The carriage wheels rumbled over the cobblestones, the sound changing from the smooth, rhythmic hum of the open road to the clattering, chaotic noise of the city.
They had arrived at the central marketplace of Denver.
It was the second day of the festival, and the city was alive. The air was thick and sweet with the scent of roasted chestnuts, caramelized sugar, and spiced wine. Banners of red and gold snapped in the breeze, hanging from every balcony and lamppost. The sound of lutes, fiddles, and the roar of a happy crowd penetrated the thick walls of the carriage.
Inside the carriage, the air was quiet, but charged with a nervous energy.
Derek sat by the door. He shifted in his seat, adjusting his collar. He wasn't wearing the stiff, high-collared military uniform of the Grand Duke today. He wasn't wearing the heavy velvet coats of the court.
