Page 166 of The Wolf Prince
Solid.
Familiar.
He unties the blindfold.
“Ready?”
“No.”
He laughs softly against my ear.
“Good.”
The blindfold falls. I blink against the winter sunlight.
And stare.
And stare.
And—
“What the fuck?”
Grimm bursts out laughing.
There is a castle in Castor's Corner.
An actual.
Fucking.
Castle.
Not a big house.
Not a mansion.
Not one of those obnoxiously expensive McMansions with a decorative turret slapped onto the garage so the owner can pretend he's landed gentry.
A castle.
Stone walls stretch across the rise ahead of us, weathered and ancient-looking despite the fact that I am absolutely certain this monstrosity was not here last week.
There are towers.
Plural.
Arched windows. Huge carved wooden doors. Balconies.
And—
I point.
“Turrets!”
Grimm's hands settle on my shoulders.
“Yes.”
