She nodded once, she had things to say but they needed to leave.
The battle was not over.
But for now, they had a foothold.
And they had each other.
The carriage finally rolled up the long palace path—sleek black with silver trim, a far cry from the dust-covered horses they had ridden for days. The velvet-lined doors opened with a creak, and Alaric helped Salviana in first, her gown brushing the steps. Lucius and Jean followed, with Sebastian trailing, muttering something about how "royalty sure had a flair for entrances."
But just as they were about to step inside, a roar erupted from the side yard.
Steel clanged against steel.
Men shouted.
A sharp grunt of pain tore through the air.
Alaric's head snapped to the sound. His senses flared. He raised one hand, halting the group.
Then he heard it again, another cry, another thud—and it was familiar.
His heart stopped.
"That's… Jaefel."
Without another word, Alaric leapt from the carriage steps and ran.
