Draven set his empty goblet back onto the silver tray with a quiet clink. The heavy silence of the bedchamber was shattered a second later when he turned his golden gaze to me, his expression completely blank.
"I have deals to execute," he said flatly.
My mouth popped open. My jaw hung suspended somewhere near my dusty knees. "Deals?" I echoed, my voice rising an octave into a incredulous squeak. "What do you mean, deals? Draven, you literally just spent twenty minutes explaining to me that the High King of the Central Realm is declaring a holy war on our front porch by spring! What kind of 'deals' are you talking about at nine o'clock at night?!"
Before Draven could answer, a soft, urgent knock rattled the heavy chamber doors.
A guard slipped inside—not one of the high-ranking elite officers, but a man wearing a plain, uncrested dark leather tunic. He hurried over to Draven, leaning down to whisper three quick words into his ear.
