Three days after his audience with the royal family, Inigo found himself once more walking the red-carpeted halls of the Royal Citadel. This time, he wore his usual attire—his armor lightly polished, pistols holstered, and the minigun strapped to a reinforced sling across his back. He wasn't here for a ceremony. This was business.
Lyra walked beside him, bow in hand, dressed in her travel leathers. A faint glint of curiosity shone in her eyes.
"You really think they're going to send us out again this soon?" she asked.
"I don't think they ever stop sending people out," Inigo replied. "I just didn't think we'd be the ones they'd pick next."
"Don't sell yourself short. You're practically a national treasure now."
He gave a wry smile. "A noisy one."
The pair stopped at the great doors leading into the audience chamber. Two palace knights opened them without a word, and the familiar warmth of sunlight pouring through stained glass greeted them.
