The palace gates opened as Leander and Thomas returned from the blood-soaked field. The air smelled faintly of iron and smoke—the scent of war still clung to their cloaks.
Elanora was the first to appear; she hurried down. Her eyes widened at the sight of the blood seeping through the torn sleeve of Leander’s armor.
“My King—” Her voice was touched with urgency. “You’re hurt—”
But Leander’s eyes were cold steel.
“Step aside.”
She blinked, startled. “I only meant—”
He brushed past her before she could even finish talking, his shoulder catching hers just enough to make her stagger.
Thomas, still astride his horse, looked after Leander.
“Fetch the healer,” he ordered a nearby guard, but Leander’s voice cut from the corridor.
“I said I am fine!”
Thomas watched him disappear into the
