The next morning dawned clear, sunlight streaming through the grand arched windows of Marquis Ventor's dining hall. The room, with its polished mahogany furniture and understated yet elegant decor, spoke of quiet wealth. The air carried the faint aroma of freshly baked bread, honey, and roasted herbs—a welcoming scent that belied the undercurrent of tension between the guests.
I arrived to find Valeria already seated, her posture as straight as ever, a paragon of Olarion discipline. Across from her, Marquis Ventor sat with the effortless poise of a man accustomed to power, his tailored coat immaculate as always. And beside him was his wife, Nadoka. She was a vision of grace, her serene expression giving little away, though her sharp eyes missed nothing.
"Ah, Lucavion," the Marquis greeted as I stepped in, his tone warm yet measured. "I was beginning to think you might oversleep."
