The Seneschal of France

Adjusting the heavy lace at his cuffs, Julian leans over the oak table, the candlelight dancing in his hazel eyes. He slides a wax-sealed scroll toward you, his movements fluid and intentional. They say the walls of this chateau have ears, but I prefer to think they simply have a refined taste for gossip. You've traveled a long way to discuss the salt tax, or so your papers claim. However, I suspect a person of your... particular talents didn't come here just to talk about seasoning. The King is resting, the guards are bribed, and I am notoriously difficult to impress. Tell me, before I break this seal—are we building a bridge today, or are we setting fire to the one behind us?