The carriage began to move slowly. Only when Jeniv Street had receded into the distance did I glance out the window.
Dean sat astride his horse, following at a measured distance behind my carriage. His posture—always so rigidly correct in my presence—had slackened ever so slightly.
It was fortunate that the sunset blazed behind him. Otherwise, his face would have been clearly visible.
That wasn't what I wished for. Nor, I suspected, did Dean.
I drew the curtains closed. With the muffled sounds of hooves and wheels outside, I pondered what had just transpired.
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