Cyne followed fairly close behind, similar to how he'd walk behind his father, now that he thought about it. He matched her stride, as to not make an echo, causing the authoritative sound of soldiers. He knew the effects of such a sound, he'd witnessed it, practiced it, and when the war first started, he'd shied away from it. What better way to appear hostile than to match a soldiers foot steps. Royalty shined through him as he walked, his walk brisk, his back straight, his eyes set. A walk his father would have been proud of. Cyne knew how to hold himself up, and tried to make himself look as imposing as possible, relaying no signs of comfort or ease.<br/><br/>As they walked, he tried to remember every passage, every corridor they walked past. He looked in rooms, tried to see minute details out of the corner of his eye. Surveying what was to be his home and prison. Being of royal blood, he couldn't help but marvel at the beauty in the architecture, familiar, yet so different. There was history in these stones, a thing he'd learn as he continued his life here. Although he'd always been a fan of history, but being a scholar came second to being a prince, and even that came second to defending his home.