Chapter 71. Undercurrents

Ian extended a hand out the window. The humid breeze had begun to dry, carrying the crisp bite of approaching cold. Summer's fiery reign was ending; autumn was on the cusp.

A soft knock.

"My Lord. Are you awake?"

"I am."

"Breakfast is served."

Since the Imperial decree and his investiture as Viscount, Ian's position had solidified. Day-to-day life remained largely unchanged, yet he felt the subtle *weight* of his new authority.

The title, for instance. "My Lord."

*Amusing.* He'd held far grander titles, commanded far greater power. Yet this...this felt different. A hard-won foothold, not a birthright.

Ian took his seat opposite Romandro, the servants already laying out the morning meal.

"Good morning, Lord Romandro."

"Ah, Viscount Ian. A good night's rest, I trust?"

"Indeed. Some tepid water, if you please."

"Of course, My Lord."