The carriage moved slowly along the road as the sun began to set behind distant hills. Sovieshu leaned back in his seat, his fingers intertwined in his lap, watching the golden light play across the folds of his robe.

“Finally back,” he murmured, his voice low but firm.

The journey had been long, filled with meetings, ceremonies, and greetings that demanded courtesy more than affection. Sovieshu took a deep breath, enjoying the momentary silence, the separation between his world and the bustle of the court. There, in the privacy of the carriage, he could allow himself to think without masks.

His eyes scanned the horizon as the carriage turned onto the grand avenue leading to his palace. Every tree, every stone on the road, seemed to align with the rhythm of his own control: nothing out of place, nothing unexpected.