The city always looked different when viewed through the tinted glass of the Bluerose carriage — cleaner, quieter, as if the dirt and desperation were filtered away. I sat opposite Lord Bluerose, his silver hair neat as always, his expression calm but unreadable.
He was dressed in his usual navy suit, a mark of noble restraint. I, on the other hand, wore my guard uniform — black coat, white gloves, the emblem of the Bluerose household stitched on my left shoulder. The saber at my side felt heavier today.
"You're unusually quiet, Mr. Ashen," Lord Bluerose said without looking up from the papers in his hand.
That was the name I used — Noah Ashen — the false identity that allowed me to live quietly under their roof.
"I'm only thinking, my lord," I replied. "I didn't expect to accompany you to the Parliament today."
