As a very young girl, the palace had seemed immense, full of mystery and excitement. Felitïa’s earliest memory was running room to room, looking in every door she could manage to open. Most were closed and she was too small to reach the handle, but a few pushed open at her touch. Inside each, she beheld wonders, sights never seen to her before. At the time, she didn’t know what she was seeing, and her memory was too hazy for her to identify them now, but it was their newness that amazed her. She vaguely recalled some people reacting to her presence. She wasn’t supposed to be there. Indeed, she had an impression that it was running away from someone that set her on this path in the first place.

That soon became a normal part of life at the palace: running away. She would slink away from her attendants, skip out on her lessons with Matron Maris because they were boring, avoid her siblings like they carried the plague, ignore her mother’s summons on those rare occasions that they actually came, steal a book or two from the library, and hide away in an old abandoned room in the basement where no one could find her. Until Garet did.

She wasn’t sure when she had gone from viewing the palace with awe to viewing it with scorn. It had just happened sometime along the way. Maybe it was the way her mother had virtually discarded her after her naming ceremony and had doted all her attention on Annai. Maybe it was because her older siblings—children of her father’s first two wives—had either ignored her or picked on her whenever they could. Perhaps it was something she’d read in a book. Perhaps seeing too much politicking. Or maybe a combination of them all.

All she knew was, by the time she was seven or eight, she hated palace life. And she made sure everyone knew it. Every chance she got, she told them how wrong they were. How they oppressed the common people by unfairly hoarding riches that were better spent elsewhere. How stuck up they all were. How just plain unintelligent they all were. None of that could have helped her relationship with them. Looking back at it now, even though she still harboured ill feelings towards her family, she had to admit that she was partly to blame, something she never would have admitted then. Still, some of them could have been more patient with her. She had been a bright young girl who had known a lot, but still hadn’t known half as much as she thought she knew. Surely some of them could have realised that.

Maybe her father had. She couldn’t recall him losing patience with her, though she was certain it must have happened at some point. She remembered his kindly face looking down at her, remembered sitting on his knee and listening to him tell her stories about Egorthian knights, magical Isyar, and fire-breathing dragons. But that only occurred on rare occasions. Her mother had seen to that. There would always be something to call her father away—and away he always went at her mother’s every beckon.

Despite the cold winter wind, Felitïa was sweating. The thought of returning to the palace she had left fifteen years ago terrified her. She wanted nothing more than to turn her horse around and ride the other way. Catch another ship. Leave the island. Pretend she had never come near it. DeSeloön would never allow it though, even if she ordered him as Princess of Arnor. Even if Zandrue had tried to bribe him. He was her father’s man through and through, loyal to the bone. And her father wanted her home.

Sam brought the wagon slowly to a stop as they approached the wide, golden gates. Everyone else stopped, too, except Captain DeSeloön, who rode up to the guards, several papers in hand. While he dealt with the formalities, Felitïa gazed through the stylised bars of the gates into the grounds beyond. Far in the distance, the palace looked little more than a speck. Before it, lay the broad expanse of the Royal Gardens. Even in winter, they maintained their majesty.

Livia shifted her feet about. In general, the mare was more restless than Simeria had been, and Felitïa suspected that on this occasion, she was picking up on some of her rider’s nerves as well. Patting the horse’s neck, Felitïa whispered some soothing words to try to calm her down. It didn’t work and Livia just became even more restless. With a sigh, Felitïa resorted to a calming spell. Too bad she couldn’t do that to herself.

After several minutes, a guard appeared on the other side of the gates. Using a large key, he unlocked them and pulled first one side open, and then the other. As he did so, a rider set off at a gallop down the path towards the palace.

“This is it,” Zandrue said. “Last chance to turn back.”

Felitïa frowned at her friend, and then they rode through the gates together. Behind her, she heard the wagon start moving again, as well as the others on their horses, but she didn’t look back. She kept her eyes planted firmly forward, trying to take short, deep breaths to calm herself. It wasn’t working.

They rode slowly down the cobblestone path through the gardens. More memories came flooding back. These gardens had been another great place to hide, particularly in the summer when in full bloom. There had been times, too, when she hadn’t just been trying to hide here. She remembered sitting in the pavilions or alongside the fountains, reading, walking and talking with her father, playing hide-and-seek with Thilin.

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It was about a mile from the gates to the main courtyard, and Captain DeSeloön took the approach slowly. It gave her time to take hold of her feelings. She closed her eyes and spent the next several minutes in her head, trusting Livia to stick with Lucinda and Zandrue.

The Room was back together again and had been for a couple weeks now, but she still worried about lingering effects from the Volg’s attack. She focused on the image of Corvinian in the line with the others. There was a cut on his hand now, though it was becoming less distinct as it healed. It had been a shock to discover that just a couple days ago. She had made a point to check the images of the others as well and had confirmed that all the images showed current injuries and states. It had been a bit frightening, but it also helped confirm that Corvinian was still alive. She was glad to see that he was healing from whatever had happened to him.

When she opened her eyes again, their procession had made it almost halfway to the palace—almost to the Great Bear Fountain.

“You okay?” Zandrue asked. “You were looking pretty intense for a while there.”

Felitïa smiled and nodded. “I’ll be fine.”

She could sense a mixture of emotions from everyone: anticipation mixed with a bit of fear and anxiety. Meleng gaped in awe at his surroundings, particularly as they got closer to the Great Bear Fountain. Jorvan, too, was studying everything with his eyes. Zandrue seemed the calmest of the group, but that didn’t surprise Felitïa. Rudiger looked impatient, as did Borisin. The stallion had healed up nicely in the past month and a half. There were still scabby patches, and likely he would always bear marks from being burned, but his hair was growing back, especially his mane.

They had all healed up quite well since the battle—all except Stavan, of course, and the horses they’d lost, she reminded herself. Even Sam looked somewhat better than he had when the bandages had first come off. Jorvan’s burns had healed. Rudiger still bore the mark of a broken nose, but he was otherwise looking his old self. And Zandrue looked like she had never had any injuries at all.

The Great Bear Fountain loomed before them, the path continuing up and over the bridge spanning the massive pool. The bridge was wide enough even for the wagon to pass over. The pool itself was as wide as some city blocks. Marble nymphs and faeries adorned either side of the bridge and the entire perimeter of the pool. In the centre of the bridge, spewing water off one side was the Great Bear of Arnor, and seated beside it, her back against a powerful hind leg, the goddess Nature.

In the summertime, more of the statues would be spraying water, often making the bridge slick and treacherous, but Felitïa remembered how refreshing the cool water could be on a hot day. Now, water from the Bear mixed with regular snowfall had made the bridge even more treacherous, so Captain DeSeloön took them the long way around the pool.

“This is taking forever,” Rudiger complained.

“What did you expect?” Hang replied.

“Well, for a start, to ride a little faster than a tortoise can walk,” Rudiger answered.

Hang laughed.

“We have to give the people at the palace time to prepare for our arrival,” Zandrue said.

“Suppose so,” Rudiger said.

“You know those noble types,” Hang added. “Got to have everything proper-like.”

“Yes, I’m sure the stables here are fine,” Rudiger said.

Hang shook his head. “You and that horse, Rudiger, I swear...”

“What do you mean, how do I know? It’s the Royal Palace! Of course... Well, no, I haven’t been here before, but that makes... I just know, all right? It’s the bloody Royal Palace!”

Hang laughed. Felitïa found herself smiling, too.

At long last, they passed under the Folith Arch into the main courtyard. Three sides of the large courtyard were defined by stables, servants quarters, guard barracks, and various buildings of state. On the fourth, the far side, stood the palace itself. Its gleaming white walls shone in the sunlight. The east and west wings were each three storeys tall, while the central building rose four.

Lining each side of the great stairs leading to the main entrance was a row of soldiers in gleaming armour, the Bear of Arnor displayed on their tabards and shields. Standing on the steps between the rows of soldiers were numerous others, none of whom Felitïa could identify at this distance—doubtful she would be able to identify most of them when she got close up, either. Everyone was dressed in various shades of blue.

As they reached halfway across the courtyard, streams of servants in blue livery appeared, taking the reins of their horses. Felitïa dismounted and let them take Livia away. Borisin protested loudly when a servant first tried to take his reins, pulling back from the boy. When other servants came in to help, for a moment it looked as if Borisin would trample them all. But then Rudiger dismounted and looked the horse in the eye. After a moment, he patted the side of Borisin’s head and handed the reins to one of the servants. They had no further trouble with him—at least, not while they were still in sight.

Once the servants had cleared out of the way, even taking the wagon away, DeSeloön approached Felitïa. “Are you ready, your Highness?”

Felitïa sighed. That was the first time he’d called her that since Quorge. She supposed she’d better get used to it quickly. “I’m ready.”