The procession through Draken's Imperial City was slow, deliberate, and suffocating.
The streets were still wet from the dawn rain, the cobblestones shining like black glass beneath the carriage wheels.
Every turn drew the eyes of hundreds — merchants, beggars, and soldiers alike watching in uneasy silence as the King of Byzeth, the reborn shadow of Valeria, was paraded through their heartland like a prize or a threat.
Aric Valerian sat within the open carriage, hands bound in polished silver cuffs that glimmered faintly with a restraining enchantment.
Serina sat beside him, her wrists the same. Yet there was no shame in her gaze — only irritation.
"Silver cuffs," she muttered, glancing down. "They must think we're about to summon dragons of our own."
Aric smiled faintly, eyes half-lidded as he studied the horizon. "They overcompensate when they're afraid."
