The carriage rolled through the darkening countryside, its wheels crunching softly over the snow-dusted road. Inside, the silence was thick. Two men were trapped in a wooden box with their own thoughts, of course it'd be silent.
The only sounds were the creak of the suspension, the occasional snort of the horses, and the faint whisper of the wind outside.
Damon sat by the window, his gaze fixed on the blur of trees and fields beyond the glass. His face was unreadable, half-shadowed in the dim interior.
Across from him, Yadriel sat as straight as his spine would allow, his hands folded in his lap, his eyes darting between the Emperor and the floor, then back to the Emperor again.
He wanted to speak. He wanted to ask a hundred questions. Who was that man? No, who was Bessa, really? Who was the woman he brought into his family's registry?
But every time he opened his mouth, the silence pressed back, and he closed it again.
