Castle Greyfells in Duchy Greyfells, in Northern Itaskia
THE COLONEL STALKED through the quiet corridors, each step charged with the nervous energy of a caged panther. Servants got out of his path, turned to watch after he passed. His tension surrounded him with an aura of danger.
He reached the door of the chamber to which he had been summoned. He stared at it, rose onto the balls of his feet, settled back. He was afraid of what might lie on the other side. This was more than the portal to a room. It was a doorway to tomorrow, and he didn’t like the smell of it.
Something was afoot. He had come to the castle last evening, and had found it infested with tension. The Duke was planning something. His people were scared. All the recent Dukes had become involved in schemes that failed, and each failure had brought violence down on the family and its retainers.
The Colonel steeled himself, knocked.
He stepped inside. Six men were seated along the sides of a long table. The Duke himself sat at the table’s head. He gestured, indicating the seat at the table’s foot. The Colonel sat down.
The Duke said, “Now I’ll end the speculation. Our cousin Inger has received an offer of marriage.”
