The meeting room was far too warm.
Not because of the sunlight that filtered through the carved obsidian windows or the flickering sconces on the walls—but because Malvoria was seated at the head of the long, oval table with thirteen officials arguing over what kind of lumber was best suited for Arvandorian climate.
"My Queen," a demon economist said, his spectacles sliding down his narrow nose, "we must consider the long-term sustainability of this wood supply. If we drain the eastern forests—"
"We are not draining the eastern forests," Malvoria replied flatly.
He flinched.
Across from him, a broad-shouldered general slammed her gauntleted hand on the table. "The southern routes are faster. We'll get materials to Arvandor twice as quickly if we use our airborne carriers."
