Prince Ford cleared his throat beside her, already dressed for travel, practical and infuriatingly handsome again. Five elite royal guards stood behind him, mounted on tall, disciplined warhorses, armor polished, expressions unreadable, banners folded and ready.
Weeks' worth of supplies had already been loaded. Clothing chests. Preserved food. Medical kits. Scrolls. Spare weapons. Even emergency mana crystals, because of course.
They weren't sending us off. They were launching an expedition. I sighed. "I asked for a carriage. Singular. One."
"And you received three," the queen replied gently. "Consider it a token of gratitude."
Prince Althur, still pale but standing on his own, leaned slightly toward me and whispered, "She would've sent five if Father hadn't intervened."
I snorted. "I'm touched. Truly. Deeply. Buried under gold."
