"Where do you think you're going?"
The voice was calm. Cold. And unmistakably authoritative.
Both cloaked figures froze as a third presence stepped into view.
A young man in a crimson cloak stood beneath the arched doorway, flanked by two elite guards in royal armor. His posture was relaxed, but the aura around him was suffocating—measured like lightning held still in the air.
Prince Rowan Hale.
The jagged-scarred man's eyes narrowed. "You…"
One of the guards stepped forward, speaking firmly.
"Young Prince. These are the two individuals we traced. They entered Arcadia without clearance. We've also found a girl who is held as a hostage in a remote inn outside the capital… one whose face perfectly matches this patient. These two were staying there."
Rowan glanced at Lira's unconscious form, then back at the men.
"So she's not who she claimed to be."
