*Rhys*
The morning air was crisp as we left the opulence of the royal Egoren palace behind. The sky stretched above us while my boots crunched on the path. I could feel the weight of my father's instructions pressing upon my shoulders like a yoke.
"Keep a sharp eye," Malcolm murmured to his men, his voice a low rumble in the quiet of the breaking day. His gaze lingered on me, doubtful and edged with disdain.
"Are you sure about this, Rhys?" he asked, turning to me now. "I hope you're not just your father's puppet. We need more than noble blood for what lies ahead."
His words stung, but I kept my head high.
"Your concern is noted, Malcolm," I replied, my tone even. "But rest assured, when dangers arise, I'll stand ready."
Malcolm, on the other hand, was mostly untried. He was spoiled and carried a sense of entitlement he had not earned. It was him our men needed to be worried about, even if my attention was split between Pyroth’s impending attack and Saoirse.
