It was not an easy task, to break camp of the size required by the princess’ retinue; therefore the decision was made that they would camp upon the grounds of the keep before departing the next morning, to join His Majesty in the city of Tarth, where he would meet and sign the formal treaty between Valaria and Daggohed.  Her presence was expected at such diplomatic functions; in the absence of her royal mother, she was best suited to offer the hand of courtesy to the nobles of the once enemy nation.  Secretly, Aurora expected that King Kadan would do more than extend the hand of friendship; there was rumor that there was a prince of the Daggohed, eligible and of an age with her.  It would be a neat way to disenfranchise her, for by law, none of Daggohedan blood could sit the Sun Throne, leaving her and her offspring from the line of succession.<br/><br/>That had been another reason why she had insisted upon the visit to Harrowedall.  To buy herself some time to think of a way around the destiny her father wove around her, the future she did not want, all the while she could feel the dream of glory slipping away between her fingers, like so much ash.<br/><br/>Her tent was a grand affair, of multicolored canvas and silk, with fixtures inside to await her every comfort.  The well-armed troupe stood to attention as she and Herrek passed, their muskets upon their shoulder and their armor bright with the gilding of the Sun and Lion symbol of the Deschain.<br/><br/>Behind them, the ruined halls stood against the late afternoon sky, grim as a skull upon a field of wildflowers, its empty windows and empty rooms weighing on the mind and soul of those that looked upon it.  Ill deeds had been done there, in the days of Balthazar.  What, precisely, few knew, but it was rumored to be haunted, and worse, and those that slept within were sometimes said to vanish into thin air.<br/><br/>Herrek escorted her to her tent, and stationed a guard outside.  Within, her lady-maids waited, silly girls, daughters of noble houses who’d earned favor enough for their children to serve in court in such a capacity.  Her “friends,” her companions, her father’s spies upon her even in her most private moments.  They made such a fuss about her scraped knuckles that Aurora thought they’d never seen a bit of blood before in their lives, and insisted that she bandage it at once, and change from her dusty gowns, and bathe the filth of Harrowedall from her skin.  She did not protest; she was weary of arguing with those that would not listen, and let her maids undress her and set her into a pool of warm water.<br/><br/>Still in her hand was that strange pendant, because she did not want to field questions that would surely come if she revealed it, and kept it in hand as her maids scrubbed her back.  They nattered at her, Dorina and Sasha, and she may have answered back.  She wasn’t paying attention, in truth, even when they stood her from the bath and ran the towels upon her fair skin, and rubbed scented oil behind her ears, on the line of her throat.<br/><br/>Aurora’s thoughts were a league away, on Tarsh and the treaty and the Daggo Prince, and a million miles beyond that.  She felt as she imagined a hare must in a snare, with no way to escape but to gnaw futiley upon her own limbs.  Her silvery-gold hair was brushed out and braided as she sat before a mirror, tears in her eyes she would not shed until she might be left, alone, at last, when her keepers decided to put her to bed.