"Your grace… we are approaching the capital."
Beric's voice slipped through the small wooden hatch of the wagon like a cautious wind, careful not to disturb more than necessary. Inside, the air was thick. Not stale… but charged. Like the hush before lightning cracks the sky.
Adam shifted where he sat, his back pressed against the wooden panel, one hand resting loosely on his knee while the other clenched unconsciously into a fist.
"Good," he said at last, his voice low, steady and controlled. "We'll keep a low profile and hide out in the town until the wedding."
He lifted his gaze, eyes sharp beneath the shadow of his hood. "And then," he continued, a quiet fire threading through his tone, "we infiltrate the castle… and we rescue Guinevere from that scumbag prince Nathaniel Aldos."
The name tasted bitter in his mouth.
