The wind rolled heavy through the marble colonnades of Caer Bryndale, the current location of the Brittannian Crown, high atop the moss-strewn cliffs of southern Celtica following their successful conquering of the Celtica peoples and addition of the lands into their kingdom.
The chill came not from the sea this time, but from the weight of news carried across the Narrow Sea.
In the vaulted war hall of the High Keep, the Royal Circle of Lords had assembled under the dim light of a sun half-lost to winter cloud.
Thick fur-lined cloaks swirled as nobles took their seats around the obsidian inlay of the great war table—at its center, a map carved into the blackwood surface, lines of salt marking coasts, and colored stones denoting the movements of nations.
At the table's head sat Queen Alwynn the Iron Wolf, not in her throne, but standing, braced on both hands, knuckles white, eyes fixed not on the north where her own banners had only recently planted themselves—but to the south.
