Yes. If only.
Maybe if a certain elf had been more mindful of turning his back, then things wouldn't have turned out this way.
But then again, it'd only ever be a might-have-been.
Maybe if that were the case, Riley would've been sitting elsewhere. He might have been busy—actually, he would certainly be busy—but at the very least, he'd be seated. Seated and justifiably safer.
He also wouldn't have been carried like a sack of grain after experiencing a flight he'd never, ever want to take again.
But more than that, maybe he wouldn't be out there in the wild, digging his own grave even deeper.
At least he was still dressed appropriately: all black, for his possible funeral. Although that would be for later. For now, they still had to deal with this.
Rowan Elowen, current heir and the likeliest person to inherit his father's title, came forward with polished grace. His silver hair caught the light, his robes pristine, his expression calm. A prince straight out of the storybooks.
