The carriage slowed, the iron wheels grinding against the cobblestones of a courtyard that felt less like a welcoming plaza and more like a killing field. When the vehicle finally lurched to a halt, the silence that followed was absolute.
Through the frosted glass, Elissa saw them. Hundreds of vampires stood in perfect, terrifying formation. There were no cheers, no whispers, no movement. They were rows of marble statues with luminous blue eyes, their pale faces turned in unison toward the royal carriage.
Elissa stayed pressed against the far door, trying to make herself as small as possible. Her hands were tucked deep into her sleeves, her fingers still tracing the hidden hilt of the dagger. Every time the carriage had jolted on the mountain pass and her knee had brushed Alistair's, she had felt a jolt of pure terror.
Alistair hadn't growled. He simply shifted his leg away each time with a subtle, rhythmic grace that was more insulting than a shout. Every movement screamed a silent command: Do not touch me. Now, in the stillness of the halted carriage, Alistair leaned his head back against the furs and closed his eyes. For a moment, the predatory intensity of his gaze was hidden, leaving only the beautiful, terrifying mask of his face.
Elissa found herself staring. In the dim, blue light of the brazier, he looked less like a monster and more like a god carved from the ice of the peaks. She watched the way his chest rose and fell in a slow, barely perceptible rhythm.He looked like a blade held at a throat—still, but ready to draw blood.
Suddenly, his lips moved. He didn't open his eyes, and his expression didn't change, but he murmured under his breath, the words so low they were almost a vibration in the air.
"It is considered impolite to study your captor while he rests, Princess," Alistair said, his voice a flat, dry velvet. "Or were you simply checking to see if I am made of stone? I assure you, the result is the same."
Elissa gasped, pulling her gaze away and looking at her lap, her face burning.
"I was not... I was only..."
"You were staring," Alistair stated, his eyes still closed. "Just as you were clutching your sleeves during the entire ascent. If you are looking for a crack in the ice, you will find only a frostbite. Now, prepare yourself. My people do not value Northern modesty, and they have very little patience for those who tremble."
He finally opened his eyes, the luminous blue piercing through the shadows of the cabin. He looked at her tattered dress, then back to her face.
"Try not to fall out of the carriage," he added with that same straight-faced sarcasm. "It would be an exhausting start to your new life."
"Try to sleep a little." He suggested while closing his eyes again.
"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.
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.
"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.