The great hall was full of light, drenched in the aroma of herbs and butter

The great hall was full of light, drenched in the aroma of herbs and butter- glazed foods—perfumes and wine. Laughter bounced against its ancient walls, and music tangled in tapestries, pirouetting around pillars and knotting itself in skirts. But just a wall away, past great iron doors, another hall waited. One devoid of color, of smell, of sound, its only adornment a looming chair made from the hardy wood of rowan trees. Besides the dungeon, it was Elm’s least favorite part of the castle. The throne room.There were twin hearths, one on each side of the throne room. Both were lit, roaring with smoldering logs, their flames casting long, jumping shadows across the stone floor. Between the hearths was a dais. Upon it, King Rowan sat on his throne, his face shadowed by a heavyset brow. He wore his crown—gold, forged to look like twisting rowan branches—and a matching gold cloak with fox fur at its collar. There were no seats beside the throne on the dais—no one equal to the King. King Rowan’s only companions were three enormous hounds, whose dark, unblinking eyes traced the room.Destriers lined the walls, lost in shadow