@clashingcrowns location: Dove Concord notes: maybe the day after the gala?
The midday sun hung high over the palace gardens, casting dappled patterns of gold and green through the latticework of ivy-clad trellises. The scent of rosemary and wild thyme lingered in the warm air, mingling with the distant sweetness of Valtolian roses. Here, in this sanctuary of stillness, the revelry of the previous night felt like a distant thing - forgotten laughter, fading candlelight, the murmur of silk and whispered schemes lost to the echoes of the grand ballroom.
Godric had spent his morning well. He had taken his tea in the library, combing through records of Bergian customs, ensuring his knowledge was sharp before he made his approach. He had let the morning hours stretch on, knowing instinct alone would not serve him here. Rhiannon Pryor nee Hornwood, Queen of Bergia, was not a man to be charmed on a whim.
Godric approached with the same patience he had cultivated the night before. "Your Majesty," he greeted, bowing with crisp precision.