[Alvar's POV—On the Road—Leaving Frojnholm]
The wheels of the imperial carriage creaked steadily behind me as my horse trotted ahead, hooves striking rhythm against the frost-hardened path. The wind bit cold against my face, carrying with it the scent of pine and smoke from far-off hearths. Normally, I welcomed the sharp air—it cleared the mind and kept the senses sharp.
But today… everything felt heavy. Wrong. Because something was wrong with Leif. And I could feel it.
The way his smile had wavered at the edges. The brittle softness in his voice when he told me to "come sooner."
Leif was never subtle. He laughed too loudly, sulked too openly, and clung too tightly. That was him—vivid, unfiltered, unashamed. And yet this morning, he pulled away. Forced a smile. Wore cheer like armor. As if he truly believed he could fool me.
My jaw tightened. Did he really think I wouldn't notice?
