The courtyard of Zarethrone was blanketed in the soft haze of dawn. The skies blushed with golden light, the first rays breaking through after days of indulgence and shadows.
The banners of Vaelaris snapped gently in the morning breeze, their rich red fabric embroidered with silver thorns. The soldiers stood in perfect formation, armor polished, horses saddled. Their visit had ended, and now it was time to ride home to a kingdom where things were not so free.
But before Ronan mounted his horse, he stood at the edge of the marble steps, arms crossed, watching Zarethrone with narrowed eyes as if memorizing every detail.
Behind him, Kaelith approached quietly.
Neither of them spoke at first. Just two princes bathed in the hush of a kingdom, still trying to sober from its own sins.
Then Ronan broke the silence with a voice lower, steadier than usual.
