She stole a glance at him. Alistair was leaning back, his eyes closed, though his body didn't look relaxed. He looked like a blade held at a throat—still, but ready to draw blood.
"We are entering the gates," Alistair said, his eyes snapping open. The blue was dim in the darkness, but the silver rings around his pupils pulsed with a faint, ghostly light.
The carriage rumbled over a drawbridge made of bone-white stone. As Elissa peered out the window, her breath caught. Vesperia was a gothic marvel. Spires of obsidian reached toward the violet sky like frozen claws. Unlike the bright, airy halls of her home, this city was built of shadow and velvet. Blue fire burned in iron braziers, casting long, flickering shadows against the walls.
The carriage stopped in a courtyard filled with vampires. They didn't cheer. They stood in perfect, terrifying formation, their pale faces turned toward the royal carriage.
Elissa stayed pressed against the far door, her hands tucked into her sleeves. Every time the carriage jolted and her knee brushed his, she felt a jolt of terror. He didn't growl; he didn't snap. He simply shifted his leg away with a subtle, rhythmic grace that screamed: Do not touch me.
When they finally arrived at the Bastion, the air was thin and bitingly cold. Alistair stepped out first, offering her his hand only because the court was watching. His grip was firm, cold, and entirely clinical.
"Dante," Alistair called out, his voice echoing in the frost-rimmed courtyard.
His cousin stepped forward, draped in furs, a lazy smirk on his face. "Welcome home, Alistair. I see the South has sent us a flower."
"She is under your charge for the evening," Alistair said, his voice flat. He didn't look at Elissa as he handed her over, literally placing her hand into Dante's. "Ensure she is fed and settled in the North Wing. I have reports from the Rift that require my attention."
"Prince Alistair—" Elissa whispered, the word catching in her throat. She didn't want him to stay, but the idea of being left with strangers in this obsidian fortress was worse.
Alistair paused, his gaze finally flicking to her. His crystalline blue eyes were narrowed, not in anger, but in a sort of weary, distant annoyance. He looked at her as one might look at a difficult riddle they had no interest in solving.
"My cousins will provide what you need," he said, his tone dismissive. "I suggest you rest, Princess. You look as though a stiff breeze might shatter you, and I cannot afford a broken bride."
He turned and walked away, his heavy black cloak billowing behind him like the wings of a crow. He didn't look back once.
The heavy thud of Alistair's boots echoed against the stone until the sound was swallowed by the vastness of the hall. Elissa stood frozen, her hand still resting in Dante's palm. She felt like a discarded parcel, her mist-grey eyes fixed on the spot where the Prince had vanished.
"Don't mind him," Vane said, breaking the heavy silence with a light, effortless grace. He stepped to her other side, his golden eyes dancing with a warmth that felt entirely foreign in this place of ice. "He has the social graces of a glacier and about as much warmth. He's been brooding over those Rift reports for a century; it's practically his personality now."
Dante gave her hand a gentle, grounding squeeze before letting go. His touch was firm but surprisingly careful, as if he truly were worried she might shatter. "Come, Princess. We've prepared the Sun-Stone Suite for you. It's the only room in the North Wing that Alistair hasn't managed to turn into a dark cave."
They led her through a labyrinth of obsidian corridors, past flickering violet braziers and silent, armored guards who bowed as they passed. Finally, they reached a pair of double doors carved with intricate, swirling patterns of ivy.
As the doors opened, Elissa gasped. The room was breathtaking. Unlike the rest of the fortress, the walls here were of a warmer, cream-colored stone that seemed to hold a soft, internal glow. Thick, plush carpets in shades of deep sea-blue muffled their footsteps, and a fire crackled in a hearth of polished silver.
Waiting near the massive canopy bed were two women. One was young and lithe, with the sharp, watchful eyes of a fledgling vampire. The other was much older, her face lined with the elegant history of many years, her hair a soft cloud of snowy white.
"Princess," the older woman said, stepping forward with a graceful curtsy. Her voice was like warm honey. "I am Martha, and this is Silla. We are here to ensure your comfort."
Dante nodded to Martha, a look of genuine respect in his eyes. "She's had a long journey, Martha. See that she's fed and warm."
"Of course, Lord Dante," Martha replied softly.
The cousins retreated with a final, encouraging look at Elissa, leaving her in the quiet luxury of the suite. Silla immediately began moving about the room, her movements a blur of vampire speed as she prepared a bath, but Martha walked directly to Elissa.
The older woman reached out, her hands surprisingly warm as she took Elissa's trembling fingers. She didn't look at Elissa as a political token or a "weak" human; she looked at her with the eyes of a mother.
"You're shivering, my lady," Martha murmured, her touch as light as a feather. "The North has a way of stealing the heat from your bones before you even realize it's gone."
"I... I'm fine," Elissa whispered, though her teeth chattered.
"Nonsense," Martha smiled, a gentle, crinkling expression that made Elissa feel, for the first time, that she might actually survive this place. She guided Elissa toward a velvet armchair by the fire. "Silla, fetch the jasmine-infused water and the silk shifts. And bring a tray of the honeyed pheasant—the Princess needs strength, not just rest."
As Martha began to unpin Elissa's travel-worn hair, her movements were slow and rhythmic, designed to soothe. "It's a frightening place, the Bastion, if you only look at the stone. But there is life here, Princess. And Prince Alistair... he is a man of many shadows, but shadows cannot exist without a light somewhere."
Elissa leaned back, her eyes fluttering shut as Martha's steady, caring presence began to wash away the stinging memory of Alistair's dismissal.
"He doesn't want me here," Elissa confessed, her voice barely audible over the crackling fire.
Martha paused, her hands resting gently on Elissa's shoulders. "He doesn't know how to want, child. He has been a soldier for so long he's forgotten he's a man. But you," she squeezed her shoulders gently, "you have a quiet strength. I see it in the way you hold your head even when your heart is heavy. Rest now. Tomorrow, the world will look less like obsidian and more like home."