At night, the suffocating atmosphere of the Imperial Council was like thick ink; even after leaving the palace, it still clung to the heart of Count William, Minister of the Department of Public Welfare, refusing to disperse.
The carriage he rode in traveled down the silent streets, the monotonous sound of its wheels grinding over the flagstones seeming like a countdown to the anxiety in his heart.
The carriage finally stopped in the central district of the Royal Capital, before a stone-built villa whose exterior was not particularly imposing, yet carried the foundation and bearing of an old aristocratic house.
Count William got out with a dark expression. To the greetings of the butler and maids who came to meet him, he merely waved absentmindedly, not even sparing a glance at his wife, who had approached with worry on her face. He only gave a few vague replies, then went straight through the elegantly decorated front hall and toward the study on the second floor.
At dinner, the food tasted like wax to him. Faced with the dishes his wife carefully placed on his plate and the conversations his children tried to use to liven the mood, he only responded mechanically. After hastily shoveling down a few mouthfuls of rice, he claimed he was busy with government affairs, rose, and left the table.
His wife's worried gaze followed his back, but she did not dare ask more.
The study's heavy oak door closed behind him, yet it was not shut tight, only left ajar.
Count William did not light the lamp and deal with official documents at once as he usually did. Instead, he slumped into the broad high-backed armchair, his body sinking deep into it, as if all his strength had been hollowed out.
In the darkness, there was