Morning came to the capital like the tolling of a thousand bells.
Cael awoke to noise—clanging metal, angry shouts, and the pounding of boots echoing outside the inn. Rowan was already up, fastening his sword belt, while Elira stood by the window, frowning.
“What is it?” Cael asked, rubbing sleep from his eyes.
“Trouble,” Rowan said curtly. He pushed past him and strode out the door.
---
When they stepped into the streets, the sight struck Cael like a hammer.
Crowds surged along the cobbled avenues, shouting slogans Cael could barely make out. A mob of peasants carried placards daubed with charcoal and ash—Bread for the poor! Down with the nobles! Others hurled stones at soldiers struggling to hold them back.
A line of guards in gilded armor stood at the edge of the square, shields
