A pair of muddy boots landed in a shallow pool of water, sending ripples across its surface. Midnight eyes swept over the street, sharp and alert, missing nothing. The night was thin with people, the kind of quiet that settled only when danger lingered nearby.
Leonard moved through the streets of Blackworm dressed in a commoner's attire, his cloak plain, his boots worn. Both hands were buried deep in his trouser pockets as he took several turns with unhurried precision, as though the city itself had etched its paths into his memory. He stopped before an unremarkable building where a middle‑aged man stood watch.
"Your Highness," the man whispered urgently, bowing the instant he recognized the Crown Prince.
Confusion flickered across his face at Leonard's appearance, but it vanished just as quickly. He had served the prince long enough to understand one thing—Leonard rarely did anything without reason.
