The sky was turning a bruised purple as the sun dipped below the horizon. The festival lights were starting to twinkle in the distance.
As they left the market square, walking hand in hand back to where the carriage waited, Marissa saw a figure standing in the shadows.
It was Ian.
He stood stiffly by the carriage door, his hand resting nervously on the hilt of his sword. He wasn't relaxed like the other drivers or footmen. He looked like a soldier on guard duty in enemy territory.
Marissa frowned. She felt a prickle of unease crawl up her spine.
"What is he doing here?" she thought to herself. "He was supposed to be guarding the perimeter. He was supposed to be invisible until we called for him."
Derek saw him too. His grip on Marissa's hand tightened slightly. The playful smile he had worn all afternoon vanished, replaced by the hard, serious expression of the Grand Duke.
They approached the carriage.
Ian bowed low. He didn't wait for formalities.
