The suns filtered through the treetops as Elara and Crisseda made their way toward the courtyard where the leader of the Sons of Lyrel would be arriving. Despite the pleasantness of the morning—the warm light, the sweet scent of perfectly placed flowers in bloom along the smoothly paved road leading to the palace—there was a tension that clung to the air. Elara could feel it buzzing beneath her skin, her nerves frayed at the edges.
It was less about the leader of the Sons of Lyrel—she was sure her information was correct and, therefore, the woman would be inclined to ensure her safety—but she was still feeling tense from the possibilities of last night. There just seemed to be too many people gunning for her at this point. First, the people who had tried to kill her on her way to the capital and now, possibly Lyanna, her brother Duke Orinthal, and the Anti-Royal faction. The list of people who wanted her dead seemed to be getting longer and longer with each passing moment.
