An hour passed without any interruptions, pure silence surrounding the carriage as it continued its steady journey toward Trent. The rhythmic clatter of wheels over the dirt road was the only sound, accompanied by the occasional rustle of leaves in the breeze. Above, the morning sun had climbed high into the sky, its golden rays now signaling the approach of high noon, casting long shadows and warming the steel trim of the carriage to a soft glow.
Inside, Lucien reclined comfortably against the velvet seat, arms loosely folded, eyes half-lidded. The gentle sway of the carriage and the muted soundscape lulled him into the edge of sleep, his sharp nerves momentarily soothed. Just as his thoughts began to slip into dreamless rest, a sudden, sharp call from outside jolted him fully awake.
"We've arrived, my lord!"
Laurent's voice rang clear from the coach box, cutting through the haze of near-sleep.
Lucien stretched languidly, arms lifting above his head as a small, quiet yawn escaped his lips. With a smooth motion, he cracked the door open even before the carriage had come to a full stop, stepping halfway out to hang from the side. The wind tousled his dark hair as he leaned into the breeze, crimson eyes narrowing against the sunlight as the city came into view.
"Josephine wasn't lying… There truly is a festival."
His voice carried a note of faint surprise—and perhaps reluctant amusement.
In the distance, Trent City sprawled vibrantly beneath the sun, its rooftops ablaze with color. Banners in red, gold, and blue fluttered from balconies and lampposts. Streamers crisscrossed overhead between stone buildings, and cheerful flags bearing crests of local guilds and merchants danced above the cobbled streets. The sound of music, laughter, and market bells drifted faintly on the wind, a clear sign that the festival spirit had fully taken hold of the city.
"Where should I wait for you, my lord?"
Laurent called over his shoulder, slowing the horses with care, his eyes flicking nervously toward Lucien's position still hanging off the carriage edge.
"At the edge of the city will work, lad," Lucien replied with a dismissive wave, eyes still scanning the approaching gates.
Laurent nodded and gave a quick snap of the reins, expertly guiding the horses off the main path. The carriage curved gently toward the outer boundary of the city, stopping just shy of the checkpoint, where a line of guards stood watchful and upright. Despite the celebrations, their alertness hadn't wavered—heightened security clearly in effect due to the influx of visitors and dignitaries.
Lucien exhaled, stepping down from the carriage with casual grace. His boots landed softly on the stone with a solid thud. He approached the checkpoint with the easy confidence of someone who had done this many times before.
"Good day to you all," he said smoothly, voice calm but commanding.
With a fluid motion, he reached behind his back and unhooked his sword and scabbard, tossing them through the air toward a nearby guard. The startled man fumbled but managed to catch it with both hands, eyes wide at the sudden gesture.
"My lord, we ask for a brief inspection before you enter the city," another guard stated, stepping forward. His voice was more formal, and his armor marked him as someone of rank—full polished steel plate, in contrast to the leather-clad soldiers flanking him.
A clear distinction in hierarchy.
Lucien sighed, casting a brief glance down at his clothes. His current outfit was deliberately plain, functional for travel. The only item betraying his noble status was the finely woven mantle draped over his shoulders, rich in fabric and color, chosen on a whim that morning.
"I don't exactly have anywhere to hide anything deadly, do I?"
His voice dripped with dry annoyance as he held his arms out slightly, allowing the inspection without protest. Better to get it over with quickly than waste time debating protocol.
The search was brisk and respectful, over in less than a minute.
Lucien nodded once and stepped past the guards, entering the city proper. The instant he crossed the threshold, the world seemed to change—alive with music, movement, and the buzz of human energy.
Street performers juggled and spun fire, flower petals scattered from balconies, and the scent of fresh pastries and roasted meats drifted temptingly from food stalls lining the road. Tavern doors were thrown wide open, and laughter spilled out from within, mingling with music played by bards—some of whom Lucien recognized from legend or rumor. Their songs wove through the streets, creating a living tapestry of sound and culture.
"What an occasion," he murmured under his breath, momentarily taking it in. Despite himself, he could appreciate the artistry of it all.
Then, his gaze sharpened, thoughts returning to purpose.
"Now then," he said quietly, lips curling into a calculating smile. "Time to find some allies."