Rhaegar sat within the carriage, the pale light of the moon spilling across his face and laying bare the heavy darkness that lingered in his eyes.
He looked at her—steadily, intently, carefully considering his next words.
"Be cautious of late," he said at last. "Do not linger too often at the embroidery house."
Caelith was taken aback. "Why?"
Rhaegar offered no explanation.
He only continued to look at her, as though committing her features to memory, his gaze lingering far longer than words could justify.
"Wait for me," he said quietly. "It will not be long."
Then the carriage rolled forward, vanishing into the embrace of the night.
Caelith remained at the gate, watching as it receded farther and farther into the darkness, until it was swallowed whole. A strange unease rose unbidden in her heart.
There was something… profoundly amiss about him today. He could feel it both with her heart and soul.
