The old Duke of the Roed family stood in the foyer of the Noble Council, overlooking the bustling crowd on the streets outside. Today, the father of the Mowish Queen of the Noble family did not exude an imposing aura of anger that commanded respect; he looked like a very ordinary old man, somewhat stooped and squint-eyed.
"Your Grace, what are you looking at here?" A woman's voice sounded from behind him.
"Ah, if it isn't the young lady from the House of Marem, how have you been recently?" The old man turned his head and glanced at the sturdy woman who had approached him.
"Not bad, Your Grace. Today's meeting, those Easterners are going to propose noble autonomy again, aren't they?" Mrs. Marem said this, then looked down at the old man: "Your Grace."
"Are you here to advocate for your old friends from Mowish?" The old Duke smiled, "Marem's child, do you know what I am watching?"
"Not really, Your Grace." Mrs. Marem shook her head.
