By the time they reached the carved archway marking the start of the royal wing, Rowan's shoulders finally loosened. The guards lining the hallway saluted quietly; Dax barely acknowledged them, too focused on Chris, who was walking like a man bracing for impact.
Once they passed the threshold of their private wing, Rowan slowed his steps, drifting back the way a man might when backing away from a sleeping dragon.
"Your Grace," he murmured to Chris in a low voice, "if you need assistance, shout. I'll… pretend not to hear it."
Chris gave him an unimpressed look. "Thank you, Rowan. Useless as always."
Rowan bowed with theatrical dignity. "I try."
Dax didn't even glance at him; he simply dismissed Rowan with a small flick of his fingers. "You may go."
Rowan bowed again, though this time with the air of someone retreating from a sacred ritual that he absolutely did not want to witness.
"Goodnight, Your Majesties."
