By the time the spires of Avaloria appeared on the horizon, Lucien felt like he had lived a dozen lives on the road.
The journey back stretched behind them in fragments long carriage rides beneath open skies, crowded inns that smelled of smoke and bread, endless conversations with officials who spoke too much and said too little. Provinces blurred together in his memory, stitched by routine inspections and polite smiles.
Some places had welcomed them warmly.
Others had smiled like it was a duty.
Lucien leaned back against the carriage cushions, watching the distant outline of the capital grow sharper with every passing mile. Avaloria's white stone towers caught the sunlight, bright and imposing, exactly as he remembered.
Home. Or something close to it, now.
Alexander sat beside him, one arm draped lazily along the back of the seat, the other resting near Lucien's knee. The carriage rocked gently as the horses moved, and Lucien let himself sway with the rhythm.
