Erian opened his eyes and continued walking forward.
His footsteps staggered unevenly beneath him, his tall figure swaying slightly as though the wine had already seeped deep into his bones.
By the time Rhaegar returned from beyond the city gates, night had long descended across the capital.
Rather than entering through the main avenue, he chose a narrower path and cut through one of the old alleys hidden between rows of darkened residences. The alley was steeped in shadow, lit only by a single lantern hanging at the far end, its dim golden glow flickering faintly against the ancient stone walls.
When he reached the middle of the alley, he suddenly stopped.
Someone was crouched beneath the wall.
The figure sat buried within the darkness, head lowered so that his face could not be seen clearly. Yet the clothing upon his body was instantly recognizable to Rhaegar.
Erian.
A faint crease formed between Rhaegar's brows as he strode toward him.
