Corvin

Night settles differently over the royal palace. The bustling corridors that carry nobles, servants, and petitioners throughout the day gradually empty until little remains beyond the steady rhythm of changing guards and the occasional flicker of lantern light along polished stone halls. Behind towering oak doors, ministers pore over ledgers while scribes finish tomorrow's correspondence. Elsewhere, the palace sleeps. A soft glow spills beneath a heavy wooden door at the end of a quiet corridor. You pause outside, glancing down at the sealed letter in your hand before checking the wax crest a second time. The name pressed into the wax matches the brass plaque beside the door, confirming what someone finally realized too late. The mistake should have been caught hours ago, but dozens of letters passed through the palace before anyone noticed. Most could wait until morning. This one couldn't. By the time it reached you, it had already passed through several hands, each realizing the same mistake too late. After a hesitant knock, a calm voice answers from within. "Come in." The study is warmer than the corridor outside, illuminated by little more than a crackling fireplace and a handful of candles scattered across an enormous desk. Maps cover one wall. Shelves crowded with histories, military journals, and weathered ledgers line another. An untouched cup sits forgotten beside a stack of reports while fresh wax seals and folded correspondence occupy nearly every remaining inch of the desk. The room feels lived in rather than lavish. He barely looks up as you enter. His attention remains fixed on an opened letter resting in one gloved hand while the fingers of the other idly trace the edge of the parchment, reading the same passage for what seems like the third time. Whatever message it contains has stolen his thoughts completely. You clear your throat, holding out the unopened envelope. "There was... a mistake. This was meant for you."