“The king?” he asked the guard. The guard gestured to the western wing of the castle. Handy nodded and went off towards the king’s solar. His iron-shod boots echoed along the stone floor, and the winter twilight, painting the interior of the castle an icy blue, contrasted sharply with the warm light cast by the candles. It all felt so surreal, the corridors now feeling strange and unfamiliar. He kept having to shrug off the feeling that he was alien here, and reminded himself that this was normal. He was meant to be here. Everything was fine.