The journey to Yeren took two days. By the time Metheea's carriage rolled through the gates, her body ached from the road, her eyes heavy from restless sleep.
The land greeted her in deceptive beauty. Rolling hills stretched in green waves, their slopes quilted with farms that shone in the sunlight. Farmers paused in their work to wave, faces open and smiling, as if joy itself bloomed from the soil.
At the heart of it all stood the mansion. Lord Jegaspe awaited on the steps with a line of servants behind him, their heads bowed. The building rose proudly from the hillside, its stone walls trimmed with ivy, yet as Metheea drew closer she saw how age clung to it—its towers weathered, its windows dulled.
Lord Jegaspe stepped forward, his hands spread in welcome. "Princess," he said warmly, "what an honor. Forgive me for not calling on you sooner. I hastened here to prepare all the records you requested."
