The next morning, Dalia woke to a room steeped in darkness. Even though she knew it was daytime, nothing outside the window suggested it. Heavy, swollen clouds loomed, ready to burst the moment they stepped outside. She sighed, knowing that Mariella and Lucia would ride safely in the carriage while she wouldn't have such luxury.
Only a few more hours separated them from Renil, and there would be no more opportunities to change. With a quiet sigh, she began undressing. As she turned to grab her decorated belt, she caught Lucia’s wide eyes staring at her. Their gazes met for a fleeting moment before Lucia burrowed deeper under the covers. Dalia doubted that Lucia had slept a full night since their journey began. She lingered over the belt for a moment. It was adorned with intricate metalwork, a testament to the craftsmanship of their order. A striking accessory, but it chimed with every step like wind chimes. She had only worn it once during her initiation and had kept it safely at the bottom of her chest since. Deciding not to wake the princess just yet, she slipped out of the room to fetch some breakfast.
The hall looked different in the morning light. Without the evening’s noisy crowd, it seemed small and cozy. A woman Dalia hadn’t seen before bustled behind the bar, and the sound of boiling water hummed pleasantly in her ears. At a table near the window sat Marius, sipping from a shabby mug. Despite the early hour, he was already fully equipped, with his helmet and sword neatly placed on the table before him. Slivers of light managed to break through the clouds, casting shadows over his somber face. Hunched over and solid, he reminded her fondly of Rosa.
“Good morning,” she said cheerfully.
“Good morning,” Marius straightened, awakened from his thoughts. His voice was warm against the crisp morning air. “Weather’s not looking promising, is it?”
“We’ll get soaked,” she agreed, taking a seat across from him. “But I’m just eager to get out of this cursed forest.”
“Hmm,” he muttered after a moment, breaking the silence. “Have you noticed we haven’t seen any birds since we set out?” He gestured towards the low-flying swallows outside. “These are the first. And those shifts… plus what happened on the road…” He trailed off, a shadow of concern crossing his features.
“The princess seems to be a truly lovely girl,” he remarked suddenly, changing the subject.
Dalia followed his gaze to the swallows darting through the overcast sky. Their frantic, restless flight mirrored the tension of the past few days.
“She is,” Dalia replied with conviction. “I’ve known her since she was a child. People judge her unfairly.”
Marius smiled faintly, warmth flickering in his eyes.
“I have three daughters of my own,” he said, taking another slurping sip from his mug. “Three little devils. And their mother…” He waved his hand with a fond smile. “Arranged marriages can be happy. If not for my wife, our land would be barren. Hardworking woman.” He looked at Dalia kindly. “I ordered breakfast for you all.”
“Thank you,” Dalia said with a warm smile, though she knew he couldn’t see it. The girl behind the bar placed plates of food on the counter. “Are the others still asleep?”
“Only Torus and Rady. The boys had quite a drink last night. Don’t worry, they’ll be presentable by evening,” Marius replied, watching her over the rim of his cup.
Carefully, she picked up the tray laden with food and drinks, making sure not to spill the steaming brew. Climbing the stairs, she could hear the inn waking up — the creak of boards, the murmur of conversations, laughter.
When she opened the door to their room, she found Mariella seated at a small, ornate mirror with a brass frame. The princess looked as stunning as ever; her golden curls cascading over her shoulders, shimmering in the morning light like liquid gold. Lucia was feverishly brushing her hair, trying to perfect the style. Her small hands moved with practiced skill, though it was clear she was under pressure. Combs, ribbons, and pins were scattered across the vanity, signs of their rushed and tense preparations.
“Why aren’t you dressed yet?” Dalia asked with a hint of reproach.
“You were gone for, what, twenty minutes?” Mariella’s movements were graceful, like a cat waking from slumber. She took small bites from the plate, savoring the fresh fruits and bread. Dalia knew Lucia wouldn’t dare eat now, focused intently on her task. Lucia’s long, mousy hair kept falling into her face each time she leaned over the princess’s hair.
“Since we left home, I’ve been so tired,” Mariella sighed, shaking her large bracelets, which clinked softly. “The air smells strange.”
“It’s going to rain,” Dalia evaded. She wasn’t keen on discussing anything openly in front of Lucia. “I hope a grand reception awaits us when we arrive.”
“Yes, I’d love something sweet to eat,” Mariella replied, chewing thoughtfully. She stared at her reflection and sighed. “I’m afraid.”
She looked pitiful. For a moment, Lucia glanced at the princess’s eyes through the mirror before focusing back on her hair.
“I heard Prince Roderyk is very handsome,” Lucia offered timidly. Her voice was soft, as if afraid to break the silence. Dalia could see her fingers fumbling nervously with the intricate hairstyle she was trying to craft.
“Who told you that?” Mariella tilted her head. Her eyes, catching the light, appeared almost white, giving her an eerie look.
Lucia blushed, and Mariella narrowed her eyes dangerously. Dalia knew Lucia was beginning to test the princess’s patience.
"The most important thing is that you have a grand room with a view of the courtyard," Dalia interjected, trying to ease the tension. "When we arrive, would you like Torus to stay with us?"
Mariella pondered the idea for a moment, a faint smile lighting up her face.
"Torus? The young one with the handsome face?" she asked, her voice softening, and a spark of interest appearing in her eyes.
Dalia nodded, pleased that she had managed to divert the princess’s irritation.
"Of course! He could be my noble knight!" Mariella beamed, clapping her hands. Her eyes shone with excitement, and a delicate flush colored her cheeks.
A sudden knock at the door interrupted their conversation. The sound was hesitant, as if the person on the other side was unsure whether to intrude.
"Can I take the luggage?" Czyzy's timid voice called from behind the door.
"Not yet!" Lucia shouted, now on the brink of a nervous breakdown. She covered her mouth with her hand, realizing her outburst.
"Sorry... I just... I haven’t finished packing yet," she stammered, her voice trembling. Mariella’s knuckles drummed a foreboding rhythm against the table, making her bracelets jingle ominously. Tears began to well up in Lucia’s eyes.
"I think this journey is stressful for all of us," Dalia said gently, taking Lucia's place by Mariella’s hair. She placed a reassuring hand on the young maid's shoulder, signaling her to step aside. Lucia, grateful, shifted her focus to hastily packing the suitcases. Her movements were quick and slightly clumsy, but it was clear she felt relieved to step away. Mariella watched her in the mirror with a cold, assessing gaze.
“Ouch!” Mariella winced when Dalia tugged a bit too hard on her hair, casting her a reproachful look.
Dalia leaned in, whispering a warning, “Behave.”
Mariella shot her a pouty glare but sighed moments later, as if recognizing her behavior. Dalia continued styling her hair, weaving in silver ribbons and tiny pearl pins. Her skilled hands quickly shaped the hairstyle into an elegant design.
"You look beautiful," she said, spinning Mariella gently to show her the result. For the first time that day, Mariella laughed lightly.
"Maybe this won’t be so bad after all," she said, putting on a brave face as she prepared to head outside.
But her smile faded as soon as she saw their noble knight, Torus, hunched over and retching in the courtyard. His face was green, and his hair was disheveled. He looked less like a storybook hero and more like someone who had spent the night at the bottom of a tankard. Marius, however, rose to the occasion and knelt as much as his heavy armor allowed, taking the princess's hand.
"My lady, you look radiant," he said, shifting slightly to block her view of Torus slumped on the steps. "May I escort you to the carriage?"
"Oh, noble knight!" Mariella brightened up. "You should stay with us longer in the capital!" Marius offered her his arm, chuckling under his breath. Lucia trailed behind them, once again without any gentlemanly assistance. She was visibly annoyed and sulking.
Torus, equally disgruntled, caught Dalia's attention as she approached him. She tried to sneak up quietly, hopping over a few large puddles, but her belt jingled, announcing her presence.
"You sound like a child's rattle," Torus greeted her. He held his head between his knees, clearly not in the best of moods.
"Hello, noble knight," Dalia replied with a touch of sarcasm. "How are you feeling?"
"Fantastic," he muttered, sniffling. She remembered the small pocket in her belt where she kept a handkerchief. After rummaging for a moment, her fingers found the scrap of fabric, which she dropped onto Torus's head. With a sigh, he grabbed it and wiped his face.
"Thanks," he said, extending his hand to return the now-damp handkerchief.
"Keep it," she replied, watching as he slowly stood up. She was impressed he managed it in full armor. "Did you put on that armor yourself?" she asked incredulously.
Torus straightened up. He was only slightly taller than her and looked like he wanted to comment but chose instead to tap her mask with his knuckle.
Dalia frowned, taking a step back.
“Come on, that fool is already waiting,” Torus said, nodding towards the stables.
By "fool," he meant Willem, who stood by their horses, waving enthusiastically.
"Lady Dalia," Willem began with mock formality, "I have decided to accompany you to the capital!" Torus clapped his hands with exaggerated enthusiasm.
"And what have we done to deserve your company?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.
“I don’t have any reason to turn back, and once in the capital, I’ll just take the Sunlit Road,” Willem waved dismissively. “Besides, the city is bustling with festival preparations now,” he added, clearly fishing for approval.
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“Dalia has been called to bless the celebration,” Torus chimed in with a mocking tone, fastening his horse’s harness. Willem missed the sarcasm.
“Really? Even more reason not to miss such an important event!” He flailed his arms excitedly, prompting Dalia to step back to avoid being hit and bumping into something solid.
“Good heavens,” she muttered.
“No god here, just me,” Rady snickered. Without his armor, he moved as silently as a cat.
“Why aren’t you in your armor yet?” Torus asked accusingly.
“Wha…?! I’ve been working since dawn, hauling packs while you slept like a baby!” Rady's face flushed with frustration.
Dalia frowned as the first raindrops began to fall.
+++
Completely drenched, Dalia rode alongside Czyzy, who had finally gone silent after hours of relentless chatter. The rain continued its unyielding assault, streaming down her face, slipping under her collar, and soaking through her clothes. Her habit was heavy with moisture, and the metal ornaments on her belt jangled with each movement, colder than ever against her damp skin.
It took her a moment to notice Czyzy’s sudden quiet. Considering his usual loquaciousness, it was unusual. Had he asked her something and was now waiting for a reply? No—he seemed lost in thought. Rain dripped from his thick, brown eyebrows, and his gaze was fixed somewhere far ahead.
“Did you say something?” she asked hesitantly. She felt a bit guilty for not listening, especially since the journey was dragging on and Czyzy clearly needed to voice his thoughts.
He glanced at her, surprised, as if she’d interrupted a deep reverie.
“There are so many disturbances... I feel it in my chest,” he said, pressing his hand to his heart to illustrate. “It can’t be a good sign, and I’m a superstitious man.”
Dalia squinted into the rain to see if she could spot what he was sensing. Through the downpour, the air seemed to shimmer in places, like fairy wings flitting in the distance. The air felt thick and labored as she breathed it in, weighing in her lungs, though that could just be the suffocating humidity.
When she looked back at him, their eyes met. Unlike the others, Czyzy treated her with an unwarranted respect as an acolyte of a powerful goddess. Dalia knew what he wanted to hear, but she couldn’t bring herself to say it.
“You know,” she began, choosing her words carefully, “I think... No, I know this is only temporary. We’re all tired, and when we reach our destination, everything will calm down.”
“Are you not afraid for your Lady?” he asked, tilting his head incredulously.
She lowered her gaze, avoiding his eyes even though he couldn’t see her expression. She sniffled lightly.
“That’s why I’m here,” she said. Glancing down, she noticed the tracks of other horses in the mud. She wasn’t much of a tracker, but if she could spot them despite the rain, their riders couldn’t be far. She pointed them out to Czyzy, uncertain if he’d be able to see through the downpour. “We should pick up the pace.”
They urged their horses ahead to the edge of their column, and soon enough, another group of armed riders came into view. Czyzy let out a low grunt of surprise. The cursed forest and the relentless rain made them move like blind mice.
These soldiers were clearly from Traturia, though their crests had seen better days. There were perhaps a dozen of them. As they drew closer, the last soldier in the line noticed them and turned his horse. At first, Dalia thought the heavy rain had dulled his senses, but as they neared, she realized it was exhaustion. The man looked like he hadn’t slept in days, with dark circles under his eyes and trembling hands. He raised his sword in greeting, the blade glinting dully in the stormy light.
“Who goes there?!” he shouted, his voice hoarse. His hands shook, and his horse shifted uneasily beneath him.
Czyzy lifted his hands in a calming gesture.
“Just passing through to the capital,” he said, pointing ahead with one hand while keeping the other raised. “From Zarian.”
“From Zarian?!” the soldier repeated, his eyes wide with disbelief, face contorting with suspicion. Dalia’s grip tightened around her small blade, ready to defend herself if necessary.
“Easy now,” came a deep voice. Another soldier broke away from the column and approached at a leisurely pace. He wore a more ornate suit of armor, though it was marred by grime and signs of battle. A scar ran across his face, closing one eye, fresh and poorly stitched, with blood seeping through the bandage. He, too, was soaked and dirty like the rest of his group.
“I know who they are,” he said, stopping his horse in front of them. His gaze moved over Dalia, pausing on her habit and mask. “The carriage is behind you, I presume?”
Czyzy froze, unsure of what to do. In the distance, they could hear the slow, creaking approach of the carriage. The scarred man didn’t seem particularly interested in it, focusing instead on his struggle to light a short pipe. The rain snuffed out each spark he tried to ignite, and he cursed under his breath, shielding the tobacco with his hand. His companion, meanwhile, simmered with anger. The rest of their column continued moving ahead like a ghostly procession.
“We’re heading to a ceremony,” Dalia said shortly. The second man snorted and sheathed his sword. Even on horseback, he appeared towering and heavily built. His chainmail was sturdy but lacked finesse and clearly weighed on his shoulders.
“You bring us misfortune,” he said through gritted teeth. The man with the pipe studied Dalia intently, his eyes taking in her attire, mask, and ornate belt before shifting to Marius and Rady, who had quietly brought their horses to a halt behind Czyzy. The carriage rolled up to them, and the man circled it, drawing up beside the window. His black horse was well-fed, with a neatly trimmed mane, signaling his noble status.
“Why have we stopped?” Lucia’s head peeked out from the carriage window. She gasped at the sight of the imposing man looming over her and retreated hastily. The man smirked and leaned further to peer inside.
“Would the lady be so kind as to light this for me?” he asked, offering her the pipe through the window. Lucia, flustered, took the pipe and matches as if her life depended on it and returned them lit.
He took a drag, releasing a thin line of smoke that mixed with the scent of rain and damp earth.
“Looks like we’re headed the same way,” he said with a sly smile.
When they caught up with the rest of the soldiers, it was as if they weren’t even noticed. One soldier quietly sobbed, clutching his left forearm. The others, though uninjured, were silent, lost in their thoughts. Czyzy cast worried glances at the wounded man, whose makeshift bindings held him precariously in the saddle. Without objection, they decided to move the injured soldier to sit beside the driver, letting Willem take his place on horseback.
Marius moved to the front to speak with the scarred knight. From afar, Dalia couldn’t tell if they were actually conversing or just riding side by side in strained silence, but Marius’s tense posture suggested discomfort. Willem, riding awkwardly beside her, broke the moment with a sheepish smile.
“It’s been a while since I’ve ridden,” he admitted, shifting uneasily in the saddle.
Before she could respond, Willem pushed on. “It’s fortunate we encountered Traturian soldiers,” he continued, looking for an excuse to chat. “They patrol these parts often enough, but not usually in such company.” He nodded towards the two knights ahead. “Do you know who they are?”
Dalia’s eyes flickered with recognition at his tone; he knew full well but wanted to draw her into conversation.
“The one with the scar is certainly someone of high rank,” she said, pretending to ponder. “His attire, his horse, the way he carries himself. The other... seems like someone born into new wealth, trying too hard to look noble.”
Willem chuckled at her observation. “You’re sharp. That’s Caspar van Dalen and Emil Tyr.”
“Caspar?” The name threw her. She knew it well—it belonged to the king’s nephew. She had thought Caspar was still a child, not a grown man. Emil’s name was unfamiliar to her. “What’s he doing on this road?”
“That’s the mystery,” Willem shrugged. “He commands the royal guard, but dealing with mere highwaymen? Unusual.”
“And Emil?”
“Ah, you pegged him right. His father’s a wealthy merchant with too many sons. It was either a sword or a prayer robe for him. I know the family well—I’ve done business with his father when Emil was just a brat. Miserly old man, though. Emil was always a sullen boy, but I suppose he found the right coat to cling to.”
“Does Caspar live in the capital?” she asked, realizing too late how naive the question sounded. Willem’s confusion showed.
“Who knows? I’ve never seen him personally. He doesn’t stroll through the markets for bread, you know.” He laughed lightly. “His portrait hangs in one of the chapels, along with the rest of his family. Maybe he came for the festival?” He added uncertainly. “I heard there’s a royal wedding being prepared. The union of Traturia and Eldania. Even the king is rumored to attend!”
“Just the prince,” Dalia corrected. The princess’s brother was delayed, traveling separately with his own entourage. It was a small mercy that he’d attend his sister’s wedding at all, though she knew he had no desire to be there.
“It’s all very strange,” Willem continued, paying little attention to Dalia’s interjection. “I heard the wedding wasn’t supposed to happen at all. But Prince Fredryk—he’s about twenty-seven now, isn’t he?—is certainly of age.”
Dalia froze. Something felt off.
“Prince Fredryk? But he’s the king’s second son. What about the eldest?” she asked, her unease growing.
Willem looked at her, puzzled. “Prince Roderyk married Lady Kornelia just a month ago and was sent to her estates. I heard he renounced his claim, or something happened. Court politics are messy, always have been.”
“How did I miss that?” A chill ran down her spine.
“Exactly!” Willem seemed pleased to have piqued her interest. “It was quite the scandal. But news barely spreads these days, not with the way the forest swallows everything. Even ravens don’t make it across.”
Clouds loomed ominously between the trees. Dalia pulled back to the carriage and tapped on the window. Lucia cracked it open just enough to peer out, eyes cautious. Once she recognized Dalia, she opened it wider to reveal Mariella already leaning forward.
“Our escort is led by the king’s own nephew,” Dalia stated, watching as Mariella processed the information. Unlike Lucia, she didn’t seem surprised.
“What is he doing here?” she asked coolly, tilting her chin up slightly.
“The soldiers are worn and injured—it seems like a coincidence. But Caspar knew you were among us. He’s informed,” Dalia hesitated. “Roderyk’s been removed. Fredryk is now first in line.”
Mariella’s eyes widened, shock washing over her features.
“Why wasn’t I told?! They treat me like a pawn... Don’t I even deserve to know who I’m being married off to?!” Her voice, trembling with anger, came out as a sharp whisper. Her words were bitter, each one dripping like poison.
Dalia followed Mariella’s gaze to where Torus stood, not even pretending not to listen, though his expression was unreadable. Lucia sat at the other end of the carriage, staring intently at her knees.
Before Dalia could react, Mariella leaned out and grabbed her wrist, heavy bracelets striking her arm.
“Why wasn’t I told?” Mariella repeated, her eyes glistening with rage.
Dalia touched the princess’s hand, gently but firmly pushing her back inside.
“Careful, you might fall,” she said, trying to calm her. She felt Mariella’s grip loosen as she steadied herself on her horse and took a deep breath.
“I doubt anyone was told. It seems recent, and news travels poorly these days,” she added softly, trying to sound reassuring. The procession slowed as the streets grew narrower. “We have to stay alert,” she said, closing the window.
Returning to Willem, she saw that more soldiers had stopped them, appearing to question Marius. The landscape of the outer city was strange; like in Radun, trees fought to reclaim the cultivated land. Beyond lay emptiness, with only a few peasants visible in the distance. The edges seemed deserted. After a moment, the soldiers waved them through, and the column moved forward again.
As they neared the city gates, Dalia felt a small thrill, the first in a long time since their departure. She decided to share it with Willem.
“I’ve never been beyond the capital. I only know Renil from books,” she admitted, a little embarrassed.
“A city’s a city. This one’s just worse,” Willem replied with a smirk.
“You mentioned seeing a royal portrait in a chapel. I thought Traturia didn’t honor the gods?” she asked curiously.
Willem stared ahead, speaking so quietly that Dalia barely heard him.
“It’s not a chapel for commoners,” he muttered, adding something she didn’t catch. “...sect worship.”
The city gates swung open with a rumbling thud.
Books could never have captured Renil’s beauty. The streets were paved with smooth stone, and the buildings were a harmonious blend of marble and timber. Ornate facades lined both sides of the road, their windows decorated with colorful stained glass. They passed small fountains that whispered with the cool trickle of water, adding to the city’s charm.
Since leaving the forest, the sun had finally broken through the clouds, bathing everything in golden light. If she hadn’t been soaked to the bone, she might have appreciated the weather more—low buildings were the only sources of shade, and in Renil’s heat, the stones likely blazed underfoot.
They halted again.
“The carriage won’t go further,” one soldier announced, pointing ahead. The paved road gave way to an expanse of deep ruts being repaved by workers. The hammering of tools and murmur of conversation mingled with the sounds of the city.
One of Caspar’s men dismounted and dragged their wounded comrade from the carriage, eliciting a groan of pain. Rady muttered a curse, and with Czyzy, began shifting heavy luggage.
Dalia opened the carriage door. Lucia, who sat on the side where she had just spoken with the princess, took Dalia’s offered hand and clambered up, sitting in front of her. The girl trembled, perhaps from nerves, perhaps from the chill.
Torus dismounted and helped Mariella onto his horse as gently as he could. Then he took the reins, ready to lead the horse on foot.
Caspar, finished speaking with Marius, approached, his eyes sweeping over Mariella. His expression was hard to read, a shadow of a smile playing at his lips.
“Looks like we’ll be your official escort to the castle,” he said, though his smile lacked warmth. He locked eyes with the princess, and despite her attempt to sit regally, she seemed to shrink under his gaze. He didn’t look pleased to see her.
“He’s terrifying,” Lucia whispered, gripping Dalia’s waist like a frightened mouse. “Everyone’s staring at us...”
The crowd gathered in the market square, staring at the princess as if she were a spectacle. People whispered among themselves, but Dalia could only catch snippets.
“Forgive them, my lady. It’s not every day we have royal guests,” Caspar said, his tone laced with subtle mockery. Mariella narrowed her eyes, struggling to maintain composure.
“One might think they’d tire of weddings after Prince Roderyk’s,” she muttered, her voice taut. Caspar’s smile fell into a grim line.
As they pushed through to the center of the city, the crowd thickened. Children darted between legs, trying to get closer. Mariella sat rigidly, eyes forward, trying to maintain her dignity.
As they crossed the square, Dalia felt as if they were not arriving but being swallowed—drawn into a city that watched with hungry, indifferent eyes. The gaze of the townsfolk, hollow and endless, followed them, unnaturally quiet yet brimming with an unspoken menace.