He had barked a single, earth-shattering command to his vanguard, and the mythril-reinforced carriage had thundered through the cobblestone streets of Oakhaven at a pace bordering on reckless, ignoring traffic, ignoring the startled cries of merchants, and completely ignoring the polite protocols of a visiting dignitary.
Inside the carriage, the atmosphere was suffocating.
Seraphina was not crying.
Crying would have been a normal, expected reaction for a frightened child.
If it were one of her crying fits, maybe Kaelus could've handled it.
He could promise her the heads of her enemies, buy her sweets, and wrap her in velvet.
But she was entirely silent, and that silence was tearing him apart with anxiety.
Her small hands were curled into tight fists, gripping the fabric of his shirt so fiercely that her knuckles were stark white.
Her breath came in short, jagged, wet gasps, as if she were breathing through shattered glass.
