His mother and elder brother, Leif, were already waiting by the entrance when he returned from the prince's manor.
Leif stood like a silent sentinel beside their mother, his tall frame rigid, his hands clasped neatly behind his back. His face bore the same unreadable mask it always did, giving nothing away as his sharp eyes tracked Ansel's approach on horseback.
"You are back later than expected. How did it go?" Maelis asked quickly, her voice betraying the anticipation she had carried for hours. She hurried toward her younger son as he swung down from the saddle, skirts rustling as though she wished to meet him halfway before the horse had even stilled.
"It went about as well as I expected," Ansel replied wryly, brushing dust from his gloves. He had no idea what had possessed his mother to send him on such a task. Diplomacy was not, and had never been, his strength.
