Ashwing hadn't moved in over an hour. His breath rose slow and deep, curls of steam drifting from his nostrils. Each exhale warmed the frost around his massive frame. He was asleep, but not unaware.
Lira sat with her legs stretched out, back against a broken slab of stone. She hadn't asked how far the Academy was.
Because she knew he didn't know.
Lindarion crouched near the fire's edge. He flicked a small ember back into the pit with his finger, watching the heat spiral up.
"We're close enough now," he said. "By sky, maybe a few hours."
She didn't answer at first.
Then.
"They'll see us coming."
"I know."
"You think they'll recognize you from that high up?"
"No. But they'll recognize the dragon."
Lira tilted her head. "And what happens when they panic?"
"They won't," Lindarion said. "Not once they realize who it is."
She raised a brow.
He corrected, "Who I am."
That hung in the air for a second.
"You're the missing prince," she said flatly. "They'll have questions."
