Come With Me

Rhaegar clutched the stolen knife tightly in his trembling hand, his knuckles pale against the blade's hilt. The cool night air bit at his skin, but it was nothing compared to the heavy weight of regret pressing down on him. Every step he took through the royal palace's shadowed grounds felt like dragging an anchor.

Pausing to catch his breath, he turned and glanced back, his sharp eyes scanning his surroundings.

The slave quarters weren't far from the main palace. Their proximity to the grandeur of royalty made no sense to him, but it had proven useful for navigation. The layout of the land was straightforward, almost as if it had been designed to be easily memorized.

Why would they do that? Rhaegar wondered, his brows furrowed. Whoever had planned this arrangement had to have had a reason—a sinister one, no doubt.

No. Focus. This isn't the time for useless thoughts.