[sub][indent][i][h3][color=d8cfbe]𝔼nidad[/color][/h3][/i][/indent][/sub][hr]
The addressee of the Lord and Lady’s pleas snorted, crumpled the letters into a ball, and threw them over his shoulder into the half-full wastebasket in the corner. Alarick Croan, Lord, priest, and probably the most important man in the southern half of Croania lit a cigarette with his gate and drew in a deep breath.

“Damn fools. Who do they think they are…” he murmured to the empty study before leaning back in his chair and resting his boots on the mahogany desk.

After all the trouble House Dalris had caused him last year, they just expected him to acquiesce and send troops? For what? To fend off a rebellion that would collapse under its own weight in half a year?

No, House Croan had better things to be doing. There was that matter with House Aureolin’s papers, and of course the question of House Pachel’s successor after the Northern dogs had unceremoniously executed Jevin.

He absentmindedly tugged at the grey hairs on his chin before yanking out a stray stand and setting it ablaze. Harper had always complained about this tic. She said it “scuffled his pores,” whatever those damned words meant. He pulled out another hair and ignited it.

“Gonna have to send a messenger to the Pachels, maybe suss out the best man for the job.” He was talking to himself again. Another habit Harper hated. “Or woman. Alana, maybe? I know Her Holiness was considering it…”

The letter from House Dalris crossed his mind once more.

“Agh, stonge it all. Maybe dealing with some fighting would do those two some good. I’m not thinking about this anymore.”

He snapped his fingers and lit the wastebasket’s contents on fire, then took another puff of his cigarette before jamming it into his ashtray. The dark smoke from the letter rose gently up through its makeshift chimney before dispersing into the morning sky.