Chapter 40 - Tressette.

The scent of woodsmoke and well-aged leather hung heavy in the donnybrook of the old man's study. Moonlight, sharp as a stiletto, speared through the tall windows, carving ebony shadows across the battleground – a worn chessboard table flanked by two plush, if slightly threadbare, armchairs. One chair held a man forged in the fires of the past century. He nursed a glass of Barolo, the ruby liquid swirling in the translucent crystal a defiant spark against the encroaching twilight. At seventy, his silver hair, though touched by time, retained a rebellious glint, and his golden eyes, despite the map of wrinkles etched around them, still held a disconcerting sharpness. His sun-kissed skin, a stark contrast to the crisp white linen suit clinging to his still-powerful frame.