Elara. Varenna It was nearly twilight when they rode through the tall gates of the stronghold of Varenne, carved limestone trees on either side reaching high above the surrounding buildings. The oncoming dusk cast a strange glow on them, blurring the edges and yet making them seem more stalwart and formidable. Elara did not linger long to look at them, and did her best to ride tall and strong atop her horse even exhausted as she was. The stronghold at Varenna had never been breached, and it was the birthplace of her mother. If anybody had a right to seek shelter here, it was her. And yet, she had not been here since she was a child, and it felt as foreign as the Sunken Isle must if she'd washed up on its shore instead. "You have received word from my brother, His Majesty the King," Elara stated, knowing her word as fact. "He has implored you to shelter us, harbor us through the winter." Ligart laughed. Not a chuckle, but a true belly laugh. "Your brother," he began, pointing a finger at his niece, "is a little boy playing at war." "That little boy," Elara quickly countered, "is the King of Selles, and a Varenese prince by birthright, the same birthright I have." Ligart tilted his head, as if to look at her from even higher up, down his proud nose. He looked over Elara as he had when she had first walked through the doors to his audience chamber, from the humble tiara on her head to her proud shoulders, down her wrinkled gown to the floor, then back to her face. His gaze shifted to her left, where William stood several paces behind and to her side. "And what of him?" Elara narrowed her eyes slightly, betraying her confusion as she said, "Sir Ingraham is charged by the king to serve as my protector." "Just as he was charged by the king to occupy our coasts and have our women?" Elara furrowed her brow and said, "I'm not sure what you're implying, uncle, but surely..." "But surely what?" Ligart interrupted her. "