The following morning, Rhaegar made his way to the halls of Ostenton Brocade.
The brocade house was already awake with the murmur of servants and the faint fragrance of sandalwood drifting through its carved corridors, yet the moment he arrived, the atmosphere seemed to freeze beneath the weight of his presence.
Without waiting for an announcement, he pushed open Lucas' chamber doors and strode inside.
Lucas was seated behind a lacquered desk, bent over a stack of account ledgers. Candlelight flickered across his elegant features, gilding the sharp line of his jaw. At the sudden intrusion, he looked up in surprise, his brows knitting faintly.
"Lord Thorne? To what do I owe this pleasure?"
Rhaegar crossed the room in measured steps until he stood before him like a shadow cast by storm clouds, tall and imposing beneath the pale wash of daylight.
"Lord Ostenton."
The younger man slowly straightened, clearly getting a little nervous. "Yes?"
