"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."
The Sun-Stone Suite was bathed in the warm, amber glow of the hearth as Martha finished tucking a heavy wool throw around Elissa's legs. The older woman moved with a deliberate, rhythmic grace that acted as a balm to Elissa's frayed nerves.
"Now, my lady," Martha said, her voice a soothing murmur as she smoothed the velvet of the armchair. "You have the look of someone who has carried the weight of the world for far too many miles. I shall go to the kitchens myself. I don't trust those young fledglings to season the broth correctly for a Southern palate. You stay right here, watch the flames, and let the quiet settle in. I'll bring you something to put the color back in your cheeks, and then you must sleep."
Elissa nodded, her mist-grey eyes fixed on the dancing violet flames. "Thank you, Martha. Truly."
The room fell into a heavy, peaceful silence after the door clicked shut. Elissa leaned her head back, letting the warmth seep into her skin. For a moment, she allowed herself to forget the cold dismissal in Alistair's blue eyes and the terrifying vastness of the obsidian fortress outside her door.
Twenty minutes later, the heavy oak doors groaned open again. Elissa expected Martha, but the sound of boots—lighter and more rhythmic than the guards'—made her sit up.
Martha entered first, carrying a silver tray that wafted the scent of roasted herbs and honeyed bread. But she wasn't alone. Trailing behind her, looking entirely too large for the delicate setting of the suite, were Dante and Vane.
"We hope we aren't intruding, Princess," Vane said, flashing a bright, boyish grin that seemed to challenge the very gloom of the castle. He was carrying a small crystal carafe of deep red juice. "But Martha mentioned you looked like you were planning to skip half your meal, and we couldn't have that. Alistair would have our heads if you fainted during the tour tomorrow."
Dante didn't speak immediately. He moved to the other side of the hearth, pulling over a heavy stool and sitting down. His presence was like a fortress wall—solid, quiet, and strangely protective.
"Eat," Dante said simply, gesturing to the tray Martha was setting on the low table in front of Elissa. "The mountain air is a thief; it steals your strength when you aren't looking."
Martha smiled, clearly pleased by the company. She placed a bowl of thick, savory stew in Elissa's hands. "They insisted on coming up, my lady. Said they needed to make sure the North Wing hadn't scared you off yet."
"It hasn't," Elissa whispered, taking a cautious sip of the stew. It was rich and warming, filling her with a much-needed heat.
Vane made himself comfortable on the edge of a velvet chaise, pouring her a glass of the juice. "Good. Because between us, Alistair is miserable company when he's alone. He needs someone to remind him that not everything in life is a tactical map or a border dispute."
As Elissa ate, the two cousins kept up a light stream of conversation. Vane told her ridiculous stories about Alistair's childhood—how the stoic Prince had once tried to 'order' a blizzard to stop, only to end up buried in a snowdrift for three hours. Even Dante let out a low, huffing laugh at that, his golden eyes softening as he watched Elissa.
They didn't ask her about her lack of magic. They didn't treat her like a political pawn. For the first time since leaving her home, Elissa felt the knot of tension in her chest begin to loosen.
"You're doing well, Princess Elissa," Dante said quietly, his voice a deep rumble as she finished the last of the bread. He stood up, sensing her eyelids growing heavy. "Rest now. We'll be outside if you need anything. No one enters this wing tonight without answering to us."
Vane stood as well, offering a mock bow. "Sleep well, Princess. Tomorrow, the real work begins. And don't worry—if the statues in the hall start looking at you funny, just tell them you're with us."
Martha walked them to the door, giving them a grateful nod before returning to Elissa to help her toward the massive, silken bed. As Elissa drifted off, she felt a strange sense of safety. She was in a den of predators, yes, but two of them had decided she was part of the pack.