The prince's bedchambers were a suite of rooms nearer to father's in the Royal Wing of the palace than her own; the younger according to ancient tradition, more vulnerable and requiring of attention and protection than the elder.  The line of Deschain had produced litters in its time, but only two fruits of the current line; as such, there were many empty rooms in the Royal Wing; empty rooms where spiders spun gray webs in places where the mighty once rested.<br/><br/>The debris of Amon's childhood surrounded Aurora as she entered, nearly tripping over a wooden horse, discovering a hidden sweet roll beneath his pillow as she tucked him in, and having to relieve the boy of a wooden sword which, for some reason, he wanted to carry to bed with him.  By the light of a single candle, she drew up her chair to the bed, kissing the child's brow.<br/><br/>"A story, asks the young prince.  A story indeed.  Hmmm. . .do you happen to know the one about how the symbol of Deschain came to be two roses rampant on a red field, a black tower eclipsed?  Well, one day, about a hundred years before Harrowedhall was built. . ."<br/><br/>---===---<br/><br/>Further on, the young lady Sophie arrived in Aurora's bedroom.  Twenty years of age, with the soft skin and gentle roundness of one who has never labored for a day in her life, she was past the peak bloom of her youth and loveliness, but, by many accounts, one of the finer beauties in the realm, for her station.  Green eyed and black haired, her skin was rose-blushed, her bosom ample and high, and her hips turned for breeding.  She lay her possessions out in the small room aside the princess' bedchamber, and then into that room went, looking about, as her father had instructed, for anything out of the ordinary.<br/><br/>Aurora could almost see her in her mind's eye as she told her brother his story, and the one he demanded after that.  Oh. . .Balthazar would<em>love</em>Sophie.