Dawn broke over the royal encampment in shades of grey.
Leonardo still stood beside the body of Sir Harlan when the first light touched the eastern horizon. He hadn't slept. He hadn't moved. The white cloth covering his friend's face remained exactly as it had been the night before—clean, neat, and bearing no reflection of the chaos raging within his chest.
In the distance, footsteps approached. Quick, light—not the heavy tread of a soldier.
An envoy arrived at a jog, carrying a parchment scroll sealed with gold. His uniform was caked in dust, a testament to an unrelenting journey from Sol-Regis. His breath came in ragged gasps, but he forced himself to kneel with proper etiquette before the Crown Prince.
"Your Highness. Orders from King Edward."
