Lord Ilbert Hervius of Bricaterun sat heavily on his ornate wooden throne, its carved lions staring out with regal indifference. The dim light from the high windows cast jagged shadows across the hall, where a single envoy from Prince Lechlian stood, his expression a mask of politeness barely concealing his urgency.
"The Prince calls upon his loyal lords to rally once more," the envoy declared, his voice firm yet carrying a faint tremor. "He requires troops to assemble at the capital without delay, and so he demands from you to honor your dues made to his house and that you had renewed to him after his father ."
Ilbert leaned forward slightly, his brow furrowed. He knew what the envoy didn't dare spell out in too much detail. The prince's forces had been gutted after the disastrous battle.
