[Around midnight]
Inside the quiet room reserved for the two boys, one of the beds was already claimed. Kevin lay sound asleep, his chest rising and falling in a slow rhythm. He had eaten well at the palace—perhaps a little too well—and it showed in the way he drifted into deep, peaceful slumber.
The other bed, however, remained untouched. A faint breeze slipped through the slightly open window.
Far from the warmth of the inn, in a small, secluded garden surrounded by high stone walls, Arthur stood alone, facing a weather-worn tombstone.
The once-grey stone was smeared with mud, splattered with rotten eggs, and stamped with footprints. It was more of an insult than a monument now.
This grave, though should've been sacred by nature, held no reverence.
It was despised.
And rightfully so, at least in the eyes of the people.
