The sound of hooves on polished stone echoed like a royal drumroll through the courtyard of the imperial garrison barracks at Callessa, the final city before the great inland roads curved northward toward Ramie.
Julius watched from the parapet as the new arrivals filtered in from their long journey.
She was there.
Serena.
Clad in an imperial riding cloak of crimson and gold, her hair braided back beneath a circlet shaped like a laurel wreath — not yet a crown, but enough to remind everyone who she was and would soon become, and a token that could be created quickly enough to sate her own vanity in ensuring everyone knew of their bond.
Their eyes met before their hands ever could, then silently they both left their escorts behind quickly heading for the other calm and composed before their respective legions — but broke their poise just long enough for fingers to clasp and foreheads to touch as soon as they reached one another.
"You've turned a province into a fortress,"
