The capital did not whisper.
It roared.
Adrian felt it the moment the convoy crossed the river bridge and the skyline of spires and glass rose into view like a crown carved out of steel and sunlight. Aristella had been a world of controlled chaos, curated rebellion, and eyes that watched but rarely acted.
The capital was something else entirely.
This was where decisions became laws.
This was where families became legacies.
This was where boys became kings whether they were ready or not.
He sat in the back seat, hands folded neatly in his lap, posture perfect by instinct even as his thoughts spiraled. The car window reflected his own face back at him , composed, unreadable, polished.
A stranger.
He closed his eyes.
For the first time since leaving Aristella, he allowed himself to think about what he'd left behind.
Mira at the gates.
Her hand still warm in his.
Her smile trying to hide the fear.
He exhaled slowly.
"I won't disappear," he murmured to himself.
