Sam felt better about this new situation than he ever thought possible.
The place that had once been made of nightmares—Aevum Castle—had never sounded like this.
For years, the halls had known only echoes and ghosts, but now—laughter.
Wild, bright laughter. Children’s voices rang through the courtyard like bells, chasing one another through shafts of sunlight. The smell of fresh bread and wildflowers drifted on the breeze, and for the first time since the wars, the air itself felt clean.
Sam sat at the edge of the fountain, boots stretched out, beard twitching as he tried—and failed—to look stern. His mug of “water” caught the light, the scent of rum wafting up to betray him.
Reuben, the cheekiest of the lot, plopped down beside him.
“What’s in your cup, Master Sam?”
“Water,” Sam re
