Ilyrana froze mid-step, her pointed ears twitching at the faint but unmistakable sound of approaching footsteps. Not just one or two—no, this was a small battalion. The synchronised rhythm of boots against polished stone echoed ominously down the corridor.
Her pulse quickened. She quickly glanced around, searching for a place to conceal herself. The palace hallways were expansive and grand, but its design wasn't entirely devoid of subtle cover. Spotting an alcove framed by decorative pillars and thick drapery, she slipped into it, the shadows swallowing her petite form.
The footsteps grew louder, and her breath hitched as the first figure appeared.
It was him. King Eroan.