Ferick descended from the wagon first, his boots meeting the ground with deliberate heaviness.
He glanced back, just in time to see Alaric step down with quiet grace, boots hardly making a sound.
Then he turned, his expression calm, and extended a hand toward the carriage.
Selene tilted her head slightly, a faint glint of amusement dancing in her eyes.
As she understood the gesture and the unspoken implication behind it. Still, she didn't hesitate. Slipping her hand into his, she descended with practiced elegance.
Ferick's jaw twitched. He had been watching the entire exchange with a barely-contained scowl.
"Can't you just get down yourself?" he snapped, voice sharp. "Why are you taking his hand or something?"
Selene didn't miss a beat.
"Come now, husband," she said sweetly, brushing imaginary dust from her sleeve. "My nephew is simply helping me. Why are you so tense?"
Her voice was laced with honey, but the mockery behind the word nephew didn't go unnoticed.
