The sun had barely risen when the gates of Castle Blackthorn creaked open.
A procession of twenty royal guards rode out into the snow-covered wilderness.
At its center traveled two black carriages.
The first carried Crown Prince Alistair and Princess Evadne.
The second carried Prince Julian under armed escort.
Behind them rode Sir Roland and the surviving knights of the Royal Guard.
No banners fluttered in the cold wind.
No musicians announced the departure.
This was not a royal procession.
It was a journey wrapped in silence.
⸻
Inside the carriage, neither Alistair nor Evadne spoke for several minutes.
The wheels crunched over frozen earth while bare trees drifted past the windows like silent ghosts.
Finally, Evadne broke the silence.
“What was your father like?”
Alistair’s
