Days later, the morning sun filtered softly through the canopy of clouds, casting a golden hue over the mansion's stone steps. Lord Rhaegal and Malin stood outside, the former quiet and composed, the latter visibly buzzing with anticipation. Around them, Alfred and several servants moved with practiced urgency, loading the carriages with bags, crates of dried provisions, and the necessities required for a journey of several days.
Rhaegal was dressed less regally than usual—black pants tucked into polished boots, a cream-colored tunic that hugged his lean frame, and his long dark hair tied into a neat bun. Despite the casualness of his attire, he radiated a distinct authority. Malin, standing beside him, wore soft brown trousers and a white shirt that tucked into his trousers,fluttering slightly in the morning breeze. His blond hair shone beneath the daylight and his blue eyes carried a flicker of wonder and uncertainty, like a boy about to step into a st.
