King James Burchard sat at the head of the grand dining table, the morning light spilling through the tall arched windows and stretching lazily across polished wood and silverware. The long table, usually alive with conversation, felt strangely hollow this morning.
He cleared his throat once.
Then again.
Still nothing.
Across from him, his son sat motionless, staring into his cup as though it held answers to questions no one else could hear.
The king's brows twitched with concern.
"Adam!" he barked, his patience snapping like a dry twig.
Adam blinked, his gaze slowly lifting as if dragged back from somewhere far beyond the room. "Oh… good morning, Father. How did you sleep?" he asked, voice calm but distant.
The king leaned back slightly, studying him with a sharp, measuring look. "How did you sleep?" he countered. "You look like a man who fought shadows all night and did not emerge victorious. A coin for your thoughts?"
