The carriage glided smoothly over the cobbled imperial avenue, its enchanted wheels softening each bump and rattle to nothing more than a murmur beneath the velvet-cushioned floor. Outside, the city of Aurelanis stirred with golden light—awnings being unfurled, market stalls prepared, the first flares of mana-lamps extinguishing as the sun's reach overtook them.
Valeria sat poised within the carriage's silk-lined interior, framed in morning light that filtered through crystal-glass windows etched with House Maynter's sigil. Her gown—deep emerald threaded with silver runes—gathered elegantly at her lap, undisturbed. Her gloves were pearl-sheen, fitted to the curve of her fingers, and her hair was arranged in the sharp, cascading fall favored by the capital's elite.
Perfect. Unimpeachable.
And yet—
Her gaze wasn't on herself.
It was on the window.
