After everything that transpired in the throne room and following his sharp confrontation with Celestine in the hallway, Zalyric's temper plummeted to its lowest point. His mood curdled like spoiled wine, heavy and unshakable. Rather than brood in silence within the palace walls, he ordered a carriage and set off toward the heart of the capital with Dylan following dutifully in his wake.
The ride was steeped in silence with the faint rattle of wheels against cobblestones as the only sound. Dylan, ever cautious, knew better than to break it; his king's expression was carved from stone and his gaze was fixed outward yet seeing nothing.
