The sails of La Belle Lys billowed as the ship glided toward Montfleur's harbor, cutting through waves painted in early summer gold. Crown Prince Adrien de Montclair stood at the bow, hands resting on polished railings, as the first familiar outlines of home sharpened into view—the clustered stone houses, cathedral spires, the River Lys winding like a silver ribbon through the heart of the capital.
Montfleur always looked serene from a distance.
But Adrien knew that serenity was a mask. Underneath was a kingdom wrestling with old structures, old trades, old fears.
And the Iron Road—his Iron Road, now secured from Britain—would either soothe those fears or ignite them.
Marquis Dufort approached behind him.
"Your Royal Highness," he said gently, "the harbor has prepared a full reception. Ministers, courtiers, even merchants. Word of our arrival traveled ahead."
Adrien didn't turn.
"Word tends to travel faster than ships."
