When Damon arrived back in the Imperial Palace, a couple of days had passed. After all, the distance between the capital and where Bessa lived was just a bit more than half a day's journey for the fastest horse out there. But that wasn't the only reason Damon took his time.
Damon, riding in his carriage, refused to stop by the inns along the way because of a certain white feathered fellow.
After the last inn visit from that albino crow, Damon knew the inns were where that man would inevitably appear again and attach himself to his side.
So Damon had taken the carriage. The slow carriage. The "we'll get there when we get there" carriage. It should have worked.
They arrived just as the sun rose. The sky was painted in shades of gold and rose, the birds were singing, the dew was glistening, and for one brief, beautiful moment, Damon allowed himself to believe that perhaps he might make it to his chambers without incident.
