"What in the world are those tents for the knights and your guards?" Jason Lysander quickly approached Sienna-Rose in the morning, the moment she stepped out from her carriage.
"Good morning, Your Grace." Sienna-Rose, greet the duke and smile.
From the outside, the soldiers' tents looked like nothing more than shapeless, mud-coloured wedges half-sunk into the earth—drab and unimpressive, easily missed among the churned battlefield soil and scorched undergrowth.
Their canvas flaps hung limp, stained from months of rain and the dust of endless marches. To any passing eye, they were just another set of temporary shelters—the kind worn thin by war, their insides likely cold, damp, and grim.
But stepping past the flap told another story entirely. Within, the narrow tent expanded into a cavernous space that defied logic. The air inside was still and warm, gently humming with quiet enchantment.
