The palace gates loomed ahead as dusk draped its purple veil across the sky. Torches sputtered to life along the stone walls, their light flickering against banners of the royal crest. To the guards stationed at the entrance, the sight of their king returning from a discreet journey seemed routine, yet the air around him carried a strange weight.
Roan tugged the hood lower over his face, though within the palace walls, no disguise could truly shield him. The journey to the witches had left him with more questions than answers. Their recognition of him, their refusal until Ewan's desperate pleas swayed them echoed in his mind. The memory gnawed at him like a restless wolf scratching against the walls of its cage.
Ewan rode a pace behind, eyes darting toward every passerby, alert to the smallest hint of suspicion. He knew what would follow if anyone discovered the king had sought counsel from those banished long ago.
