Chapter 5: The Capital and the Quiet
The road stretched endlessly beneath a dull gray sky.
Noel sat on the carriage bench, reins slack in his hands. The horses moved at a steady pace, hooves clopping rhythmically over the packed earth. Morning mist clung to the trees on either side, thick and cold, like the fog hadn't quite decided whether to lift.
A basket sat beside him.
Wrapped bread. Sliced meat. Dried fruit. A full canteen of water.
All untouched.
He'd packed it carefully before leaving the scene yesterday. First-class provisions. The kind only nobles got. The kind he'd once dreamed of having.
But the moment he looked at the food, the bile rose in his throat.
His stomach curled at the memory.
Blood-soaked dirt. Torn flesh. Eyes wide in death.
The smell of iron and rot still clung to his senses, no matter how hard he tried to scrub it away.
He looked forward, jaw clenched.