Arvin slowly pushed open the heavy oak doors of the Queen Mother’s private solar, the grandiose armor now completely stripped from his frame. He wore only a simple linen tunic, his hair still damp and unruly from his time in the dungeons. The sharp, aromatic scent of burning lavender and pressed ink filled the room, a stark contrast to the sweat and blood of the training pits.
The Queen Mother sat at her writing desk, her back perfectly straight as she reviewed a fresh ledger. She did not look up when he entered.
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