The morning light was grey and cold, filtering through the frost-covered windows of the study. Kaelen stood over a table covered in maps, his fingers tracing routes that led north, through forests and mountains and the frozen plains that bordered the sea. The system flickered in the corner of his vision, feeding him data on terrain and weather patterns and the estimated time to travel each route.
Lysander sat in a chair by the fire, reading reports. The duke had been quiet since dawn, his face unreadable, his eyes moving across the pages without really seeing them. The bond pulsed between them, steady but subdued, like a river running deep beneath a frozen surface.
"The king wants us to leave within the week," Kaelen said. "The supply wagons are being loaded. The knights are being assembled. The architects are drawing up plans for the new harbor."
Lysander turned a page. "King?"
"Alistair."
