Thud.
A loud thud echoed across the marble steps of the palace.
The Flameheart carriage had barely come to a full stop when its door was thrown open with a dramatic flourish. Alexandrius Flameheart, bold and brash as ever, didn't wait for his butlers. He jumped off the carriage like the palace owed him the ground beneath his feet.
Behind him followed two men.
One was immediately recognizable to Florian—Andrew. Their last meeting had been brief, but memorable for all the wrong reasons. Andrew carried himself with a smugness that made the skin on Florian's neck prickle. He had the same arrogance etched into his bones as his father, Alexandrius.
Next to him was a younger man Florian hadn't seen before.
'Most likely one of Lancelot's brothers.' he guessed, studying the stranger's calm demeanor. 'How many brothers does Lancelot even have?'
A butler, clearly panicked and sweating under the pressure of appearances, scrambled into position before hastily calling out:
