The palace gates opened at noon.
Seren stood in the courtyard, flanked by Lysa and Captain Voss, though Voss kept his distance, still uncertain of his place. The snow had retreated to the shadows. Spring was finally winning.
A cart rolled through the gates, laden with crates and bundles. On the driver's seat sat Marina Ashwood, her grey hair wild from the wind, her hands steady on the reins. She looked older than Seren remembered. Or perhaps Seren had simply been away too long.
The cart stopped. Marina climbed down, brushed off her traveling cloak, and looked at her daughter.
"Well," she said. "You're still alive."
"I'm still alive."
"And you're getting married. To three wolves."
"Three wolves."
Marina shook her head. "Your father would have had a fit."
"He would have come around."
"Your father never came around to anything. Stubborn as stone." Marina stepped forward and pulled Seren into a fierce embrace. "I'm proud of you. Even if I don't understand any of this."
