Qynric stepped down from his carriage. The evening air was cool against his face, carrying the familiar scents of the capital. Stone, smoke, and the faint sweetness of night-blooming flowers that some optimistic gardener had planted along the avenue.
His mind was still in the throne room.
Is the body of the former Saintess with the Golden Lion King?
Isla's eyes had been sharp, and her instincts sharper. She was circling the truth like a hawk circling prey, and sooner or later, she would dive. But she wouldn't find out so easily since the truth was just that shocking, wouldn't she?
He straightened his coat, brushed invisible dust from his sleeves, and began the short walk toward his residence. The streets were quiet at this hour, the lamplighters already making their rounds.
