The walk from the main Steele manor to the newly christened Sunken Pearl Estate wasn't long, perhaps fifteen minutes at a comfortable pace through manicured gardens and along pristine gravel paths.
For the exhausted royal contingent, however, each step was weighed down by the gravity of their situation and the uncertainty of their future. They were safe, yes, but they were also guests – dependent guests – in the domain of a young man whose power and influence seemed to grow more unnervingly potent by the moment.
Alaric strolled casually beside Queen Margaret, projecting an air of effortless grace and hospitality. Archmage Priscilla walked on Margaret's other side, her senses still subtly analyzing the ambient magic of the Steele territory – remarkably clean, stable, and potent. Josephine kept pace slightly behind Margaret, while the cluster of other royal consorts followed like beautiful, slightly bewildered geese, whispering nervously amongst themselves.
