Hours melted away as Elara and I wandered beneath the sprawling, frost-laced canopy of the southern border trees, our footsteps crunching softly over the fallen leaves. We didn't talk about the heavy, suffocating traumas of our past anymore; instead, we let the quiet rhythm of the woods ground us, gisting and trading light, meaningless gossip to escape the impending doom hanging over the keep.
It felt almost normal—two women sharing stolen hours of peace before the world caught up to them.
Until a sharp, frantic clamor shattered the afternoon calm.
Voices echoed from the inner bailey—harsh shouts, clinking armor, and the unmistakable sound of rising panic. Word had bled through the stone walls: a violent quarrel had erupted right in the heart of the kingdom's main boardroom.
Elara and I exchanged a single, horrified look before sprinting back toward the manor, our boots pounding against the gravel path.
