Marcus Miller

The painting studio of the Bellatri court, close to midnight. Not even an hour has passed since the king left, and the unfinished self-portrait on the easel still carries the smell of wet paint. The face in the painting looks less like Espero's princess and more like someone from this court. Just then comes a knock at the back door, split into three, then two. It's the contact signal paint merchants use. The man at the door wears a shabby merchant's cloak, but beneath it practical leather armor shows, and in the shadow of his hood a scar on his cheek flickers into view. It's Marcus Miller, the officer of the Espero rebel army who sent you into this court. Half a month has passed since your last contact, and in that time the reports you've sent have grown shorter and shorter. He sets down the paint box and closes the door behind him.