The Pilgrimage party assembled at dawn at the edge of the Ashwood Reach, where the paved roads of Veyth gave way, without ceremony, to black-barked trees that seemed to swallow the morning light rather than let it through. Luna had expected fanfare — trumpets, crowds, the King's blessing delivered in front of half the nobility — and got exactly that, delivered with the same uneasy formality of a funeral procession dressed up as a celebration.
"Seven days," King Alaric said, standing before the assembled party — Luna, her five husbands, a company of twelve guards, and two Crown-appointed witnesses whose only job was to confirm, honestly, whether the Pact had been properly renewed. "The bargain is sealed. May the Reach find you worthy of what it's meant to test."
It was not, Luna thought,
