Ronan stood in front of Marquis Elrod, his back straight but his expression tense as he delivered the message. The room smelled faintly of old parchment and polished wood, lit gently by the golden light of enchanted lanterns that floated just above their sconces. Outside, the late afternoon sun was beginning to dip behind the hills, casting long shadows across the carpeted floor.
"She agreed," Ronan said finally, after explaining the details. "Not to a direct visit, but to an official invitation. For the annual ball. If the king sends a proper letter, then she might consider attending."
Marquis Elrod leaned back in his chair, fingers laced together as he took in the report with a quiet hum. His thick gray eyebrows lowered slightly, showing his displeasure—not at Ronan, but at the situation itself. "It's not what we hoped for," he said, his voice low and thoughtful. "But it's something. A thread we can follow."
