I left Rowan with the flickering firelight and unfinished chessboard, the scent of smoked hare still clinging to my clothes. The guards didn't speak as I passed. They didn't need to. My face must've told them enough: the kind of expression you wear when you've just had a conversation that might change the direction of a war.
In the kitchens, I retrieved the tray for Kael. Simple tonight—back to stew and bread, and water instead of wine. I didn't want him relaxed. I wanted him alert. Testing the air.
I tucked the parchment under my arm—freshly inked, still warm from the scribe's hands. The amended rules. Citizenship for firefoxes. Equal status under the crown. A demarcated sanctuary in the southern highlands where they could live without fear of execution or branding. It would start there. Then it would grow.
If they let it.
Kael's door opened with a long groan, hinges slow from age and disuse. Kael didn't turn when I entered.
