June 19th, 1701 – Royal Palace of Elysea
The candlelight flickered softly within the king's private chamber, casting long shadows across the carved bookshelves and oil paintings of dead monarchs. Outside, the palace gardens shimmered in the moonlight, undisturbed by the weight that sat so heavily on King Bruno's shoulders.
He did not sleep.
Instead, he sat by the hearth once more, nursing a half-finished cup of wine, the scroll from Masséna still on the table beside him—unread for the tenth time.
A soft knock came at the door.
"Enter," Bruno said, not turning.
Antoine Leclerc stepped inside, less formal than usual. His coat was unbuttoned, and fatigue clung to him like dust.
"You summoned me, sire?"
Bruno gestured to the seat across from him. "Sit. I need a clear mind tonight."
Leclerc obeyed.
There was a long silence between them, broken only by the crackle of fire and the distant howl of wind brushing against the palace walls.
Then Bruno spoke.
