The iron gate clanged shut behind us, and the carriage instantly took on the rhythm of cobbled yard, then dirt road. Cassian sat on the box beside the driver, guiding the procession with dry, clipped orders. Two riders ahead, two behind, we in the middle. Inside was no luxury: hard cushions, creaking wood, a narrow side window that gave me just enough view not to feel trapped.
Darius sat opposite at first, map folded on his knee, sword on the floor by his boot within easy reach. After one turn he tapped the panel with a knuckle.
“Sit beside me. Side wind’s pushing, carriage leans right. Stay there and you’ll sit wrong all day and need a healer by night.”
I didn’t argue. I shifted to his side. We didn’t touch, yet the space closed in—though my body held steadier in the sway.
“Two weeks,
