Daemon stood calmly in the war chamber, its air thick with tension. The nobles sat around a circular table, stacks of scrolls and ledgers spread out before them maps, troop counts, and hastily scribbled strategies littered the surface. Candles flickered overhead, casting long shadows across the grim faces of men preparing for war.
Daemon's gaze drifted over the table. At least they're trying to act like they know what they're doing, he thought.
He stepped forward and spoke. "My king, I have something to report."
The room went quiet. Robert, the advisor, shot him a sharp look — his expression a mix of suspicion and disdain. A few nobles whispered among themselves, uncertain whether Daemon's presence was a threat or an asset.
The king raised an eyebrow. "Yes? Did something happen?"
Daemon smirked inwardly. So we're still playing innocent, are we?
"I received a letter this morning," he said, lifting the folded parchment from his cloak. "From your uncle."
