The invitation arrived without ceremony.
No flourish of trumpets.
No herald calling my name through marble halls.
Just a single envelope placed atop my desk while I was reviewing port tariffs from the southern coast.
Ivory paper.
Black wax.
A seal pressed not with the imperial crest—but with a simpler mark.
A dragon's wing, half unfurled.
Arthur's seal.
I stared at it longer than necessary, fingers hovering just above the wax as if it might burn me.
So this is how neutrality ends, I thought.
Not with an ultimatum.
Not with a threat.
But with trust.
I broke the seal.
Lady Rosaline De Falon,
Your presence is requested at the third bell in the eastern council chamber.
This is not a summons—but I would value your counsel.
—A.
No titles.
No flourish.
I exhaled slowly and leaned back in my chair.
He had chosen his words carefully. Anyone else would have written commanded. Anyone else would have hidden behind protocol.
Arthur had chosen requested.
