Andronikos strode into the dimly lit chamber with a measured gait, his footsteps echoing softly against the polished stone floor. The flickering flames of the torches that lined the walls cast dancing shadows, creating an aura of solemnity that hung in the air like an unspoken vow.
The room itself was adorned with opulent tapestries, depicting scenes from the principality's storied history. Strangely enough, they did not depict all the treachery they were famous for , and that allowed them to rise as a moderate power in the region. The walls seemed to whisper tales of battles won and alliances forged, while forgetting about the vile acts and the betrayal they enacted against previous allies and overlords. Yet, beneath the regal trappings, there was an undeniable sense of fragility, an acknowledgment of the despot's ailing health and the uncertain future that lay ahead.
