Alpheo rode in silence.
The prince did not trail far behind Asag—only a few paces—but he might as well have been a ghost to the crowd. Their cheers, deafening and relentless, were not for him today, actually they kinda were, but the crowd did not know that the man in front of him wasn't the prince that they cheered.
And he made no move to claim them.
His white steed trotted steadily, regal and composed, yet its rider did not raise a hand, did not nod, did not smile. He watched.
Watched as the people of Florium erupted like a tide meeting land, shouting their joy, their relief, their gratitude. Faces red from weeping, others wild with jubilation. Children hoisted upon shoulders. Flowers tossed. And at the heart of this chorus of praise was the man who had no idea how much he was loved by those close to him.
Asag.
