In the borders of Judea's dukedom, there was an inn in a location barely anyone visits, but this time, there was a carriage, a royal-looking carriage with the symbol of a crescent moon parked outside their entrance.
The inn had four rooms. Ferrey knew this because he counted them when he arrived, the way he assesses every situation, but for some reason, he had been feeling quite unsettled for a while now.
And that reason was very clear: he just didn't want to admit it.
He hadn't slept. He sat in the chair beside the small table. On the table was a cup of tea that the innkeeper's wife had brought him at midnight, since Ferrey arrived late.
He looked at the window, still dark. Darkness that preceded dawn by maybe an hour. He then looked at the table, and the message hadn't come.
