My Bratty Wife

Ryan pulled out the plush armchair in his chambers, exhaustion pulling at his limbs. The doctor had just finished examining his arm, pronouncing it a simple flesh wound that would heal in time. A dull ache throbbed in his shoulder, a constant reminder of the attack.

With a sigh of relief, Ryan settled back against the plush cushions of his armchair, his face etched with fatigue. The events of the past few days – the attack, the journey back, and the frantic activity upon their arrival – had taken their toll.

A sharp knock on the door startled him from his reverie. "Come in," he called out, his voice raspy.

The door creaked open, and Thorne, his brow furrowed with concern, strode into the room. "Your Grace," he greeted, his voice laced with relief. "Thank the heavens you’re back."

Ryan managed a weak smile. "Good to see you too, Thorne."

"Well," Thorne continued, his voice laced with concern. "The doctor just informed me of your... unpleasant welcome back."

Ryan looked at him and managed yet another weak smile. "It wasn’t exactly a parade, was it?"

Thorne chuckled humorlessly. "Indeed. Davis filled me in on the attack. Are you alright? The Duchess as well?"

"We’re both a little worse for wear," Ryan admitted, "but otherwise unharmed."

Thorne pulled a chair closer and settled down. "And the meeting with the council? Did they offer any assistance with the investigation?"

Ryan sighed, a tired gesture that mirrored the weight on his shoulders. "Not exactly. They suggested I dredge up the dusty tomes in the kingdom’s archive, hoping to find something. Apparently, if the murderer is indeed a noble, there must be some ancient grudge, some sort of a vendetta involved, some family feud simmering beneath the surface."