The palace carriage tore through the capital streets like a storm.
Lantern light flickered past the windows as the horses galloped across the cobbled roads. The driver shouted commands while the guards rode close beside the carriage, their armor glinting beneath the night sky.
Inside the carriage, the atmosphere was suffocating.
Silvain lay across the cushioned bench, his breathing shallow and uneven. His normally pale complexion had turned ghostly beneath the lantern light, and sweat already dampened the loose strands of silver hair clinging to his temple.
Isolde sat beside him.
Her hand held his tightly.
Marcus sat opposite them, his expression carved from stone.
Raphael remained beside the carriage door, one hand braced against the frame as the vehicle lurched around a corner.
The physician knelt beside Silvain, his fingers pressing against the priest's wrist while he counted the rhythm of his pulse.
