In the next morning.
The ground was still damp with morning dew. Here and there, a few drunken souls wandered the streets, seemingly still searching for their way home. Compared to the vibrant festivities of the previous night, only a handful of people were awake now, preparing for the start of a new day.
The group from Everfrost also set off early that morning, as the banquet in Ravenshire was to be held later that evening.
When Rosalind stepped into the carriage, as usual, the last to board was Dorian.
She glanced toward the man seated across from her.
Because of the bustling crowds the night before, it had been quite late when they finally returned to the inn. That was likely why she couldn't stop yawning this morning. But just look at him—his attire, as always, was immaculate, and his silver hair neatly combed. That finely sculpted face, handsome and composed. No wonder people in the capital used to call him the most admired gentleman among the nobility.
