—Dravendor Imperial Fortress, The Obsidian Halls—
The fortress doors creaked open, and Elira stepped inside.
Gone were the fragrant halls of Velanthia, adorned with roses and warm sunlight. In their place stood towering obsidian walls, lit only by torches that cast long, jagged shadows. The scent of steel and cold stone filled the air. It was not a palace. It was a fortress made to withstand sieges, and perhaps, even joy.
Elira kept her back straight as her soft slippers echoed against the black marble floors. Behind her, Lysa trembled but followed silently, glancing around as if ghosts might jump from the corners.
"Not a place for hearts," she whispered.
"No," Elira murmured. "But perhaps one can bloom here anyway."
They were led by a silent steward dressed in dark robes, his head always lowered, offering no conversation or comfort. He guided them through endless corridors—each one colder than the last—until they arrived at her chambers.
"These will be yours," the steward said, bowing stiffly. "Separate from His Highness's quarters."
Elira's smile was courteous. "Thank you."
But something in the steward's eyes flickered at her tone. As if he hadn't expected gratitude. Or perhaps… kindness.
The door shut behind them. The room was large but bare. A tall bed with black silk sheets, a simple vanity, a wardrobe carved from ironwood. No flowers. No warmth.
"Not even a hearth," Lysa said under her breath. "Do they expect you to sleep in a crypt?"
Elira ran a hand across the stone window ledge. The view overlooked the training yard, where dozens of soldiers were lined up, barking chants under the watchful eyes of captains. She spotted Kaelion among them, sparring with three men at once—effortless, ruthless, brutal.
"Do not let appearances deceive you, Elira," her mother had once told her. "Even frostbitten soil can grow wildflowers. If you dare to plant the seed."
Elira stepped away from the window and turned to Lysa. "Unpack our things. We'll make this room ours."
Lysa hesitated. "Ours?"
"Yes. I want the servants to see we're not afraid. That we will live here, not survive."
Lysa nodded, eyes misty. "Yes, Your Highness."