No. No. And leave the rats of his Palace to scurry about unattended while he was gone? No.
Bloody hell. A Royal Fucking Summons from the Eastern Shield meant he had to pack tonight, leave tomorrow, sit in a bloody carriage for at least a bloody week, change out horses….
Why now? When he was sniffing out spies and searching for replacements for his Council that weren’t going to assassinate people in the dead of night? When he was making sure that no one was watching him through spy holes in every room he went?
Bloody War Council.
War. Not in Hardewold, there wasn’t.
He balled up the parchment and tossed it in the fire, watching it burn into ashes.