The White Stallion's hooves rang out against the stony cobbles, so noble it seemed as though the beast itself knew the eyes of the city were upon it.
Proud beast, proud rider. Behind Alpheo, fifty of the Golden Steeds followed in solemn rhythm, their lances gleaming, cloaks trimmed in white and gold. They were his royal guard, once meant for pageantry and ceremony, but in recent years, bloodied more and more in the field.
Especially since the prince already had his own squad of guards that he had picked from his old core.
Today, however, duty called them back to their original purpose: to frame their sovereign in splendor.
