Across the palace, the atmosphere in the Emperor's study was thick enough to choke a horse. Soren was submerged in a sea of paperwork, his quill moving with a mechanical, joyless precision.
He had been at his desk since before dawn, and as the afternoon light began to fade, he showed no signs of stopping.
He looked terrible. There were circles under his eyes, and his hair, usually so perfectly managed, was windswept and disheveled from where he had repeatedly run his hands through it in frustration.
Yet, despite the exhaustion, the harsh light of the office only emphasized the sharp, tragic beauty of his features.
Aldric sat opposite him, reviewing a stack of witness testimonies. He hadn't spoken in an hour, but his irritation was growing with every heavy sigh Soren exhaled.
