"King Nimrod. Queen Helena," one of the maids said softly as she adjusted the straps of Helena's travel bags, "your chambers have been prepared according to your instructions."
Nimrod inclined his head in acknowledgment, then stepped aside with deliberate courtesy, gesturing toward the grand staircase, "After you, my wife."
Helena hesitated.
The word still felt foreign. Heavy and ill-fitting for her. But refusing would only draw attention, and attention was the last thing she wanted. She placed her hand in his. His palm was warm, steady, possessive in a way that made her spine tighten. She followed him up the stairs, every step echoing too loudly in the cavernous hall.
They were watched.
Courtiers lined the staircase on both sides. Men and women dressed in dark finery, their expressions composed yet curious. Helena felt their gazes brush against her skin, assessing, measuring. She couldn't tell which of them were human and which were something else entirely. The uncertainty crawled beneath her ribs.
She glanced at Nimrod, hoping, against reason, for some sign of reassurance. He did not look at her. His attention remained fixed forward, as though the path itself demanded his full concentration.
The doors to their chambers were taller than any Helena had seen before, carved with unfamiliar symbols that seemed to shift when she looked at them too long. Two maids pushed them open, revealing a room so vast it stole her breath.
It was not merely a bedroom. It was a statement.
The bed stood at its center like a throne, draped in rich fabrics that caught the light. A mirror stretched from floor to ceiling opposite it, reflecting not just the room but Helena herself, small within its enormity. Three other doors branched off from the chamber, each promising spaces she was not yet ready to imagine.
The air carried a subtle, warm, spiced scent, yet unsettlingly soothing. Helena felt her shoulders loosen despite herself, and that frightened her more than the room's grandeur.
The maids disappeared briefly into one of the adjoining rooms. When they returned, their smiles lingered too long on Nimrod. He dismissed them with a flick of his fingers. The doors closed. The lock sounded final.
Helena turned toward the window, needing distance, needing air.
"Where are we?" she asked, "Tell me plainly."
Nimrod's voice came from behind her, "In our home."
"I asked where," she said, sharper now, "What city is this? What kingdom?"
He met her gaze through the mirror rather than directly, "Witteland."
She frowned, "I've never heard of that. Don't make things up. You promised my brother he could visit."
A pause. Then, calmly, he continued, "Witteland exists now."
Her brow furrowed deeper, "What does that even mean? Are you lying to me?"
"No." His voice didn't change, "You've never heard of it because until now, it didn't exist."
Helena stared at him, anger rising sharp and sudden, but no words came. The explanation was too impossible to argue with, too carefully spoken to dismiss.
"Helena, my beautiful wife." His smile was faint, "My father kept his word. You were not taken to hell. This land was… made. For us."
"You expect me to believe that?" Helena said quietly.
"I expect you to observe," he replied, "And decide."
Silence stretched between them.
Nimrod moved closer, not touching her or even trying to, but near enough that Helena was acutely aware of him. He said, as if answering an unspoken question, "You're wondering about the people downstairs. They're human," Nimrod said lightly, "Well… some of them are..."
He tilted his head, watching her reaction, "This land will be human enough. Governed a little differently, yes, but not damned."
A pause. Then, with a faint smile, "As for the rest?" His eyes glinted, "They're my kind. You'll have to figure out who's who on your own."
That was not comforting her soul.
Helena stepped back, "I need to be alone."
For a moment, she thought he might refuse.
But Nimrod inclined his head, "As you wish." Then, softly, "You will find your way back when you are ready."
She did not answer. She turned and fled the room, her footsteps carrying her through unfamiliar corridors that twisted and branched like a maze. Her heart pounded, her thoughts colliding with fear, anger, disbelief, and something far more dangerous: curiosity.
Behind her, in the silent chamber, Prince Nimrod watched the door long after it had closed. And smiled.