Almost two years had passed since Roran married Clara.
So much had changed in that time that sometimes Roran found himself sitting in his study, staring at the walls, wondering how his life had become something he never thought it could be.
The Duke had kept his word.
After the wedding, he had granted the Iron Hounds a place to call their own. It was not a castle or a grand estate, just a fortified manor on the edge of Stormcrest territory, with a few outbuildings and a stretch of land that could be farmed.
However... it was theirs.
Roran and his men had spent the first six months repairing the walls, clearing the overgrown fields, and turning the old ruin into something that resembled a home.
They called it Hound's Rest.
The name had spread quickly. Nobles who had once sneered at the mention of a commoner mercenary now sent letters asking for aid. The Iron Hounds had become something more than a band of sellswords.
