The walk to the palace gates was a measurement of agonizing time, every step a second closer to a severing Eris wasn't sure her heart could withstand.
She carried Rael herself, his five-year-old limbs heavy and solid against her chest, a physical anchor in a world that felt increasingly like a fraying tapestry.
The boy was uncharacteristically quiet now, the frantic morning energy having bled out of him to be replaced by a somber, intuitive weight.
He sensed the finality of the ritual; he felt the gears of the imperial machinery grinding toward his departure.
His small arms were locked around her neck, fingers bunching the charcoal silk of her traveling gown, clinging with a desperate strength that made it hard for her to draw a full breath.
Eris kept her hand flat against his back, her palm absorbing the warmth of him through his small doublet, feeling the steady, rapid thud of his heart.
