Through the drawbridge is an immaculately maintained courtyard criss-crossed with flat paths. Pairs of peasants work the gardens with rakes and pitchforks, while leather-armored huntsmen and burly masons stride by with haste on private errands.
You leap out of the way of a pair of stablehands, leading horses at a trot off to some appointed place. The whole keep is a beehive of purposeful souls—and you're a little snail dropped in the midst of them.
You won't be so out of place for long, you decide. You'll fight to the utmost to carve out a position here. Just imagine how your family would quite possibly cheer you on if they were here.
The short footman leads you to a small door on the side of the red stone keep. The light level drops precipitously as you enter. Torch sconces are very widely spaced, and no windows reach the narrow hallway the footman chooses.
You clear your throat. "Did I hear we're going to meet Malodoro? Prithee, who is that?"
"She's Chief Steward," he says without looking at you.
Only one of the most influential people in the entire Duchy. Perfect.
Onward