The light in Lyanna Orinthal's office was muted, falling in pale slats across the polished desk piled high with papers and correspondence. The scent of wax and aged parchment hung in the air, blending with the heady aroma of scented oils and perfumes Lyanna liked. Her quill moved steadily, black ink gliding over paper as she added her concise notes to a report regarding the grain shortages in Zephyrdale. Their issue was simple enough to deal with. They went through grain shortages every year during Valtren's Bounty.
She paused, brushing a strand of gleaming blonde hair back into place. There was something profoundly tedious about this part of ruling—a tedium that was now entirely her burden. The King was too preoccupied with his own madness to lift even a pen these days, and Lyanna was left holding the kingdom together with both hands while he unraveled piece by piece.
