The morning sun had finally broken through the dense layer of gray clouds, filling the sprawling cobblestone courtyard of the royal palace with pale, washed-out light.
Near the grand eastern gates, a dark, heavy oak carriage bearing the polished silver crest of the Solaric delegation sat waiting. Two quiet, liveried coachmen were adjusting the leather harnesses of the four thoroughbred horses, their breath blooming into small white plumes of mist in the chill air.
Gillian stood near the side door of the coach, dressed in a sharp, slate-gray traveling coat. Beside him, Iryna was adjusting her heavy wool cloak, her dark hair gathered neatly under a silk hood to protect against the wind.
"Make sure the second crate of medical salves is secured near the front axle," Gillian instructed one of the Solaric guards in a low, measured tone. "The roads in the lower district are rough, and I don't want the glass jars shattering before we reach the orphanage gates."
