verballe“Sire!” The yell in his ear was loud enough to pull Ulanain from the trance he had slipped into. It was his conviell, the one sworn to keep his person safe at all times, looking at him with fused brows. “We. Are. Leaving.” She pulled his arm with each word, forcing him to step after her despite the fact that she only managed to come up to just under his neck. Ulanain said nothing, merely followed on.
conviellThe royal box at The Hammershveld Arena had a back entrance and exit that lead down to the first level, the same as any of the private boxes in the building. Ulanain met the rest of the guard that had halted at the stairs, waiting for their prince to finish surveying the masses before they turned to bundle down the stairs with their three charges once the group had reformed. F
