Beneath a gray, overcast sky, the royal party arrived at one of the many castles scattered throughout Westeria. Once, it had been one of the holdings overseen by Circe's father, a place that had thrived in years before war had swept across Westeria. Unlike the great stronghold that had fallen during the invasion, this castle had survived, tucked away from the worst of the fighting. The choice to bring her here had been deliberate.
Ragnar's guards moved ahead of the party, securing gates and nearby towers before allowing the queen and her son inside. Their vigilance followed Circe wherever she went, but for once she paid little attention to it.
She stepped beneath the arched entrance with her infant cradled securely against her chest. The familiar stone walls rose around her, weathered by time yet unchanged enough to stir old memories.
She refused to hand Khamsin to any attendant. Wherever she went during those first hours, he remained in her arms.
