Evening in Iron Hearth crept down with an orange sky that slowly faded, replaced by a cold sweep of deep violet. Before the castle gates, two silhouettes stood frozen—Seraphina and her guardian, Zarkhan. The gray-scaled dragon, still in his human form, waited with a stout posture a few paces behind the princess, his arms folded stiffly.
Roland stood directly before them. His fingers were restless; he adjusted his jacket collar repeatedly, even though it was already perfectly symmetrical. He didn't want this meeting to happen now. Not this soon. Yet, he also knew he had no right to hold back the princess's steps.
"Hmm, your journey is long," Roland's voice came out slightly hoarse; he cleared his throat softly. "At least rest first. One night... one night won't change anything."
Seraphina smiled—a bitter curve of the lips. Her eyes appeared dim, far from the sparkle Roland used to see. "I am a dragon, Roland. I am strong. This journey is nothing to me."
