Later, as the stars spun overhead and the horned moon shed it cool light through Princess' tent, as the last drop of the mind tea she'd taken before bed to soothe her nerves had been drunk, Aurora rest her uneasy head upon her pillow, distantly aware of a voice somewhere both near and far away, whispering her name.  But it was just one of a dozen sounds in the camp that came into her ears, none of which she gave particular mind to.  The whiney of the horses, the creak of the mail and chain of her guards, the burning campfires, the call of nightbirds.  Though it seemed that her mind was too awhirl by racing thoughts, eventually, sleep claimed her.<br/><br/>Sinking down into her dreams, seemed to take no time whatsoever; she'd no more than closed her eyes before she walked in the corridors of sleep, in a lush, red void before a looming throne.  The sight of that throne, the coldness of the black marble, chilled her, raised a prickling terror along her arms and the hairs on the back of her neck.  She shivered, though in her dream, she wore the flowing silk robes of a fashion popular in the South.  It was familiar, that twisted throne, recalling images of night terrors she'd had in the year after her mother had died.<br/><br/>The man upon the throne, however, was not familiar, not familiar at all.  She looked up at him, eyes wide and frightened as a hunted doe, and took a step backwards, as if she could flee.  "Who are you?  Where am I?"