The carriages gleamed beneath the soft glow of lanterns as the Duke's entourage prepared to depart from the palace courtyard. The moon hung low, pale and watchful, its light spilling across polished marble and the faint mist that crept along the cobblestones.
Inside one of the carriages sat Caelric Harvellene, his eyes half-lidded as his father's voice echoed through the hum of hooves and laughter.
"You seemed rather distant this evening," the Duke said, leaning back, his gloved fingers tapping against the armrest. "Did the festivities bore you again, my son?"
Caelric's lips curved faintly a smile that was neither polite nor honest. "I merely wish to breathe, Father. These halls feel more like prisons than palaces."
The Duke let out a dry chuckle. "Breathe then. Midnight is nearly upon us. After the twelfth bell, we are no longer nobles only men with fleeting freedom."
