The road west from Peduviel stretched in long, sunlit ribbons across the hills, winding through groves of pale-barked trees and open stretches of grass that shimmered under the afternoon light. The procession moved with practiced discipline - orderly, efficient, and deceptively calm.
From a distance, it looked like peace.
Up close, it was something else.
Eir rode within the formation, positioned among the Southern delegation where she could observe without drawing attention. She kept her posture relaxed, her reins loose in her hands, her expression composed enough to pass for disinterest.
She missed nothing.
At the front, Aya and Killan rode side by side. The shift between them was unmistakable now. There was no longer any effort to maintain space or propriety beyond what was necessary for appearance. Their proximity had settled into something natural - unquestioned, unforced.
