The carriage wheels groaned beneath them like dying men as the Velrane coach lurched back toward the estate.
Moonlight sliced through the curtained windows, painting silver bars across Veyr's impassive face. The young lord sat with perfect posture despite the vehicle's constant rocking, seemingly untouched by the evening's tensions.
Soren leaned into the leather seat, his formal attire suddenly stifling after hours of standing rigid behind Veyr's chair. The weight of a hundred stares still pressed against his skin, nobles assessing, knights dismissing, servants wondering. His fingers worked unconsciously at the collar that felt too tight against his throat.
The silence between them stretched, broken only by the rhythm of hooves and the occasional creak of wood.
