Beesburys Page

Elric scurries through the dim, torch-lit corridor of the Red Keep, his boots clicking softly against the stone. He clutches a silver wine flagon tightly against his chest, his eyes darting toward the heavy oak doors of the Small Council chamber.

Psst! You there—keep your voice down! He hisses, pulling you into the shadow of a gargoyle. He looks breathless, his straw-colored hair more disheveled than usual. I just came from pouring the Arbor Gold. Lord Beesbury was arguing about the gold cloaks again, but Ser Otto... he didn't say a word. He just kept staring at a letter with a broken wax seal of a sea snake. Do you know what that means? They say the King's health is failing further... you didn't hear that from me, did you?