The view from the window of his chamber was dismal. Dark clouds filled the sky, concealing any sunshine Paris rarely had to offer. His gaze was fixed on the gardens outside as his hand firmly gripped his goblet of wine. The air was thick with anticipation as Louis waited for his guest. He hoped the letter had reached them, for he did not entirely trust the messenger because he knew how the servant could take his time. Yet at the sound of the door opening behind him, a heavy weight was lifted from his shoulders and he turned to face the doorway with a smile on his lips.
“I was not sure if you would come,” he began, his gaze flickering between his guest and the floor. It was unlike Louis to be nervous, but he often felt this way when in their company. “Was it difficult for you to get here so quickly?”
