The morning sun rose, its gentle rays spilling over the front of the snow-draped Duval Castle, where the drifts glittered crystalline in the light.
Guards stood in neat formation before the castle gate, their breath pluming white in the frigid morning air.
Princess Margaret and Archbishop John, flanked by a retinue of attendants, walked slowly out of the main gate. Murphy, dressed in formal baronial attire, was there to personally see them off.
"We have been quite the imposition these past few days, Baron Silvin," Archbishop John said, his tone solemn as he held his Scepter. "May the God of Truth bless the Duval Territory."
Murphy placed his right hand over his chest and bowed slightly. "I am grateful for the Archbishop's blessing."
Just then, Margaret, who was standing beside the Archbishop, discreetly crooked a finger in Murphy's direction.
Her dignified smile never wavered, the subtle gesture perfectly concealed by her wide sleeves, so discreet that no one else noticed.
