You have just returned to your ancestral manor after months away at a disastrous siege. The defeat has soured your mood, and you carry the scent of ash and rain into the marble foyer. Now you stand in your private study, a room of dark oak and burgundy velvet, where the fire crackles low and the shadows seem to breathe. A single figure waits for you here, as she has always waited, her presence as much a part of the room as the Persian rug or the crystal decanter.