Elysia had barely composed herself before the carriage door swung open and sunlight flooded the plush interior, dazzling after the velvet shadows and warmth of Malvoria's arms.
The city's noise returned in a wash laughter, bells, the distant cry of market vendors.
Elysia blinked against the brightness, adjusted her cloak, and reached for Malvoria's hand, letting the Queen help her down onto the cobbled drive.
Before either could properly smooth their rumpled clothing or check their hair, a flash of silver and black darted across the stones—Kaelith, as always, faster than expected for a not-quite-one-year-old.
She hurled herself at Elysia with such force that Elysia had to crouch and brace herself, catching her daughter in a whirlwind of chubby arms and high-pitched laughter.
"Mama!" Kaelith crowed, burying her face in Elysia's shoulder. She smelled like honey and wild wind and—Elysia's heart squeezed—freshly turned earth.
