The morning sun gleamed off the polished armor of the fifty Golden Steeds, the elite crown knights of Alpheo's personal retinue. Their formation was pristine, their banners snapping crisply in the breeze. The royal house's banner—a deep blue field adorned with a golden falcon—towered high above the group, marking the presence of the crown.
Ahead of the knights, on horseback, were Alpheo, Egil, and the other companions of theirs. Alpheo's cloak rippled behind him as he adjusted his reins, his eyes fixed on the distant horizon. Egil, by contrast, shifted restlessly in his saddle, his expression sour.
"This is ridiculous," Egil grumbled, rubbing at his temple. "We could have just welcomed her in the palace. All this pomp out here—it's absurd."
