Alistair strummed his acoustic guitar quietly — the sound of the party from inside the castle being drowned out from his own strumming in his ears.

He wasn’t wealthy, or even middle class. His Spanish family were commoners with not much money. It was beat up with scratches all over the guitar. No pick either.

The corners of his lips curled up as he leaned against the wall. His curly black hair falling in front of his eyes as the wind blows it out of them again.