They walked to the opposite side of the mansion.
Where the front faced the cliff and the endless cliff, the back opened onto something else entirely. Something that made Peter stop dead at the threshold and simply stare.
The grounds stretched before them like a painting come to life.
Manicured lawns rolled outward in impossible waves of emerald green—acres upon acres of perfect grass, vast as any championship golf course but dedicated to a single, ancient purpose.
Dark wooden fences bordered the land, curving with the gentle hills, disappearing into distant groves of ancient trees that looked like they'd been standing since before Columbus had sea legs.
A driveway wound through the center—tree-lined, elegant, serpentine—flanked on both sides by perfectly spaced evergreens standing like soldiers at eternal attention. The corridor they formed drew the eye inexorably toward what waited at the far end.
The stable.
No—not a stable.
A palace.
