The feeling that washed over him whenever he entered the palace never changed. It was as if the very walls bled with animosity, seeping outward and pressing in on him from each side.
He forced himself to block it all out and concentrate instead on the purpose that had brought him here, the business he had no choice but to attend to.
His father had summoned him to court.
Climbing down from his horse, Ragnar handed the reins to a waiting stable hand. One quick glance at the sprawling, perfectly manicured lawns was all it took for him to remember how little he wanted to be here.
He would rather trek across the unforgiving Azairen desert, with the sand chafing against his skin, than spend even a single minute surrounded by those openly hateful courtiers.
But just as with the queen's summons, Ragnar could not refuse. The consequences for disobedience were far steeper than whatever he was bound to experience there.
