Alarm bells instantly rang in Azriel's mind as he instinctively put his full guard up against the old woman, who only smiled kindly at him.
What surprised Azriel wasn't the fact that she knew about the mark hidden beneath the bandages on his left arm—the ones she had clearly replaced while he was unconscious. No, what truly unsettled him was that this old woman seemed to know exactly what the mark meant: that it belonged to one of the children of the gods.
The old woman's smile turned wry, and she spoke hurriedly, trying to ease his growing suspicion.
"The only reason I recognize the mark, my lord," she said gently, "is because it reminds me of the one the King himself bears. Though not identical... it is similar enough. Just as the royal family has been blessed and supported by a god for centuries—the one blessed ascends the throne of Ismyr—you too are clearly a royal... a prince from far, far away, watched over by either a guardian angel or a demon."
