Daemon and the commander rode side by side through the bustling streets of Aurelian. Caldrin, Daemon's black stallion, moved like a phantom, his hooves light against the cobbled road. Nyxtriel rode silently behind him in human form, her pale eyes scanning the city like a hunting beast waiting to strike.
The atmosphere was calm. Too calm.
Patrolling soldiers saluted as they passed, bowing toward the commander. Their eyes lingered on Daemon, wary and curious — a stranger riding beside their war hero.
"Did the duke say where exactly we're supposed to meet him?" the commander finally asked, his tone clipped.
Daemon tilted his head lazily. "He didn't. Just said I'd be 'met.' Sounds like he prefers theatrics. But I've got a feeling someone will come find us."
The commander muttered under his breath, clearly not thrilled with the vague arrangement. Riding beside Daemon made his skin itch. He hadn't hidden his disdain — and Daemon hadn't asked him to.
