"Identification and purpose of travel?" one of the soldiers demanded, his hand resting on the butt of his rifle as he peered into the carriage.
Ophelia, thinking quickly, slid her diplomatic pass through the window. "We are on a diplomatic mission," she stated, trying to sound as official and calm as possible despite her racing heart.
The soldier took the pass and scrutinized it under the light of a lantern. The tension was palpable as the other soldiers tightened their grips on their weapons, their eyes darting between each other and the carriage.
Madame Viviere's hand reached out, squeezing Ophelia's in a silent gesture of support.
The soldier handed back the pass after what felt like an eternity. "Proceed, be careful. The roads aren't safe tonight," he warned, stepping aside to let them pass.
As the carriage rolled forward, Ophelia exhaled slowly, her relief short-lived. She knew that every checkpoint would be just as perilous as the last.