But her eyes were attentive and she saw as the crown prince was fixated on the fourth body. She felt the way his flames moved toward it at a base level that could not be explained away. She finally stepped out of the crowd as her stomach began to knot.

She was a drifter, a loner, the specter of the Crossroads with nowhere to be and no one to look for her. Serien perched herself under an archway of one of the many buildings, returning twice after being shoo’ed away. Eventually the owner finally stopped trying.

She watched the crowds move, blissful as life returned to normal. She saw a messy-haired Southerner go to the hotel with three large windows four times, returning to a familiar inn dejected and alone each time. The twinge of sadness crept up the back of her throat, which she quickly squashed—emotions of another woman.

When the army finally amassed in the square, prepared to march, Serien was an exhausted husk of a woman. She had barely slept out of fear, fear of what her treacherous mind may concoct and fear of sleeping in the open. She had no mount to speak of but instinctually fell into place in the center of the column. It was odd being surrounded by so much silver plate, but she quickly worked to accept it as her new normal.

Cheers erupted for the family Solaris as they left the hotel in full regalia. Six steeds had been lined up before the hotel, three were for the royals, the other three were for the dark-cloaked figures who walked at their side. Three women, almost identical in stature, with black hooded cloaks shrouding their faces walked next to each one of the royals. On the backs of their cloaks was a silver wing. It made for a beautiful target.

With vapid interest she watched one mount a black steed that had a white strip running down its face, like lightning. The woman was situated to the right of the crown prince, and Serien watched as the prince glanced at the woman before trotting toward his place in line.

“They could have at least tried to hide it,” one of the soldiers around her remarked.

“Not very hard to tell which one is the Windwalker,” another agreed.

“As if the Fire Lord would let his dark darling out of his sight.”

Serien didn’t join in their speculations as to the real relationship between the crown prince and the Windwalker Vhalla Yarl, but her ears heard. Most seemed to be in agreement that there was something between the two, but their theories were wide-reaching. Two men and a woman joined the younger prince as he fell into line with the hooded Windwalker.

“That’s enough, shape up!” an Easterner commanded.