Kaelen's POV
The next morning, I was at my desk before the first bell, the wood cool beneath my palms, the inkwell positioned exactly three inches from the edge of the blotter.
If I could map the trajectory of the grain in the oak or calculate the exact pressure required to sign a conscription order without snapping the quill, the rest of the world stayed at a manageable distance.
"Your Grace, the southern quartermaster is requesting a signature for the grain redistribution."
I didn't look up. I knew the man's voice, Captain Harl. He was standing three paces back, his breath hitching slightly.
"Leave it," I said.
"He said it was urgent, sire. The families in the lower valley are…."
"I heard him, Captain. Leave it."
The parchment was placed on the desk with a frantic, soft rustle. Harl bowed, the leather of his boots creaking, and retreated. I watched the door click shut.
