The morning mist clung low to the ground as the convoy gathered before the gates. Horses stamped at the cold earth, their breaths ghosting pale in the air.
The courtyard buzzed with the sounds of preparation, clattering hooves, jingling armour, and the soft hiss of breath in the morning frost. Steam rose from the horses' muzzles, and the royal banners fluttered in the wind, their dark silks catching the pale light of dawn.
Ilaria's eyes sparkled as she took it all in, the towering steeds, the neat rows of soldiers, the crisp scent of metal and morning air. Her excitement was almost childlike. And then, of course, it landed on the massive warhorse waiting for her.
"Oh, look at you," she whispered in awe, stepping closer to the stallion as if greeting an old friend. "Aren't you majestic?"
Before she could reach for its mane, a gloved hand gently caught her wrist.
Levan's voice came low beside her ear. "Careful. He bites when strangers hover too close."
