the heir to the Sylmaris house leaned against the wall near the fireplace, his arms crossed, eyes sharp as they glinted with curiosity. His relaxed posture was a mask, as always. 

Maxim was too clever to betray a single thought, his face framed by a light smirk that was half invitation, half challenge. His coat, lined with discreet patches of green—the Sylmaris colors—hinted at his noble birth, but his bearing was more of a common rogue than a noble lord.