Marcus stood frozen in the moonlit clearing.
His mouth twitched into a small, polite smile.
It was the kind of smile a person wore when their brain had simply decided to stop working.
He blinked slowly. Once. Twice.
"Pardon?" Marcus asked. His voice was steady, but it sounded thin to his own ears.
He chuckled lightly. It was a nervous, airy sound.
"I think I misheard you," Marcus said. "It sounded like you said three to four hours."
He leaned forward slightly.
"But that is impossible," he reasoned. "We are on the southern part of the kingdom. The estate is in the northeast. That is hundreds of miles."
"Did you mean three to four days?" he asked hopefully. "Because even that would be a miracle."
Ventessa shifted on top of his head. The fluffball vibrated as she spoke.
"I said hours," Ventessa repeated. Her voice was flat and bored. "Three. Maybe four if the wind is against us."
Marcus kept the smile plastered on his face.
