บท 222: The Butler's Questions

The soft clinking of carriage wheels over cobblestone streets filled the silence as Draven sat inside the luxurious Drakhan carriage. Outside, the quiet murmur of the evening town life was a distant hum. Inside, it was peaceful, almost too peaceful, compared to the storm of emotions Draven carried within him. He leaned back into the plush velvet seat, the weight of his cold, calculated decisions hanging heavy on his mind. The soft flicker of the carriage's lanterns illuminated his face, casting sharp shadows across his steely expression.

Draven's hand absentmindedly brushed over the lapel of his cloak, his fingers lingering on the fabric. His mind wandered back to the court, to the way Sophie's hands had trembled ever so slightly when he had spoken. The finality in his words, the resolve that had poured from him, felt both distant and crushingly close at once.

He let out a quiet sigh, barely audible, but it did not escape Alfred's ears.