In the ranking of "cool transportation methods," getting hauled over a grumpy duke's shoulder sits comfortably between "falling down the stairs" and "being wheeled around like a sack of potatoes." It's a niche aesthetic, truly. Cherion had barely finished mourning the scorched remains of his dignity when Zarius decided he was essentially an oversized, particularly troublesome parcel that needed to be delivered to a horse.
There was no velvet-lined litter waiting outside that godforsaken cave. No cozy carriage with heated stones and silk curtains to hide his shame. No, there was just a hairy, massive warhorse that looked like it genuinely enjoyed eating healers for breakfast and crushing bones for a light afternoon snack.
